In June, the capital was a sea of verdant green, even the cemeteries outside the city were as lively and green as ever. Yet, here, the lushness seemed to be veiled with a layer of desolation and solemnity, beneath which lay buried one after another once vibrant life.Row upon row of tombstones bore black-and-white photographs, some of the elderly, others shockingly young. Simple epitaphs summarized their lives—some had lived quietly, others tumultuously.An old man, his hair completely white, arrived carrying a large bunch of chrysanthemums, placing them in front of a tombstone that wasn't too new or too old. The photograph on the tombstone showed a very young man, with healthy, lush hair, clear eyebrows, and a bright, clear smile. When he took this photo, he probably never imagined that such a beautiful smile would one day appear on his own tombstone.The white-haired man placed the chrysanthemums in front of the tombstone, then squatted down, supporting himself on the stone, stari
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