The night was as dark as if someone had knocked over the ink bottle. It was so dark that it felt so thick that I couldn't even dissolve it.
What about Zhenlingling?
Chen Xuanzheng took a bamboo broom and swept the tombstones that were in disarray.
The words on the tombstone have long been blown by the wind, sun, and rain, and have become mottled. Only a few words can be read clearly.
"Hey, everyone is dead, how can they be divided into three, six, and nine grades?" Chen Xuan spat at an unmarked tombstone, which was what he always said.
