Time passed little by little, and the old-fashioned pendulum clock chimed ten o'clock with a clang.
Ding Ning ignited all the candles and began to pack his luggage with no expression. The pain of grief made him not want to stay here for a minute.
He uncovered the floor tiles under the bed and took out the old parcel that he brought to Ninghai. It was made of canvas, old, but still well-knit.
He replaced the floor tiles, pulled out a piece of luggage and opened it, then took out some wearable clothes from the wardrobe, folded and put them neatly in the luggage.
Then he carried the parcel on his shoulder, pulled the luggage, put the key of the room on the table with the candles still burning, opened the door without hesitation, and left without looking back and unwillingness.
When
