Just after three bangs, deep inside the Love Lock Tower, the stone cell was colder than the tomb.
Gu Jinghong was not awakened - she had never really fallen asleep in ten years.
It's just that tonight, the rhythm of tapping against the door panel, three light and one heavy, pause, and two more light and one heavy, is completely different from the rhythm that Uncle Fu used to deliver meals on weekdays.
She opened her eyes suddenly, and in the darkness, her eyes were as sharp as a cold blade unsheathed.
There were no words outside the door.
There was only a bowl of corn porridge placed by the small window. It was thinner than usual, with no side dishes, and there was a new chip on the edge of the stoneware bowl in which the porridge was served.
Gu Jinghong's fingertips felt cold when they touched the wall of the bowl.
She picked it up silently and drank it in one mouthful, her movements the same as every morning in the past ten years.
Only the fingers in the sleeves gently twisted the bone hairpin that had been sharpened and hidden in the bun for many years, making sure that it slipped into the wrist pocket properly, and the cold touch pressed against the skin.
At exactly 1 o'clock in the morning, the sound of the heavy tower door being violently pushed open startled the jackdaws roosting under the eaves of the tower. The sound of fluttering wings mixed with the visitor's deliberately heavy footsteps broke the stagnant silence of the Love Lock Tower.
