She was not at all distraught; quite the opposite—her mind seemed unusually clear, like the luminous flare of a candle before extinguishing. After leaving the guest hall, she returned to her tiny loft. Huang Niang called to her, wagging its tail furiously, and Yin Tingxue scooped out extra food for it. The leftover rice, fried eggs, lean meat, and hollow-heart vegetables from the past two nights and today's delivery were all mixed together.
Just like that, he died.
Yin Tingxue believed it was true. Countless people in this world die unclear and unjust deaths, especially those in fictional stories, where death is nothing more than a matter of flipping a page. It wasn't anything strange. She rubbed the Bodhisattva statue absentmindedly, not noticing even as Huang Niang pawed at her pants leg.
The yellow dog stared at the young woman, whose entire presence seemed frozen; its heart felt as though locked away.
