Getting used to the departure of a person or thing is never easy.
When Lai Fu stopped breathing in Chen Zhou's arms, he didn't shed tears; when Lai Fu's body was placed into a coffin made of mahogany and buried in the earth, Chen Zhou didn't cry.
His face seemed to have lost the ability to express emotion, only numbness, even bordering on indifference, as he swung the shovel, watching the damp soil bury the coffin.
That evening, Chen Zhou didn't eat; he sat on the wooden chair in the corridor, remaining there until the sun set and the earth was completely shrouded in darkness.
In the deep of night, the bench seemed to still retain the warmth left behind by the daytime sunlight.
The corridor lights were not lit, the surroundings nearly plunged into an impenetrable darkness.
Habitually reaching out to touch the old companion always beside him, Chen Zhou suddenly realized he had lost it forever.
...
