"Sir, it seems to be Young Master," said the servant behind.
Tang Zhen's face darkened, and he walked over with his cane.
Upon approaching, it was indeed Tang Jue.
A bouquet of white calla lilies lay in front of the tombstone. Tang Jue sat alone in his wheelchair, without any company, quietly staring at the tombstone, his silhouette carrying a hint of desolation.
Tang Zhen slowly walked to the tombstone and stopped.
The father and son, who were normally at each other's throats, now stood and sat quietly there, neither speaking a word.
The woman in the photo on the tombstone wore a gentle smile, and even though it was just a small picture, one could see the beauty that captivated during her lifetime.
Her beauty is forever frozen at its most radiant moment.
Beside the woman's tombstone, there used to be another tombstone, now it's empty.
That was once Tang Jue's tombstone.
