Xin Ziming met my gaze without flinching or avoiding it. She gently tapped the rim of her teacup with her fingertips, making a soft "tap-tap" sound.
The pace was slow and steady, as if she was carefully choosing her words, or as if she was giving me and herself some time to breathe.
So that what follows won't be so abrupt or hard to accept.
The study was quiet, with only the ticking of the wall clock. Each tick struck a chord in my heart, making the wait seem exceptionally long, as if the air itself had frozen.
Only the steam from the tea was still slowly rising, forming a fine mist under the light, blurring our outlines, but not the anticipation and unease in my eyes.
I knew perfectly well that this action was absurd to the point of madness.
The Xin Zimo standing before me was clearly a stranger who had only come into my view today under the row of pine trees in the cemetery.
Just hours ago, I was clutching the bunch of wilted white chrysanthemums in front of Qianluo's grave, my fingertips pinching the edges of the petals until they turned white, and even the wind she stirred up when she approached felt like an offense.
But at this moment, I followed her up the stairs of this villa. The sound of her heels tapping on the steps was like a belated urging for my retreat.
The wind drifted in through the lattice window of the stairwell, carrying the unique scent of dried, withered grass in autumn, which for a moment reminded me of when Qianluo was still alive.
Every time I do something silly, she does this: she smiles and leans in, gently poking my forehead with her cool fingertips, her eyes curving into honey-sweet crescents.
Her voice was soft but tinged with reproach: "Ah Yun, Ah Yun, with your gentle nature, if you were ever sold out, you'd probably still be happily counting the money for them."
After counting, you still have to say 'thank you, boss!'
Her fingertips unconsciously touched her forehead, which felt empty, only the coolness of the wind, as if she could really touch the temperature of her back then.
But a voice deep inside me was as stubborn as a vine that had taken root, suffocating me: follow her, those questions that had lingered for countless nights.
Those questions that kept me tossing and turning at night, staring at the ceiling until the daylight turned the curtains a pale gray, will eventually be answered.
Like a drowning person grabbing onto a piece of driftwood, even if the wood is covered in thorns, even if they know that there may be a deeper whirlpool ahead, they are unwilling to let go.
After all, this was the only glimmer of light that made me feel "perhaps I could get closer to the truth" after Qianluo left.
As Xin Ziming led me into the study, the wind chimes on the eaves tinkled twice.
The next second, her gaze fell on me, though it wasn't exactly probing.
It was as if he were looking at an old painting covered in a thin layer of dust, yet strangely familiar, with a hint of melancholy hidden in his brows.
I could clearly feel that gaze—sliding from the top of my head to my brow bone, and then landing on the back of my tightly clenched hands.
Strangely, the tension I felt at the cemetery had disappeared.
She probably saw through even the deepest, most hidden fears in my heart—my resentment over Qianluo's sudden departure.
The confusion that suffocates you with the word "forgetting," the past that you don't even dare to delve into in your dreams.
Being seen through actually gave me a sense of nonchalant acceptance, and I even moved back a bit to sit more comfortably on the soft sofa.
Even the hands hanging on her knees loosened their grip, allowing her to examine them quietly, as if looking at an old object that had been lost and found again.
Suddenly, a faint smile appeared in her eyes.
It wasn't a flamboyant smile, but rather like a pebble gently thrown into a still lake that had just thawed, instantly creating shallow ripples that softened even the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
“It’s really silly,” she murmured, her eyes slightly lowered, her long eyelashes casting a small shadow beneath them. Her soft voice was as light as a sigh carried by the wind through a windowpane.
"They trust others too easily and have no guard up at all."
My ears twitched, but I didn't quite catch the second half of the sentence, and I was too lazy to ask.
Whether the whisper was directed at me or she was talking to herself in the air, it didn't seem to matter much.
What's currently weighing on my mind are those dense, spiderweb-like questions that are suffocating me.
What kind of past buried by time is hidden in her words "only this one love affair" at Qianluo's grave?
Does that seemingly casual phrase, "Forgetting isn't your fault," imply that those hazy fragments of memory weren't something I deliberately discarded?
And that vague phrase "another world" is like a thin, almost invisible thorn, piercing the softest part of my heart, making even breathing a dull ache.
Every time I close my eyes at night, I think of the last look Qianluo gave me, as if she had something left unsaid.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
