In the cemetery, snow fell slowly, "What are you doing here?" Su Ziceng, bumped into by Yan Wuxu, pretended to rub her arm and adopted a casual conversational tone.
Coming to the cemetery, other than sweeping the graves, what else could one do? Su Ziceng knew her question was superfluous, but wasn't Pello French, or at least his mother was from Mo City.
"A cat died at school, at the very edge of the cemetery, there is also a pet cemetery," Pello shook the cardboard box in his hand, about the size of the cat's body.
"Where does Mo City have a pet cemetery? It might not have one even after over a decade," even so, Su Ziceng didn't plan to argue. Even if she was stubborn, she understood that lying and silence are basic human rights.
