Chapter 75
The train window resembled a vast, ever-shifting painting frame. The southern French sun poured in unreservedly, scorching the interior with warmth. The trees lining the tracks took on varying shades of green in the sunlight, while layers of white clouds dotted the distance. Everything was as rich as the most saturated hue on a palette.
They quietly met at a small station, choosing the most inconspicuous section of the train car. Ling Yao and Su Rui sat side by side, their bodies naturally and tightly tucked together. Ling Yao wore a baseball cap and sunglasses that half-hid his face, but the slight smile on his face betrayed his relaxed mood. Su Rui leaned against his shoulder, her gaze out the window, savoring this hard-earned, almost stolen tranquility.
"I heard that you must take a train when you come to southern France," Ling Yao whispered in Su Rui's ear, his breath warm, "It's really... like a painting." His voice was filled with laziness and satisfaction after letting go of all his defenses.
Su Rui hummed softly, her gaze shifting from the beautiful scenery outside the window to Ling Yao's hand resting on his leg—a small, striking piece of white gauze still clung to the back of that hand. He carefully touched the edge of the gauze with his fingers, frowning slightly. "Does it still hurt?"
Ling Yao took his fingers in his backhand, gently scratching his palm with his fingertips, with a soothing tone: "It doesn't hurt anymore. It's just a small cut, the doctor said it's okay." He paused and tilted his head. Even through his sunglasses, Su Rui could feel the focus of his gaze. Ling Yao's voice was lower, but clearer, with an unquestionable seriousness: "Don't feel bad, don't worry. Ruirui, I think... it's worth it."
"Huh?" Su Rui didn't react for a moment.
"I've used this little injury," Ling Yao raised his injured hand and shook it gently, his tone even carrying a strange, contented levity, "to exchange it for this vacation, for just the two of us being here now... and seeing these views. I think it's totally worth it."
These words, tinged with an almost childish calculation and a deeply twisted cherishment, felt like a gentle bump in Su Rui's heart, a sore, tender feeling. He subconsciously wanted to retort, "How can I trade getting hurt for something?" But as the words reached his lips, he saw Ling Yao's profile, which was rarely completely relaxed, even a bit smug and boastful, and swallowed them back.
He understood Ling Yao's meaning. For Ling Yao, who lived a life of meticulous schedules and countless cameras, the price of such a moment of true freedom might really be insignificant.
So, Su Rui didn't say anything else, but just held Ling Yao's hand tighter, his fingertips avoiding the gauze and interlocking his fingers. He leaned his head back on Ling Yao's strong shoulder and looked out the window again.
The train moved at a steady pace, the oil painting-like scenery constantly shifting. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on their clasped hands. The carriage was silent, save for the rhythmic clanking of the rails and the distinct sounds of their breathing and heartbeats.
They didn't need to say anything more. The closeness of their bodies, the warmth of their fingertips, the sunlight and fields outside the window, and all the unfinished words contained in Ling Yao's "special value" were enough to fill this stolen gap in time.
Ling Yao tilted his head slightly, his chin resting lightly on Su Rui's head. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes closed quietly, his whole body soaking in this fleeting yet real connection. The shock of the accident seemed to be gradually smoothed out by the brilliant sunshine in southern France and the warmth of the people around him.
And the journey has just begun.
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