Qingming Festival [End of Text]
It was Qingming Festival again. On this day, two old employees were whispering in the elevator of Shen’s Building.
"Every year at this time, the young master will give himself a day off."
"Really? I've never seen him relax. He always has a stern face every day."
"Four years." The old man lowered his voice. "I guess he must have gone to see that..."
Shen Zhihe returned home, his fingertips caressing the edge of the photo frame, his fingertips brushing the spire of the Eiffel Tower on the yellowed photographic paper. The corners of Gu Hanzhi's mouth curled up in a smile, still as clear as yesterday. His Adam's apple moved, and his voice was so soft that it seemed to blend into the Qingming rain outside the window: "Hanzhi, Qingming Festival is here. I promised to come see you when Zhiyi goes abroad..."
The copper bell at the entrance suddenly rang. Three "dong, dong, dong" sounds shattered the silence in the room. Shen Zhihe paused, his fingertips leaving a shallow impression on the back of the photo frame. Then he turned and stuffed the photo into the bottom drawer of the desk. The lock clicked shut, as if sealing that time firmly inside.
When he went downstairs and opened the door, the spring breeze was just coming in with a few wisps of rain. Lin Yue stood on the porch, carrying a heavy basket of vegetables. Her light-colored clothes made her figure look even more slender. A deliberately gentle smile was on her face. "Zhihe, I'm going to buy some vegetables. I'll make you some chicken soup later to nourish you, okay?"
Shen Zhihe's gaze passed over her, not lingering on her carefully groomed face for even a second, before landing on the rain-soaked sycamore leaves in the distance. His tone was flat and without a trace of emotion: "You know, I won't be back for dinner tonight."
Lin Yue's smile froze, and her fingers tightened around the handle of the vegetable basket, but she still managed to speak softly, "Then I'll make the soup and heat it up for you when you get back."
"No need." Shen Zhihe moved aside to make room for the door. "If you have nothing else to do, please feel free to do as you please. I still have to go back to the study to sort out some things." There was no impatience in his voice, but it carried a kind of alienation that kept people at a distance, like a thin layer of ice wrapped around his body that no one could warm up.
Lin Yue pursed her lips, holding the bowl of soup, and said with a hint of unwillingness in her voice: "You haven't had the chicken soup I made for a long time, try it."
Shen Zhihe didn't even raise his eyes, his tone as cold as ice: "You know exactly what position you hold in my heart. Don't have any thoughts that you shouldn't have."
Lin Yue's fingertips trembled, and ripples appeared on the surface of the soup. She lowered her head and said in a voice as light as the wind: "I understand..."
Lin Yue looked at his back as he turned around, bit her lower lip, and could only watch the wooden door slowly close in front of her, isolating all the warmth outside.
"It's been four years, why haven't you forgotten her..."
In the study, Shen Zhihe reopened the drawer and ran his fingertips over the cool photo frame. The rain was still falling outside the window, and amidst the patter, he seemed to hear Gu Hanzhi calling him with a smile from under the Eiffel Tower: "Zhihe, come here quickly, let's take a picture as a souvenir!"
He closed his eyes, and a tear fell on the glass of the photo frame, leaving a small stain.
…
In the afternoon, Shen Zhihe pushed open the door of the "Tangzhi" bookstore, and the orange cat "Azhi" was sitting quietly on a small chair.
This is a quiet little shop. When people asked him why he chose this name, he just smiled and said that the name came from the agreement he made with an old friend.
The store is softly lit, and the scent of books is mixed with the smell of coffee and cat food.
He first gave Ah Zhi some food, then began his daily routine: sorting new books, unwrapping old ones, and wiping dusty spines. Each step felt like caring for a memory.
There weren't many customers in the afternoon, just a few familiar faces. As evening approached, he would write down the day's accounts. The bookstore's profits were slim, but enough to make a living. More importantly, he had a promise to keep.
At night, the bookstore closes.
After confirming that no one was coming, he switched on the light on the bookshelf. The light dimmed and brightened, and the bookshelf slowly moved away, revealing a narrow gap.
Shen Zhihe walked in sideways and saw a secret room surrounded by roses in front of him, with a convalescent cabin lying quietly in the center.
The woman in the cabin had cold and pale skin, like an eighteen-year-old girl.
"Hanzhi, it's been four years. You must be lonely too. It's okay. I'm here to find you."
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then took out the knife he had been holding in his hand and cut his wrist without hesitation. Blood gushed out and slowly flowed down the wall.
His vision gradually blurred, and he used up his last bit of strength to fall beside her, shoulder to shoulder with her, and closed his eyes quietly.
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