Alice's urn was not like those of others, adorned with gems, etched with various intricate decorations, and handmade from rare materials.
It was the simplest of white stone boxes, unadorned. There wasn't even a moving photograph on it, just a single still photo.
Alice, who looked to be in her twenties, wore a gentle and bright smile.
She was dressed in home clothes, her hair partly tied and draped over her left shoulder while the rest cascaded freely behind her.
She was crouching on the ground, embracing a young Russell, who appeared to be five or six years old, cheek to cheek intimately.
The young Russell, with his fluffy bobbed hair, dressed in a long-sleeve sweatshirt with a sleeveless sweater over it, politely held by Alice without any struggle, instead, he bore a tender smile just like Alice's. His damp green pupils made him look more like a cute little girl.
"That smile…"
Cui Que murmured softly, her eyebrows deeply furrowed.
