Ban Xia probably had already grown accustomed to failure.
She slowly pushed the soil back into the pit, leveled it off, and compressed it with her palms, then she knelt on the grass with her head hanging down, propping herself up on her hands, staring blankly at her ten fingers as they sunk into the loose brown soil.
The girl let out a long breath.
The withered yellow weeds caught between her fingers were gently crushed by her, rolled into a small ball in her palm.
She dusted off her hands, stood up from the grass, and brushed her clothes and pants clean. Tonight, the moonlight was very bright. The silent Nanjing was bathed in the cold silver light, the sharp silver rays slicing the night-shrouded city with clear black and white edges. The dark moon hung on the other side of the sky—so called because it was dim, much darker than the white moon, looking up it was a gray disc.
