He was never one for flowery speeches; a few simple words, yet they represented the deepest of promises.
Luo Xiaoqian said nothing, simply stepped forward, reached out her hand, and took hold of his.
As the two walked together toward the outskirts of the cemetery, Leng Zimo spoke softly, "My falling out with my father was because of a woman."
Luo Xiaoqian's heart tightened, and she looked at his face in surprise.
"That day, my mother seemed to know she wouldn't be around much longer, so she asked me to find my father. I searched everywhere, but couldn't find him. Later..." Leng Zimo's voice grew cold, "I found him—with another woman. That woman was crying hard, and he was gently consoling her... he... he even held her, just like he would hold my mother. Then I rushed back to the hospital, but my mother had already passed away, and I didn't even get to see her one last time. When she died, her eyes weren't closed. I think she must have been unwilling to let go."