My current panic and paranoia may seem childish and laughable to her, like a child who loses his composure when his thoughts are exposed.
She was so clumsy at even trying to cover it up; she didn't even realize her breathing was out of control, and I had to be reminded by her that "you don't need to think too much."
My fingertips unconsciously traced the cool, celadon cup's surface. The crackled patterns on the cup pressed against my fingertips, providing a distinct tactile sensation that cleared my muddled mind somewhat.
A bizarre yet persistent thought suddenly popped into my head: I think I really did touch something...
Those causal cycles that only exist in myths and legends, those temporal and spatial boundaries that transcend ordinary cognition.
Those stories that we dismissed as "superstition" or "nonsense" were actually not unfounded.
Just like Qianluo's departure, it turned out that it was not an accident, but a footnote that had been written in her destiny chart long ago—she came into this world just to repay me for the "dignity" from my previous life.
I will return the warmth I gave her, twofold.
Just like our meeting, it was nothing more than a cotton-padded jacket with a worn-out collar and crooked plum blossoms embroidered on it from a past life, and a shallow pit dug with a carrying pole, stained with my blood.
A blessing like "Girl, you've entered a good era, don't suffer anymore" only brought about a short journey.
Just like Xin Zimo's appearance, it was to help me break through the layer of paper covering the truth, so that I would no longer be trapped in the vicious cycle of "why I forgot" and "why I lost".
No longer would I torture myself by hugging a scarf in an empty room, and no longer would I regard Qianluo's love as a one-sided illusion.
The jasmine scent still lingered in the study, mixed with a faint aroma of Longjing tea, lingering around the nose, sweet and warm.
Like the honey water Qianluo used to make for me—she was always afraid I'd find it too bitter, so she'd add an extra half spoonful of sugar.
She would also gently scratch the tip of my nose with her fingertips and say, "A-Yun is a little sugar doll, she should be sweet and happy, she can't always be frowning."
Moonlight streamed through the bamboo blinds, casting a pale silver hue on Xin Ziming's hair and dappling the floor with its shadows.
It was like a handful of crushed stars sprinkled on top, or like the frosting Qianluo used to sprinkle on my birthday cake—sparkling and sweet.
This bizarre conversation, amidst the fragrance and light filling the room, took on an unreal tranquility, like a dream from which one cannot awaken.
But the red marks on his palms from being pinched by fingernails, the jasmine scent lingering around his nose, and the indescribable sense of melancholy in his heart—there was relief, regret, and a deep longing for Qianluo.
They were all so real that they broke my heart, forcing me to admit it.
Some things are perhaps far more complex, far more tender, and far more regrettable than the "truth" I, a forensic pathologist who believes in science, can comprehend...
Just as the wind blows and flowers wither, some people are destined to accompany you for only a short while, but they can stay in your heart for a lifetime.
I dared not think any deeper, but the worry in my heart was like a cotton ball soaked in water, absorbing the coolness of the night and the tossing and turning of the past few days, weighing heavily on me.
My chest felt heavy and suffocated, even my breathing was labored and labored. Every rise and fall felt like dragging a wad of damp cotton wool over my heart, leaving a faint ache.
Even her fingertips trembled, and the hem of her clothes, which she was holding, crumpled into a ball.
After hesitating for a long time, he repeatedly rubbed the celadon cup with his fingertips. His warm palms left a shallow damp mark on the cool porcelain surface, and even his fingertips were frozen stiff.
Unconsciously, her fingernails dug into the anti-slip texture of the cup, pressing the fine lines until they were warm, her knuckles turning a faint white, as if she were clutching something she was about to lose.
She finally spoke, her voice so soft it was as if she were afraid to disturb the aroma of Longjing tea wafting in the study, or as if she were afraid to shatter the fragile hope in her heart that could break at the slightest touch.
"Qianluo...she will be happy, right?"
As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt a tightness in my throat, as if it were being gently constricted by a thin thread. Even swallowing was a slight pain, and my eyes welled up with tears.
Something warm was swirling inside, blurring Xin Ziming's figure.
Actually, I wanted to ask much more than that—I wanted to ask if she would live longer in her next life, long enough to properly savor all the tomato and beef brisket noodles at the small noodle shop at the end of the alley.
She always wrinkled her nose and complained that the owner didn't put in enough beef brisket, but she always drank the soup at the bottom of the bowl clean and would lick her lips.
With a smile, she said, her eyes still wet with the orange-red broth, "Next time I'll ask the owner to add more meat, or I'll just stay here and make him give me a free meal, since I'm a regular customer."
Once, the owner really added extra meat, and she excitedly waved her chopsticks at me, her eyes shining like stars, and said, "Ah Yun, look, the owner is afraid I won't pay."
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