When Shen Tang woke up, the first thing she saw was her own portrait. A black and white photo, bordered with white chrysanthemums, the face in the center beaming with a radiant smile, eyes curving into crescents, as if she had just emerged from spring. Shen Tang stared at it for three seconds. Then, she sincerely commented, "This photo is well-edited." A moment of silence fell over the mourning hall. The man crouching by the brazier paused, slowly raising his head. He wore a black suit, his shoulders sharp and cold, his features angular and piercing, with faint dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well for many days. The firelight flickered in his eyes, making them appear even darker. Shen...
