The grand funeral will last from the morning dew to the sunset.

Funerals in this world are no different, with tombstones, wreaths, names, and posthumous photos.

She is not married, and she is not anyone, so there is only Luo Nanchu's name on the tombstone.

Her photo is also a one-inch photo of Hua Rongxuan, made in black and white, and inlaid on the tombstone.

And then there's age.

【199x-201x】。

She was three years younger than him and still very young.

I first met at the age of eighteen, and now I am twenty-six years old, which is only a short eight years.

And eight years is too short for a person's life.

What's more, in those eight years, they were separated for five full years.

After doing the math, the time they really spent together, bits and pieces, added up, was just over three years. So short, so short that it can be called worthless for a person's life.

As the sky gradually darkened, Hua Rong came over and called the man who had been standing in front of the tombstone to go back.

Fu Tingyuan stood in front of the tombstone in black and looked down, his eyes fell on the black and white photo on Luo Nanchu's tombstone.

She looked at the camera and smiled slightly, her eyebrows still vivid.

Hua Rong touched the scene, and didn't dare to look at it anymore, raised her head and said to Fu Tingyuan: "Everyone is going back, your father asked me to call you to get in the car." ”

Fu Tingyuan's gaze slowly retracted from the tombstone, and then nodded: "Hmm." ”

Hua Rong looked at his expression, the man's face was calm and light, and there was almost no superfluous emotion. If it weren't for the fact that she knew how much he loved Luo Nanchu, she would almost really think that Fu Tingyuan didn't have much sadness.

She hesitated a little, and called out softly: "Ting Yuan." ”

The man walking in front of him with a steady footstep turned his head, "Huh? ”

"It's not your fault." Hua Rong said softly.

Fu Tingyuan glanced at her, and then faintly withdrew his gaze.

It's already one o'clock in the morning back in downtown London.

Lu Mingyou was already asleep, he went upstairs alone and pushed the door open, and then walked in and sat on the sofa.

The familiar smell gradually filled the air, just like these days, and his heart gradually tightened with pain.

In fact, he didn't know why he came in every night to look for abuse.

Some people subconsciously avoid things that they can't touch, but they don't, they expose themselves to the pain very clearly, as if they can compensate for something.

However, he himself knew it well.

In fact, nothing can compensate.

She's dead.

In her last days, in that month, he was just grieving her.

He couldn't think about it, his heart was empty, and in this great sadness, that hole tended to spread.

Luo Nanchu is dead.

He couldn't really face the subject.

He didn't go to the crematorium to see her for the last time, and the urn wasn't brought back by him, even if he went to her funeral and saw her tombstone, he still felt unreal.

That afternoon, in the promenade of Westminster Abbey, he still remembered her graceful figure strolling there.

That's just a short time, ten days ago.

It really felt like yesterday.

Fu Tingyuan opened his eyes, walked over and turned off the light, and slept on the bed.