The dusk sun is like a piece of red-hot iron, slowly sinking behind the barren mountains.
Qingdai knelt in front of the new grave, her knees hitting the gravel and she lost consciousness. There was a pile of loess in front of him, with no tombstone or mark. In a few days, the pile of dirt would be blown flat by the wind and mixed with the surrounding wasteland. No one would know that there was a person buried underneath.
