Shen Wei's measured steps slow, one hand coming up quite on its own to touch the necklace at his throat. Even a tight grip cannot stop his fingers' trembling. "Zhao Yunlan," he says, looking at the strange sight of the diminished tower framed absurdly by shrubs.

"You don't have to like him," he says quietly, "But he is my heart." Was, his aching bones remind him. How long will he wait this time? Does he have the strength to endure such loneliness again, knowing how much sweeter life could be? "Please do not speak ill of him."