Silver Screen Leak
Xu Sheng leaned quietly against the window, half of his body slightly exposed to the cold.
Autumn has just arrived. After a light rain, petals have covered the ground like a carpet, some sparse and some lush, a scene of "lush green and withered red." The dark brown tree trunks have finally lost their cover, their colors clearly displayed before one's eyes.
He kept staring at a door in the distance. The door had some peeling paint, but that didn't detract from its beauty.
The door was tightly shut.
What if that person's heart is also so tightly closed?
Xu Sheng suddenly froze, behaving like a child. His long, fine eyelashes drooped down, obscuring his eyes.
He thought of Yiling's face, and a wave of pain washed over him. This pain was gentle, like a river flowing across his heart. The waters of that river sometimes rushed, sometimes simmered.
In fact, during the entire month he lived in the Yuan residence, he never received a single moment of her favor.
She seemed to be testing his patience; no matter how beautiful her voice was, it couldn't melt his heart in the slightest.
He was alone, sinking into the terrifying quagmire of love, while she stood calmly on the shore, her expression indifferent. She could see him sinking, but she refused to give him even the slightest bit of pity.
People say that what is unattainable is like an itch that lingers in the heart.
This itch afflicts every bone, erodes consciousness, and turns a beautiful person into a withered branch of a tree. Finally, having lost all nourishment, one can only await the burial by snow, for in solitude one abandons faith, and in cruelty one's body is torn apart.
He longed for her to turn back; he longed for a liberation of his heart from this incurable itch.
The door remained firmly shut.
Yi Ling, the character whom the poor man had imagined loving to the fullest extent, was applying some powder to her face, her upturned eyes calmly lowered. She smoothed the folds in her clothes and stood up.
Then the maid, Mu Ye, rushed in and said, "Grandma, please go down and see, Master is dying."
The patriarch of the Yuan family has died.
The story spread like wildfire throughout the city and then returned to the Yuan family's old residence.
There were so many people who came to pay their respects on the first day that lunch was served in two separate venues.
One courtyard was the main courtyard of the Yuan residence, where important figures or famous actors were entertained. The other courtyard was located in the inner courtyard of the second and third houses, and was only used to entertain ordinary people who were not highly regarded.
Yiling and Third Grandmother were in charge of things in the inner courtyard, and they didn't get to drink a bowl of porridge until noon.
Bu Songren is now in charge of the Bu family. The old lady Bu has finally aged too much, so we'll just let him be for now.
It's said he keeps dancers outside the home and has taken several concubines, but he's never actually married. Could it be that he's still hung up on his deceased wife?
As Yi Ling saw one person off, she turned around and unexpectedly met Bu Songren's face. She quickly put on a sarcastic smile and said, "Look who this is? It's the young master of the Bu family. I really didn't recognize him."
His face immediately turned pale.
He had experienced firsthand how sharp her tongue was.
"Sister-in-law Yuan didn't even invite me to sit down."
“It’s just a child’s talk. The Bu family are our honored guests. Why doesn’t Young Master Bu sit in the front yard? Instead, he comes to my backyard to demand an explanation.”
Her words were still like knives.
Men, used to having fun in dance halls, assume that women are like hot springs, always warm and moist with rising steam.
But they also longed for the different kind of water flowing in the mountain spring, even though that water was icy cold and hung high in the air.
Bu Songren took two steps back, watched her figure, and then turned and left.
But her expression was not pleased; instead, it darkened. She silently turned and went back into the chaotic scene, her soul transforming from a young woman into the second mistress of the Yuan family.
The night was shrouded in thick clouds, and the only thing that could be felt in the air was the primal, savage atmosphere.
The candlestick's shadow, along with its light, cast a long, trailing shadow on the window paper. The autumn night wind rustled softly.
Yi Ling looked at the old sutra in her hand, her mouth opening and closing as she recited the Buddhist sayings on the yellowed paper.
The maid, Mu Ye, paced back and forth on the ground, packing her luggage.
Now that Master Yuan is dead, the Yuan family is naturally at the critical juncture of dividing the family property.
Yi Ling suddenly raised her eyelids and asked, "Second Master, are the incense and food offerings in front of the altar all ready?"
After the Second Young Master Yuan passed away that year, Yi Ling always kept his memorial tablet in her bedroom.
It wasn't that she had so much lingering affection to burn away; it was simply that she filled the empty space in her heart and prevented it from being exposed.
Ultimately, a person's heart only sustains the flow of one life. If life is greater than countless others, how much space is left for the rest?
"They have all been offered to the lady."
They have all been promoted, and she has finally become the second wife of the Yuan family.
The silence continued for a while, then two soft knocks suddenly sounded from outside the door.
Konoha walked to the door and asked in a low voice, "Who is it?"
Before the other person could say anything, Yi Ling suddenly stood up and said, "You go down first."
The two of them were left alone in the room.
His face was flushed, though not very brightly; he had been drinking and was now somewhat drunk.
What are you doing here?
He hated her coldness the most, yet he was willing to accept it.
Humans are ultimately fascinated by pain.
"I'll just look at you." He lowered his head, his tone willingly humiliating.
"Now that you've seen it, you can leave." She sat there, looking at his humble posture, she was moved, but she refused to open even the slightest crack in her heart for him.
Xu Sheng took a step forward, wanting to touch her hand, but she avoided it.
"Lankang is about to go to war, will you come with me?"
She smiled, propped herself up on her knees, and said, "Kneel down."
She could see the rapid changes in the color of his face; that's how she maliciously tormented him.
Despite his immense struggle, he was willing to sacrifice his honor and disgrace for her, and knelt down with a thud.
“Tell me, what a shameless and vile heart you have, wanting to taint my innocence and expect me to walk with you into this deep cave. In the end, you are nothing but a rat or sparrow.”
Humans derive their deepest and most direct pleasure from eliminating and vilifying others. You can simply watch their struggles and torments while sitting high above them, saying nothing.
He lowered his head even further.
Silently, both faces were devoid of color.
"Bang---"
The silver bottle on the cabinet was knocked to the ground, and instantly a deep, dark crack appeared.
The crack, like a pair of Buddha's enlightened eyes, glared angrily outward from an unknown depth.
They kissed and bumped into the wall.
The two people, amidst the deathly indifference, erupted with a fiery thirst.
He brushed her sweaty hair from her forehead and kissed every inch of her body.
Two hands pressed together against the table, and in a panic, one pushed everything over.
The sound of glass shattering rang out clearly.
She snapped out of her reverie and looked up; it was a portrait of her deceased husband.
The glass in the photograph was completely cracked.
Lines, one after another, were densely covered on that black and white face.
He stared at them with what appeared to be a ferocious expression.
She trembled, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
"What are we like now?" she asked, wavering.
He held her tighter, his warm lips pressed against her ear, and a tender, comforting kiss fell upon her.
"Come with me, okay?"
She looked up at him.
What do you intend to do to me?
Do you believe me?
Can I trust you?
They remained silent for too long, their breathing savagely spreading in the increasingly dim candlelight.
Outside the yellowed door, a thin shadow has been standing there for quite some time.
The third young mistress stood there stunned. The handkerchief in her hand was swirling in the air by the wind and had long since disappeared.
The two figures inside the door were still intertwined.
She froze for a moment, then covered half her face with her hand, numbly turned around and walked away.
The person had just disappeared when the wind carried the handkerchief back, and it landed right in front of the tightly closed door.
The pale blue handkerchief had only one embroidered patch on the right side.
It was a delicate butterfly fluttering around the flowers.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
