Zhou Yinuo stepped forward again. She knelt down and pressed her palms together. Her head bowed low. The others followed.
It was a quiet, humble gesture. Just like how they used to do in the past when paying respects during Qingming Festival.
They didn't burn incense or paper offerings. But they bowed three times, lowering their heads deeply with each one. Their hands remained pressed tightly together. They closed their eyes and prayed—not to a god, not to a spirit, but from their hearts. Wishing peace for the dead, and the strength to carry on for the living.
"I hope… if there's another life," Chen Wei murmured quietly, "you get to live safely. With laughter. With love."
Liang Zihan's lips trembled, but he didn't speak. His fingers clenched tightly at his sides.
Zhou Yinuo whispered her prayer in her heart, not letting anyone hear.
Even Liora, still holding her hands before her chest, lowered her head and murmured, "Thank you… for keeping him alive."
