Chapter 147
Late at night, Wang Jiazhi sat at the head of her bed, reading Zizhi Tongjian. She was only four years older than the book itself, but a book almost twenty years old made her feel old too.
The bookmark is a large tabby cat with a smaller one behind it. The smaller cat is biting the tip of the larger cat's tail, as if holding its mother's hand. The ink has faded, and it's been almost twenty years.
She put the bookmark on the page she was reading, closed the book and looked out at the night sky.
What is he doing now?
She turned off the lights and went to sleep. At night she dreamed that she had turned into a giant leopard, and that she was in a deep autumn forest. There were thick layers of fallen leaves on the ground, shining golden in the sunlight. Lying on them was soft and warm.
She fell asleep, her paws resting on her head. A bird flew across the deep blue sky, chirping. She opened her mouth, yawned, and tried to go back to sleep. Then, a little leopard emerged from her belly and scratched at her fur with its paws. She licked the cute ball of fur with her tongue.
She woke up and went to her study to draw a postcard. It was the two leopards from her dream, one large and one small. After finishing the drawing, she thought for a moment and then added a faint shadow of a leopard at the back. There was no edge, just a colorful shadow.
She thought that was right. It was very tiring to take care of children and hunt at the same time, so someone had to go hunting.
Yesterday, she passed by the theater and saw that a novel by a favorite author had been made into a movie. This novel was her favorite as a child, and she always wondered why no one had made a movie of it.
But seeing the director's name puts me off. The director's previous filming of this author's novel was weird. It wasn't the same story at all. Just looking at the poster, I feel something is off. The male and female leads are both pale and thin, almost sickly, thin. The two men on the poster are so strong and toned, and not at all white.
Wang Jiazhi was bored, but she still decided to go and see with hope.
She left the movie half an hour into it because she couldn't bear to watch it any longer. If she continued like that, she would easily have bad memories and even her love for the novel would be destroyed.
After coming out of the theater, she said angrily in her heart: "Why is it the mushroom head again?" Then she shook her head helplessly.
There was a bottle of white wine in the wine cabinet. The bottle was made of the kind of crystal that looked like a cut diamond, with many small facets that sparkled beautifully. Wang Jiazhi really wanted to use the bottle for flower arrangements. To keep it, she planned to drink the whole bottle herself. When he came back, he could help her drink some.
It was her first time drinking white wine, and it was surprisingly delicious, not as strong as red wine, which she was not used to. This wine was light, lighter than grape juice, with a slight hint of alcohol.
It tasted even better with ice. Wang Jiazhi didn't know if drinking it with ice was a waste of the wine, but it was really good. Because she didn't think it was strong enough, she drank half the bottle.
She didn't feel it at first, but later she felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier. She knew she had drunk too much, so she curled up under the quilt and fell asleep quickly.
When Lao Yi returned home, the house was quiet. He could smell the faint scent of alcohol. A white cat lay curled up in a ball on the bed, covered with a quilt, with only the area above its eyes visible. A half-drunk bottle of wine sat by the bedside.
I haven't been home for only three days. It's not necessary for me to drown my sorrows in alcohol. I've never done that before.
He went downstairs to ask the servants, and both the mother and the little girl said that they were not angry and were fine these days.
He finally breathed a sigh of relief and went back to pull the quilt down. The smell of alcohol filled her nostrils, and she was sleeping soundly, her two little paws clasped on her chest. He stroked her fur, but there was no movement at all. This must be because she had drunk too much.
He pulled a white tulip from the vase beside the bed and touched it to her nose, but she felt nothing. He tentatively patted her again, but she was still snoring, not moving at all. He really could do whatever he wanted with her like this, it made him itch.
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