After Chapter 80 passed away, he had no home.
When Song Xieqing first met Zhu Hao, she was eighteen years old. Beneath the timid and submissive appearance of the young lady was a sharp blade that was getting sharper and sharper. When they first met, he saw through the sharpness of this blade.
At first she was completely obedient to him and respected him, but in fact they did not like each other and she was even a little afraid of him. Later, Zhu Haohao became bolder and no longer concealed her rebellious nature, and would retort to him from time to time... He and the young lady had prayed to heaven and earth and were married with true love, and they had been in contact for sixty-two years.
The black hair he kissed gradually turned white, but in the past sixty-two years, the time he spent with Zhu Hao was very few. More than once, he felt that he was not worthy of being her husband, and more than once he wanted to erase her memory so that she would not have to feel sad because of him.
Zhu Hao could always see through his thoughts and beat him up with both fists...
The plum trees in the courtyard were lush and flourishing, their twisted roots deeply penetrating into their little world. There were no snakeheads in the pond, only a layer of floating ice. A small mound rose up beside the pond, next to another small mound.
The wind blew through the branches of the plum blossoms, and the bright red petals were blown to the ground, while the fine snow and the withered petals were intertwined in the air.
The wind blew the snow, and the snow blew the flowers into the corridor.
The urgent ringing of bells under the eaves breaks the cold silence of deep winter.
The broken snow and flying petals passed through the eaves and landed on Zhu Haoru's frosty hair.
Song Xieqing held her carefully in his arms, and his dry lips opened and closed several times, but only a faint sound came out.
It wasn't until he tried for who knows how many times that he finally heard the hoarse whisper: "...Who are you?"
"Song's surname is Lang, and his courtesy name is Xieqing. He is your husband..." He replied in his usual gentle voice, "Just now you told me that you wanted to watch the last snow with me, so I carried you out of the house."
Song Xieqing lowered his head and gently rubbed her cold forehead. "Would you please open your eyes and take a look? Do you like it? Do you want it to snow harder or softer? If you don't like it, I won't just make it snow. I'll make it snow whatever you like. A rain of flowers? Sweet cakes? Gold or silver, as long as you like it."
Zhu Hao's misty eyes seemed to be filled with falling snow, without a single ray of light. Even breathing became labored for her. The pain had tortured her body to the point of being emaciated. Song Xieqing brushed away the snow particles that had fallen on his wife's clothes and temples, and gently stroked her thin back, "Pianpian, is it still painful?"
She nodded slowly, and a breathless sound came out from her pale lips: "Yeah."
"Pianpian, do you remember who I am now?"
"Um……"
Song Xieqing's tears rolled down her collar. He asked in a trembling voice, "Pianpian, is your life... still..."
"Um."
Zhu Hao raised her face with difficulty in his arms, and hot tears fell on her eyelashes. Zhu Hao gasped weakly and said word by word: "Don't cry... Xie Qing..."
He cries so much, who will wipe his tears for her in the future?
"Xieqing..." Her skinny hand trembled as she lifted it up. Song Xieqing quickly wiped his tear-stained face and guided her hand to his cheek. His well-defined fingertips caressed his equally wrinkled skin, and he forced a smile, "Xieqing, don't cry... I want to see your original appearance again... Okay?"
As soon as she finished speaking, the old man with white hair and wrinkled face in front of her disappeared like clouds and mist, transforming into a handsome young man. Tears flowed from Zhu Hao's cloudy eyes. Her fingertips traced his eyebrows and eyes stroke by stroke. She frowned and said, "Song Xieqing... I'm going to tell you a secret. Do you want to hear it? You... come closer..."
She spoke incoherently, with incomplete beginnings and endings, just like the drifting snow outside the corridor, which made him unpredictable. Song Xieqing couldn't hear clearly. He leaned in closer. Zhu Hao frowned, her lips trembling slightly. After a long time, he finally made out three words from the vague syllables: "I'm in so much pain..."
"Song Xieqing, I'm in so much pain..."
Her voice was faint, but like a blunt knife, it pierced his heart. Song Xieqing hugged his wife tighter, tears streaming down his face, soaking his clothes. The situation now was completely different from before. Killing demons and accumulating blessings wouldn't protect her. Zhu Hao was a living being, unable to escape the cycle of birth, old age, sickness, and death.
These days, he used his divine power to keep her in the human world. Is she... really happy?
She had to stay in bed all day, and when she was unconscious, she didn't even recognize him. She would vomit out most of the medicine she was fed... not to mention the three illnesses and four pains that gnawed at her from time to time... Did she really want to linger on like this?
"I'm sorry..." He raised his hands to cover his face, hot tears seeping out from between his fingers, "I...I didn't do it...I wish you a long life."
