The tombstone was as dark as the dawn of night, and it seemed like something was pulling her forward to reach out her hand involuntarily. His fingers touched the inscriptions carved on the granite tombstone, and the indented strokes slowly spread the sadness deep into the bone marrow on the fingertips: "Time is like an abyss, yin and yang are strangers; dust will eventually return to dust, and earth will return to earth."
In the sweet fragrance of roses, Wan Qing whispered these two names that were meaningless to her at that time: "The tomb of Ke Baichen. Lu Yuan stands here."