Turning into tears of longing
On the fourth day, a turning point arrived silently.
The ethereal "Wen Zhibai" sat by a jasmine bush, embroidering a pair of mandarin ducks playing in the water.
She held the embroidery frame out to him, her voice tinged with laughter: "Qinzhou, look, doesn't it resemble us?"
Pei Qinzhou took it, a smile on his lips, but his gaze wandered for a moment.
He said softly, “It’s like that. But… the you I remember doesn’t seem to do these things. You preferred fiddling with reading and writing, handling ledgers, your fingertips often stained with ink, which would inevitably get on your face.”
Wen Zhibai, standing outside the fence, suddenly trembled.
Almost without thinking, she focused all her attention on that ordinary afternoon.
He was processing official documents in his study, while she was checking the accounts of Lingxi Pavilion. She muttered in frustration because she had made a mistake in the calculation. He couldn't help but chuckle and reached out to wipe the ink stains off her face with his fingertips.
At that moment, there was no separation of life and death, only the faint scent of ink and warmth.
This thought, like a pebble thrown into a still lake, silently rippled across Pei Qinzhou's heart.
Inside the courtyard, Pei Qinzhou paused, his hand stroking the embroidery.
The phantom's smile froze for a moment, then brightened again. It put down its embroidery hoop and took his arm: "Those trivial matters are so boring. Here, it's just you and me, isn't that better?"
Pei Qinzhou did not answer immediately. He remained silent for a moment before softly humming in agreement.
On the fifth day, Wen Zhibai began to try a bolder "infiltration". No longer satisfied with injecting beautiful memories, she began to carefully send those moments with slight imperfections but undeniably real into the illusion.
At their first meeting, he was a slave boy she had taken in. After discovering that he had lied about his true identity, they began to suspect each other and argue endlessly.
There was also someone who promised to go home, but in the end, he saw himself covered in blood in a mass grave.
These fragments of memories, filled with bitterness, worry, and even arguments, are like razor blades, constantly destroying this dream.
The illusion began to show obvious instability.
A blooming jasmine will suddenly shed a few petals; the sky, eternally blue, will gradually turn gray.
Everything is no longer perfect, yet it comes alive.
The nihilistic "Wen Zhibai" also became increasingly anxious.
It clutched Pei Qinzhou's sleeve tightly, repeatedly asking, "Qinzhou, you won't leave me, right? This is our home!"
Wen Zhibai felt that the connection between her soul and reality was weakening, and the golden light of Sujinsha had become extremely faint in her consciousness.
She focused her thoughts on his feelings when he wrote "A Letter to My Wife".
The current Wen Zhibai is able to empathize with Pei Qinzhou.
It's not just longing, but also the loneliness of endless waiting, the powerlessness that even great strength cannot bring back what's gone, and the deep affection that refuses to give up even when hope is slim.
This overwhelming emotion finally broke through the fragile dam of the illusion.
"boom!"
The entire courtyard shook violently, the sky was cracked, and large swaths of jasmine flowers withered and turned to ashes.
"No—!" The ethereal "Wen Zhibai" let out a shrill scream, its body began to twist, its face frantically switching between Wen Zhibai's beautiful face and a blurry mass of black mist.
It lunged at Pei Qinzhou, trying to shield him from the collapsing sky with its body: "Don't listen! Don't look! Stay here! I can stay with you forever! I'm the only one who loves you the most!"
Pei Qinzhou stood in the center of the collapsing world, clutching his aching chest, as countless chaotic fragments of memories flooded his mind—
The loss of the past life, the long wait, the struggle of this life, the joy of reunion, and... the pain of forced separation.
In the end, all the images froze on the outside of the fence, the figure so faint as to be almost invisible, yet still stubbornly gazing at his soul.
He suddenly raised his head, his dull, unfocused eyes looking at the real Wen Zhibai with such precision for the first time.
The phantom was still screaming, trying to make a final plea: "Qinzhou?" A hint of panic appeared on the phantom's perfect smile, and it gripped him even tighter. "Don't be distracted! Look at me, I am your Zhibai!"
Slowly, yet with unwavering determination, he pried open the fingers that were tightly clasped around his arm, one by one.
His fingertips trembled slightly, and a fine layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Phantom stared in disbelief at his hand being pushed away, then suddenly looked up and stared intently at him.
“Qinzhou…” Its voice took on a strange, broken sob as it tried to get closer again, “Look at me, I’m the real one! She’s just here to ruin us…”
"No."
A hoarse, barely audible voice struggled to escape from his throat.
He was panting, as if he had just escaped a deep nightmare, his gaze swaying painfully between the two "Wen Zhibai".
On one side is the flawless phantom, who accompanies him day and night and carries all his beautiful dreams; on the other side is the real one, weary from his journey, his soul about to dissipate, his eyes filled with endless pain and unwavering affection.
A tearing pain shot through his head, and countless conflicting images assaulted his consciousness.
Which one is his destiny?
“I…” He spoke again, his voice broken, looking at the perfect phantom with a final trace of longing and farewell in his eyes; then, he turned his head sharply and looked at the real Wen Zhibai outside the fence, whose figure was so faint that it was almost disappearing.
The instant his gaze fixed on her—
The phantom emitted a sound, and its entire form began to twist and collapse.
The real Wen Zhibai, though her soul was almost transparent, tried her best to give him a smile.
That smile contained understanding of all his struggles and a tenderness that remained unchanged even after life and death.
Pei Qinzhou, whatever you choose, I will still love you.
That smile, like the last ray of light, completely shattered the chaos in his mind.
No more hesitation, no more struggle.
He reached out his hand to her, to her, who was imperfect yet incredibly real, with all the strength he had left.
This time, he was absolutely determined, piercing through all the illusions that had once blocked their way.
He knew that he had grasped his truth, his destiny, and the only way home he had ever wanted, through countless lifetimes.
Wen Zhibai knew that the time had come.
She stopped trying to intrude and instead walked step by step to him, gazing into his eyes: "Pei Qinzhou, look at me—"
"Wen Zhibai, who needs you, is afraid, makes mistakes, argues with you, but will always be with you, is here."
He looked at her, his thin lips parted slightly, and finally found his voice: "Zhibai...is it really...you?"
“It’s me.” Wen Zhibai smiled, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve come to take you home. Back to our home, the home where spring, summer, autumn, and winter come and go, where the wind and rain will blow, but we will be together.”
As she spoke, the entire illusion shattered completely like glass, turning into countless shimmering points of light that vanished without a trace.
Wen Zhibai's soul returned to its place, and she suddenly opened her eyes on the bed in the Pei residence. The first thing she did was anxiously look at Pei Qinzhou beside her.
His tightly closed eyelashes trembled a few times, and a hot tear slid down from the corner of his eye and disappeared into his temple.
Outside the window, the wind and snow that had raged all winter had somehow ceased. A ray of early spring sunlight pierced through the clouds and gently fell on the withered branches of the jasmine plant in the courtyard.
...
—The End—
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