Lin Nian was sitting on the bedside, covered with a snow-white quilt, and his face was paler than the quilt. She lowered her head slightly, her eyes falling on her flat belly, and placed a hand on it gently, as if she was still attached to something.
Then, she raised her eyes and looked at the man standing at the door, covered in dust and with an even uglier face than her. Her lips moved, without crying or fussing. Her voice was very soft, as light as a feather, but it fell into his ears clearly every word:
"We are finally done."