The breath of the person in his arms was becoming increasingly faint, like a dying lamp on a snowy night. Song Xieqing tore his throat, calling out her nickname over and over again, but there was no response. His fingertips condensed into a green light and gently tapped the back of Zhu Hao's neck, "Pian Pian, it won't hurt anymore."
…
Song Xieqing did not plan to hold a funeral. Firstly, most of Zhu Hao's former relatives and friends had passed away before her. Secondly, those who were still alive, such as Miao Li, had married far away decades ago, but divorced due to marital discord within a few years. She returned to her hometown alone with her young child. She was now in her seventies and eighties and could not withstand the torture of the long journey. Thirdly, regarding her funeral arrangements... Zhu Hao had made all the necessary instructions before her death, one of which was that there would be no need for a funeral.
Therefore, Song Xieqing simply drafted a few letters and sent them to those friends who were still alive and had a close relationship with Zhu Hao to inform them briefly, and then the matter was over.
He personally wiped his wife's body, tied her up in her favorite bun, and changed her into the clothes he had sewn for her... Speaking of sewing, Zhu Hao had patiently taught him stitch by stitch for a long time. In case Song Xieqing's skills were not good enough, Zhu Hao prepared several new clothes for herself early on, so that she would not have to be buried in the "rags" he had sewn in the future. If that really happened, she would probably be so angry that she would lift the coffin!
After everything was tidied up, Song Xieqing couldn't help crying and hugged her for a long time. Zhu's well-tied bun was rubbed loose by him, and her delicate makeup was blurred by his tears. Even the front of her clothes was wet with tears.
Song Xieqing slapped himself hard, and the crisp sound startled a magpie on the branch.
With red eyes and holding back tears, he reapplied makeup for his wife, arranged her hair, and changed her clothes...
She said she wanted to be buried on the highest mountain in the world.
So, he carried his wife on his back and climbed up the highest mountain on earth, the Sun Mountain, step by step. The land was vast and the sky was long, and the clouds were touchable.
Zhu Hao maintained the same peaceful and quiet state as when he first died because of his magic, but as time went on, the hair of the two of them became entangled together unconsciously, and could not be separated.
Song Xieqing hugged her tombstone numbly, watching the snow on Rishan Mountain melt, new buds emerge from the soil, and the smell of decay dissipate in the spring breeze... until the sultry heat of summer came heavily, and the chirping of cicadas pierced the silence of the forest. When the autumn wind blew, the dead leaves rolled up the withered grass and retreated, and the winter snow came again, burying everything in the mountains in a vast expanse of white.
From then on, he had no home.
Song Xieqing returned to Huaicheng. When he pushed open the door of Zhu's house, the pomegranate tree in the yard had wilted. He glanced at it indifferently and had no intention of taking care of it anymore.
He sorted out his wife's belongings one by one. Every time he touched an old item, it felt like a knife stabbing his heart. Sometimes he had to spend a whole day folding a piece of clothing. If Song Xieqing's tears accidentally wetted the items she had sorted out, he would slap her in the face immediately.
After putting all the items in the house in place, Song Xieqingfang stepped out of the house. Just as he was about to lock the door, he saw a figure walking slowly in the street with a cane.
Song Xieqing did not use any magic to conceal his age, and still had the handsome appearance of a young man. Shi Chunsheng stood a few steps away from him, and there was no trace of surprise on his old face.
"Where have you been all these years? Miaoli, I, and the others have all received your letter. Although we can't attend the funeral, how can we not come and see her off? You're so good... you completely ignore us, our elderly age. We rushed back day and night, and the Zhu residence was already empty..."
He kept talking, but the person in front of him never said a word. The face that was exactly the same as it was sixty years ago looked even more vicissitudes of life than he, an old man over eighty years old. There were large dark spots under his eyes, and the whites of his eyes were covered with bloodshot. His black hair was messy and disheveled, obviously he had not taken care of it for several months.
Shi Chunsheng turned his back and wiped the moisture from the corners of his eyes. When he turned back, his expression was normal. He asked, "Did she suffer when she left?"
Song Xieqing's voice was hoarse, "Once I fall asleep, I won't wake up again."
They were both silent. Song Xieqing looked up and saw Shi Chunsheng secretly wiping away tears. He sneered, "After decades of ups and downs in government and politics, he's still only an eighth-rank historian when he retires and returns home. If Wen Minyu and our ancestors knew, they would be pissed to death."
Shi Chunsheng's eyes were filled with tears, but his lips couldn't help but curl up, "Aren't you my ancestor? How are you? Are you angry?"
Seeing him teasing like this, Song Xieqing couldn't laugh anymore. "Why... do you have to do this?"
Shi Chunsheng's face was gaunt. Although he was old, he still showed some of the elegant demeanor of his youth. He raised his eyebrows, revealing a hint of sarcasm. "You don't think... I'm doing this for you?"
