Ветер и дым

Глава 34

Is that what you were thinking? It's just that you didn't realize at the time that this kind of devotion wasn't out of friendship, but because of this distorted love.

When did such a terrible seed sprout in his heart, slowly blossoming into a vicious flower?

When exactly did this happen?

He didn't know. Perhaps the gods above the clouds knew, but they wouldn't tell him. By the time he found out, it would be too late.

So let's not think about it anymore; this is his last night.

The last night was so quiet.

At first, you could still hear lively sounds from not far away, but gradually the whole world fell silent.

He felt a breeze, and the water gently lapped against the stone steps, making a soft sound.

He felt a withered lotus branch break with a "thud" as it couldn't withstand the cold wind.

Such nights seemed familiar. On the night Tang Congrong was injured, he sat in a brothel, drinking to keep himself company until dawn. He had seen all the subtle remnants of humanity slumbering under the cover of night.

The colors on the window frames would constantly change, starting as a deep, inky black and gradually fading. But the window frames of the Listening to the Water Pavilion were different; red lanterns hung all around, casting a soft red glow that filled the entire room with a warm, rosy halo, like a bridal chamber.

How festive!

He thought this and smiled slightly.

It was almost dawn.

The sky gradually turned pale, slowly overshadowing the lanterns' light.

Tang Qiefang opened her eyes.

That night has come to an end.

The effects of the medicine haven't worn off, and the acupoints haven't been released. Take your time, you need to sleep for another hour.

He slowly, very slowly lowered his head, the faint fragrance of lotus flowers lingering around his nose, drawing him in, and his lips landed on Tang Congrong's temple.

This is the only time in this lifetime.

Goodbye, calm.

As the effects of the medicine wore off and the acupoints were released, Tang Congrong slowly opened her eyes.

The early spring sunlight streamed into the room, casting a soft glow over the tables, chairs, and chessboard.

He wasn't there.

He won't be there.

He won't be at Tingshui Pavilion, nor at Fuxiao Pavilion.

He will never exist again in the entire Tang Clan.

Who in this world understands that person better than him? Once those words are spoken, he will never appear before him again.

Tang Congrong chuckled softly and slowly got out of bed.

Last night, he was lying on the bed fully clothed, and his clothes were already wrinkled. He reached out to smooth the hem of his clothes, when suddenly he stumbled and fell forward, unable to control his body, and crashed heavily to the ground.

Is it the aftereffects of the drug?

He propped himself up on the edge of the bed. The old woman brought him water to wash his face. He tried to wring out a cloth, but couldn't manage it after several attempts. The old woman called out worriedly, "Master?"

He looked at her. "What is it?"

The old woman hesitated, but ultimately said nothing. He continued wringing the cloth, which remained soaking wet, trying to dry it further. His hands kept twisting, and the old woman sighed, reaching out to pull his hands out of the copper basin.

He kept wringing the cloth in the water.

Tang Congrong smiled slightly, "I was lost in thought for a moment." After washing her face, breakfast was served in front of her: a bowl of white porridge with a few side dishes.

Chapter Sixty-Four

The plain congee was soft and mushy, but unfortunately it wasn't as fragrant as the one that person had cooked.

The thought struck me like a heavy blow to the chest; a dull ache instantly traveled from my heart to my fingertips, and the chopsticks fell to the ground.

He slowly bent down, picked up the chopsticks, cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and his stomach cramped with pain. He could no longer hold on and collapsed to the ground, his body curling up.

The old woman serving him was startled and rushed to help him up.

"Don't...don't worry about me..." he whispered, "Everyone, get out..."

"But Master of the family—"

"Get out, everyone."

The old women left. They cared about him; they had raised him themselves.

His cheek was pressed against the ground; it was really cold in Sichuan in early spring.

His body gradually adapted to the cold and pain. He closed his eyes and lay on the ground, unwilling to get up.

That spring was short; the peach blossoms bloomed late and faded early. It rained a lot, the rain pattering on the lotus leaves until dawn.

Summer arrived quickly, and the lotus flowers bloomed as scheduled, their white petals and green leaves a beautiful sight.

Long ago, when the lake was being widened, Tang Congrong asked, "Should we plant white lotus, pink lotus, or red lotus?"