Song Shijiu returned to the room with the same expression as usual; for a rare turn, Li Shiyi wasn't reading, and was sitting on the bed, folding up a few light grey coats; she raised her eyelids to look at Song Shijiu, and it seemed like a meager smile was hung on her face; she asked, "Will you wash your face? I'll pour the water." Song Shijiu let out an "en", sitting down on the bed with her arms crossed, and watched the clothes Li Shiyi had folded in a daze. She'd folded even the clothes neatly and carefully, the creases like a framework, regular and at angles. She thought and thought; in the end, she felt that Li Shiyi hadn't been like this before; before, she'd been both done as she wished and been free and at ease; stealing from coffins and robbing tombs, if she truly feared the laws of the heavens, then why was she in this profession? She gazed at Li Shiyi, holding up and pouring out of a copper pot, and felt a particular idea was faintly ...