It doesn't have the typical spicy flavor of commercially available liquor; instead, it carries a hint of plum tartness, mixed with the coolness of late spring, giving it a refreshing chill.
She squatted down in front of Qianluo's tombstone, her knees bent so that the hem of her trench coat piled up on the grass, her movements as casual as if she were picking vegetables in her own backyard.
He reached into the canvas bag and pulled out a celadon wine pot with dark patterns. The pot was covered with lint from the canvas, and the edge of the lid was chipped. It was clearly an old item that had been used for a long time.
Then he took out a plain white porcelain cup with a thin, shallow line on the rim, as if it had been accidentally bumped against the corner of the table.
With a slight tilt of the spout, the amber-colored liquor trickled down the spout, splashing up tiny bubbles as it hit the bottom of the glass.
The foam clung to the glass for a moment before slowly sliding down, as if it had absorbed the last bit of warm light from the setting sun into the glass.
She sat cross-legged beside the tombstone, not caring that the grass was brushing against her trouser legs. She raised her hand to her lips, tilted her head back, and drank it all in one gulp.
His movements were swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation. In the brief moment his Adam's apple bobbed, his gaze swept over the withered white chrysanthemums in front of the tombstone, but he didn't linger for even a moment.
From beginning to end, the wine in that glass contained only her own reflection; there was no remembrance, let alone any intention to commemorate her.
This is hardly a memorial service; it's clearly someone choosing a secluded spot where no one will bother them, to hide away and drink alone in silence.
In just two or three minutes, two wine glasses in front of her were empty, with some wine stains still on the bottom.
The wine pot rested diagonally on his knees, his fingertips slowly caressing the cool porcelain surface, his fingertips repeatedly rubbing against the tiny crack on the pot's body.
It was like touching a secret that had been hidden for many years, the movements were so gentle that one was afraid of breaking something.
The smell of alcohol in the wind grew stronger, and even the footsteps of the gravedigger in the distance could not be heard. The entire cemetery was so quiet that only the rustling of the wind through the pines and cypresses could be heard.
And then there's the soft sound of the wine hitting the glass when she occasionally pours it.
Unable to suppress the doubts surging in my heart, I took two steps forward, my toes crunching on the grass clippings on the ground, deliberately keeping a distance of three steps from her.
This distance allows me to get to the point and clarify the issues, or retreat in time to avoid her if she makes a move.
I took a deep breath and tried to make my voice deep and cold, but the last syllable still trembled uncontrollably, as if the wind had blown it out of tune.
"Who are you? This is a restricted area in the cemetery. Non-relatives are not allowed in. How did you get in? What do you want?"
These words sounded rather assertive, but his hands, hanging by his sides, were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and the sweat on his palms soaked the corners of his clothes.
The thin layer of sweat on her back slid down her spine, sticking uncomfortably to her clothes—after all, I had once seen her kick a burly man with a knife flying.
The force was so great that the burly man slammed into the wall with a dull thud, even chipping off a piece of plaster. It was something my meager fighting skills, barely enough for basic training, couldn't withstand.
She suddenly stopped pouring the wine, the spout hovering above the rim of the glass, a drop of amber wine lingering on the edge, as if it had solidified.
But she still didn't turn around, only slightly raised her eyes to look at the police badge gleaming coldly at the top of the tombstone.
The police badge was just a blurry outline in the twilight, but her eyelashes cast a faint shadow under her eyes.
It landed right on that pale blue beauty mark, like a layer of frost that couldn't be melted away, not even the wind could blow it away.
I was about to ask her another question, the words were already on the tip of my tongue, when she suddenly turned her head away.
The movement wasn't fast; as the shoulder line turned, there was a slight rustling sound from the trench coat fabric, which brushed against the grass and kicked up bits of debris, yet it exuded an indescribable crispness.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, his eyes filled with a nonchalant mockery, and even the last syllable of his voice was deliberately dragged out by half a beat, with a touch of deliberate exaggeration.
Like acting out lighthearted everyday scenes in front of the camera: "I thought I was famous enough that I could be recognized wherever I went."
The fans waiting for me at the airport stretched for half a block, and I had to sign autographs until my hand was sore. I never imagined there would be people who didn't recognize my face.
These words came so suddenly that I felt like I'd been doused with a spoonful of cold water, instantly freezing in place, even my breath caught in my throat.
How could a female celebrity say such things to a complete stranger in a cemetery?
The air was still filled with the cool fragrance of pine and cypress trees, and when she said those words, even the air seemed absurdly out of place.
Previously, when I watched her variety shows, she always appeared aloof and taciturn on camera, and she was very sparing with her words when answering reporters' questions.
Occasionally, when teased and asked to participate in activities, she would only politely curl the corners of her lips, with little smile in her eyes.
Needless to say, when it comes to fighting, his movements are as swift and decisive as a knife with hidden sharpness. His kicks are swift and powerful, and his eyes are filled with a coldness that makes even his opponents hesitant to get close.
When have I ever seen such a straightforward, even somewhat naive, narcissistic look?
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