But every time he was about to speak, he was either interrupted by a sudden battle report or by her hurried departure.
Sometimes, just as she was about to respond, she would be chased away by officials from the Ministry of Revenue, who were carrying disaster relief ledgers and walking hurriedly.
Sometimes, just when I've mustered up the courage, I see the weariness in her eyes, the dark circles under her eyes that she can't hide, and even her smile carries a sense of exhaustion, so I swallow my words back.
I thought, "I'll wait until she's done with this busy period, and I'll definitely ask next time."
This procrastination dragged on until my temples turned gray, until wrinkles appeared on my brows, until my hands began to tremble and even holding a gun became difficult.
The question I wanted to ask was like a seed buried deep in my heart. Before it could sprout, it was covered by the dust of time, and I never had the chance to say it again.
A sudden disaster ultimately took Qin Qianluo away.
The person whose face was obscured ripped through her clothes with their weapon before she could even cry out, her breath slowly dissipating into the world.
On the day she left, Chengxiao experienced an unusually heavy snowfall. The goose-feather-like snowflakes drifted from dawn till dusk, bending the magnolia trees in the Regent's Palace.
The flower buds on the branches hadn't even had a chance to unfold their petals before they froze into transparent ice crystals, shattering at the slightest touch, much like her short but passionate life.
They came with great enthusiasm, but left in a hurry.
Later, I often went to the Regent's Palace and always saw Su Jinyun sitting by their former bed, holding the plain-colored pillow that Qianluo used to use when she was alive.
It still had a faint fragrance, Qianluo's favorite scent.
Su Jinyun had no tears on her face, but her eyes were frighteningly red, and her gaze was as empty as a night sky stripped of all light, even her breathing was heavy with deathly stillness.
It was as if she would vanish along with Qianluo at any moment, and she didn't even touch the food that the maids from the Prince's mansion brought in.
Since that day, Su Jinyun and I have felt as if our very souls had been ripped out, and we have gradually declined.
She stayed indoors, locking herself in her study, staring blankly at the items Qianluo had left behind.
Sometimes, he would hold a letter written by Qianluo and spend an entire afternoon reading it, his fingertips repeatedly stroking the edge of the letter, as if touching the warmth of Qianluo's past, until the letter paper was wrinkled from his touch.
Sometimes, when he touches the plain cotton robe that Qianluo once wore, his fingertips tremble slightly, and he murmurs to himself.
"Qianluo, it's snowing outside. Are you cold? Do you want to put on another layer? I'll keep you warm," her voice was as soft as a dream.
Sometimes, he could sit for a whole night looking at Qianluo's painting of the Yangtze River, only to come back to his senses as dawn approached, reaching out to touch the paper as if trying to reach through it to touch the river.
I often stare blankly at the border maps, and even the most familiar military formations and battle diagrams take me a long time to decipher.
When I trace the location of the Japanese islands on the map, I can't help but think of that year on the battlefield, her blood-stained silver armor, her tightly gripped scimitar, and the surging hatred in her eyes.
My chest felt like it was blocked by something, a suffocating pain, and even breathing became heavy.
We have all become people abandoned by time, like two leaves that have lost their way in a world without her.
I can only rely on memories to slowly get through the remaining days, and even the days have lost their color.
I don't know when Su Jinyun saw through my feelings for Qianluo, but I am always grateful to her.
She never explicitly revealed this secret, never deliberately distanced herself from me, and even on some rare quiet days when Qianluo had free time, she would subtly find excuses to avoid me.
Sometimes he would say he was going to the Ministry of Revenue to check the accounts, leaving the study for us to chat in. He would even have someone prepare the tea that Qianluo liked, and the water temperature would be just right.
Sometimes I'd say I wanted to go to the garden to admire the flowers, and ask Qianluo to accompany me to the teahouse for tea.
Before leaving, he smiled at Qianluo and said, "You two can chat for a while. I'll come pick you up later," giving us plenty of time to spend together.
Once, Qianluo invited me to a teahouse in the west of the city. We found a window seat where we could see people coming and going on the street.
As she spoke of her homeland from her memories, mentioning the waves of the Yangtze River, the bricks of the Great Wall, and the rain of her hometown, her eyes reddened and her voice trembled slightly.
I hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from my sleeve and handed it to her. As she took it, her fingertips accidentally touched my hand.
My heart was pounding, my cheeks were burning, and I felt like I had a rabbit thrashing around inside me. I didn't dare look her in the eye.
When I looked up, I saw Su Jinyun standing under the willow tree outside the teahouse, wearing a plain long gown, watching us from afar without coming in.
She simply nodded slightly at me, her eyes showing no trace of jealousy, only understanding and tolerance, as if to say, "It's okay, I know you care about her too."
This grace, this clarity, this understanding—I will remember her kindness for a lifetime, and I will owe her a debt of gratitude that I can never repay in this lifetime.
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