The night was deep.
Though it wasn't yet the end of the first lunar month, the spring breeze carried a biting chill.
The Yizhuang was even colder and more foreboding.
Zhi'er had just arranged matters with the housekeeper overseeing the Yizhuang, and now she and Jiang Ying were alone in the courtyard where Jiang Mian's coffin was kept.
The night wind brushed against their cloaks. Jiang Ying looked at Jiang Mian in the coffin, tears in her eyes, and a sense of regret.
The Master and Madam Jiang had just been by, with a maid and a forensic doctor helping to dress Jiang Mian in appropriate attire.
The bloodstains on her face had been washed away clean, but her complexion was leaden, and there were small wounds on her face.
Yet ignoring these, Jiang Mian's expression didn't seem like she was dead, only as if she were quietly asleep.
Jiang Ying stood by the coffin, sighing with grief, "Mianmian is truly pitiful; she should have had a beautiful life."