Why did he embark on this journey? Initially, he had never considered entering the government, but later, his grandfather's health deteriorated day by day, and his father and brother passed away one after another due to a family ailment. Naturally, he became the sole supporter of the family. His grandfather's lifelong regret was not passing the imperial examination, and he was suspicious of Song Xieqing's identity at the time. Therefore, entering the court as an official was the best option at that time.
If you say it was for Song Xieqing, then of course it wasn't. If you say it was all for Zhu Hao, then that wasn't entirely the case.
In the year when Shi Chunsheng was about to be exiled, the person in the palace learned that he was a descendant of the Song Lang family, and issued an imperial edict to invite him into the palace. The young emperor drank tea and recounted the events of a hundred years ago like a storyteller.
The founding emperor of Dacheng was still resentful of the fact that the imperial tutor of the previous dynasty refused to serve as an official in the new dynasty. Song Langfang even refused to accept a penny of the gold and silver rewards. Therefore, when the emperor passed away, he issued a special oral decree - any descendants of the Song family who came to the court or begged for help from the court, as long as it did not violate the principles of heaven, would be granted, no matter how much gold and silver they were given, or whether they were appointed as prime ministers or given titles of nobility.
In this way, a bright future was paved before Shi Chunsheng.
He knelt down at the foot of the platform and kowtowed to express his gratitude.
The young emperor smiled instead of getting angry. He played with the jade cup in his hand and said, "Eh, could it be that the Song family is all stubborn in their bones?"
Shi Chunsheng did not do this just for Song Xieqing, nor did he do it just for Zhu Hao, nor did he do it just to fulfill his grandfather's last wish. It was for this reason that he resolutely and openly declined all the favors the emperor had given him for being a "descendant of the Song family."
Perhaps, when he first entered the official career, he really only wanted to uncover the truth that had been buried for a hundred years, for the sake of blessing, and to fulfill his grandfather's last wish. But when he saw the students who traveled far away from home and studied hard, and the censors who were not afraid of power and spoke out boldly, when he opened the history books, he realized that it was not just Song Lang who had his reputation tampered with, and those corrupt officials were transformed into honest and people-loving officials under the historical pens piled with gold and silver... The road he embarked on was no longer just for one or two people, but for tens of millions of people in the world, to restore clarity to the world.
As long as he held the pen of history in his hands, as long as he could still lift it and grind ink, what did it matter what rank he held? Even if the powerful and influential repeatedly suppressed him, leaving him trapped at the eighth rank and unable to advance an inch, what did it matter?
His lifelong ambition was to live up to the pen in his hand and to the loyal ministers who protected the country and the people. He would say what was good was good without any false praise, and what was wrong was wrong without any concealment. He did not do so to please flattery, and did not make mistakes. He just wanted to have a clear conscience, and that was all.
Thinking of this, Shi Chunsheng suddenly found it funny. He looked up at Song Xieqing and said, "Don't take yourself too seriously..."
Song Xieqing's face, which had been dull since he wished him a long and happy death, showed a trace of emotion, but he did not seem to be forgiving. "It's up to you, an eighth-rank official."
He locked the door and was too lazy to pay any more attention to the elderly man. Just as he was about to leave, Shi Chunsheng called him.
Song Xieqing knew what he meant and said calmly, "I buried her on the top of Sun Mountain. If you want to see her, you can do so."
He paused, glanced sideways at Shi Chunsheng, who was half submerged in the earth, and said, "I have some free time now. If you'd like, I can give you a ride."
"Rishan..." Shi Chunsheng's cloudy eyes misted, but he just shook his head. "No need. This is also her wish, right? No mourning hall, no funeral, but buried in such a high mountain... But it's all good. Every day the scorching sun shines on Pianpian first, and the freshest mountain breeze brushes Pianpian's cheek first... Why should I bother disturbing her peace and tranquility?"
Song Xieqing stared at him for a moment, said nothing more, and turned away.
Seeing him walking away, Shi Chunsheng's hand on the crutch trembled constantly, and tears burst out, sinking into the deep and shallow wrinkles on his face. For many years, he had been depicting Zhu Hao's face in his mind every day, and he dared not slack off for fear of forgetting her at all.
When Shi Chunsheng raised his eyes, he saw Song Xieqing's figure suddenly disappear like morning dew. Although he had roughly figured out Song Xieqing's identity, Shi Chunsheng was still shocked to see a living person disappear like clouds and mist. When the last wisp of smoke was blown away by the wind, he could not describe his mood at this moment.
He looked out at Sun Mountain and realized that… even gods could lose their loved ones, and there was nothing they could do about it.
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The author has something to say: Happy Dragon Boat Festival [Green Heart]
Good is good, without the slightest false praise; bad is bad, without the slightest concealment; do not flatter, and do not make mistakes. — Hai Rui, Ming Dynasty, "Memorials on Public Security"
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