"War means being homeless, displaced, without food or clothing. War is the most brutal kind of parting in this world; it ravages not only our bodies but also our minds and souls." He Zhilan raised her hand and patted the little boy. "How old are you this year?"
"I'm eight years old! This is my younger sister; she's six!" The little boy shyly smiled, showing his white teeth, gleaming brightly like a lamp, even more dazzling than the sunlight above. "War is so scary; the Liberation Army soldiers are truly great."
"Eight years old, huh? Are you in school?" He Zhilan beckoned to the little girl hiding behind her brother. "Just the two of you playing in front of this grave, aren't you scared?"
