The air in the General's study was still and heavy, a quiet memory of what was lost. But now, it was different. A few days had passed since that unexpected moment at Snowmoon's grave, when Jing Yuan reached out and took in a small, white cat. The animal, now curled up on a silken cushion, was a small, breathing warmth in the otherwise silent room. It was a new chapter, a testament to the idea that even after the deepest grief, there could be a quiet promise of companionship.
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