The Qingming Festival season, with fine rain like a gentle touch.
The rain enveloping East City adds a touch of Jiangnan water town's grace and melancholy to this bustling city.
West Mountain Cemetery, the largest graveyard in the city, is now steeped in this misty drizzle.
The wet, slippery stone steps, flanked by pine trees, seem even more verdant and solemn.
The air is filled with the earthy scent mingled with the fresh aroma of vegetation and the burnt smell of incense candles and paper offerings.
People holding various umbrellas gather in twos and threes, walking up the winding mountain path.
Their steps are light, conversations hushed, as if afraid to disturb the souls resting here.
Fang Cheng holds a large black umbrella, walking between his mother Li Biyun and his grandfather Li Zhenhua.
Intentionally slowing his pace, he tilts the umbrella slightly towards his mother, enclosing her completely.
