Ji Pan gently placed the pure white roses in front of the tomb, then took out a handkerchief from his arms and gently wiped the photo of the woman on the monument. Her cold eyes were filled with tenderness like ice water melting away. Ji Pan's voice was full of exhaustion: "Ah Qing, it's been ten years and you still don't want to come into my dream. I really miss you so much, okay? I'll come find you..."
There was no gentle response as Ji Pan imagined, only the empty sound of the wind scratching the flower packaging.
Intention: a sudden inspiration