Maître de l'ambiguïté

Chapitre 97

In this lifetime, I will never see that beautiful face again!

Under the plum blossom tree.

Ye Chuhan remained silent, not uttering a word. He turned his head to look at the tranquil pond, his hand holding the wine glass trembling slightly.

Ping Qiushui held his wine glass, his gaze also fixed on the pond, and slowly began to speak, "It's just a pity that we always discover such true feelings too late! When we realize that we can't live without her, she has already left; when we want to exchange our own death for her life, she is already dead."

"Dr. Ping, I won't be lonely anymore..."

After a few drinks, Ye Chuhan smiled silently and said to him, "It's been eighteen years already. I won't let myself be lonely like this anymore."

"..."

"I will wait for her to come to me. When I see her again, I will... never be lonely again."

Plum blossoms fell one after another.

Ye Chuhan looked up at the falling flowers, her voice calm, "When I am no longer lonely, would Physician Ping be willing to come to Tianshan Snow Gate again to heal one of my people?"

“Okay.” Ping Qiushui agreed without asking why.

Ye Chuhan raised her wine glass and smiled slightly at him, "It's a deal!"

"It's a deal!"

Two pear blossom wine glasses, as smooth and lustrous as jade, gently clinked together in the air, producing a crisp sound. Inside, the wine was mellow and clear, like frost...

That night.

Ping Qiushui couldn't remember how many cups of wine he and Ye Chuhan had drunk. He only remembered that he, who usually had a high alcohol tolerance, was slightly tipsy, and in the end, even the fingers holding the wine glass were trembling.

All he remembered was that Ye Chuhan, who was always leaning against the plum tree, was still calmly looking at the pond, holding a wine glass in his hand, and on his handsome face was still that pale, absent-minded, bitter smile.

In the eyes of Ye Chuhan, the sect leader of Tianshan Snow Gate, there was a deep sorrow as profound as if a thousand arrows were piercing his heart.

He once swore in the desert snowstorm, blinded by hatred, that he would never feel heartache for anyone again in this life. He never imagined that there was still such a thing as love in this world.

Those who survive suffer more than those who die.

Living is worse than death!

Because he truly loved her, he couldn't let her go, and every minute and every second she was gone was an eternal and profound loneliness and pain for him.

But!

When he truly realized the truth—

But it turned out that it was all too late!

Ping Qiushui felt a pang of sorrow. He silently turned his gaze to the pond, only to suddenly see a tiny lotus quietly blooming within it. Its pure white petals swayed in the breeze. It was not the snow lotus of Tianshan—

It turned out to be a water lily from Jiangnan.

The water lily of Jiangnan blooms in the Tianshan Mountains of the Western Regions!

This year seemed to mark the end of all grudges. Too many stories had unfolded in the Snow Gate of the Tianshan Mountains in the Western Regions, leaving behind too many regrets...

Mei Ji risked her life to save the Murong family, who had wronged her!

Hua Chen was willing to harm himself to save Mei Ji's life!

Zhan Yu infiltrated the Snow Gate of Tianshan Mountain to avenge his clan, enduring humiliation and hardship for twelve years!

To prevent her brother from suffering further humiliation, Lianhua killed him with her own hands and carried his head out of the Tianshan Snow Gate. She refused to accept Ye Chuhan's life-saving grace and preferred to be buried under the snow.

To ease her brother's hatred, Ye Chuxue calmly smiled and drank the poisoned wine. From then on, she remained in a slumber for nine years, like a stone statue, neither alive nor dead...

To this day...

What poignant story lies behind this lotus flower...?

Or perhaps...

An unfulfilled vow...

The bright moon hangs in the sky, its clear light streaming down.

Ye Chuhan sat quietly under the plum tree, surrounded by the fragrance of plum blossoms, her narrow eyes filled with a chilling sorrow.

The chrysanthemum wine was as cold as ice.

Ping Qiushui gazed intently at the quietly blooming water lily of Jiangnan. Moonlight butterflies danced gracefully beside the lotus. His eyes, as still as autumn water, slowly drank a cup of wine and murmured:

"All stories are nothing but heartbreak; the people of Yi River are gone, and the bright moon is like frost."

Vol. 8

One month later.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated.