Free Fiction: The Tears Fall Down On Qing Ming

They often come in droves, in groups or in pairs. Men, women, young and old – they walk down the paths with tools in their hands, shielding their eyes from the glare of the sun and fanning themselves from the heat. They often pick their way through the over-grown weeds – the la lang, the Cupid’s Shaving Brush and the love grass – and search for that one particular grave stone with the looks of lost drivers or lost travelers.
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