Xu Zhuohua didn't take what happened that night to heart, and Luo Yunqiao didn't contact Cheng Muyun again.
The matter turned over in an extremely bizarre way.
Luo Yunqiao disappeared without a trace, and even the news of his divorce was never heard again, as if he had never existed.
However, Xu Zhuohua didn't take Luo Yunqiao to heart. After all, if Luo Yunqiao was no longer on good terms with Cheng Muyun, it meant that Luo Yunqiao was safe.
The real danger lay with her; she didn't know how she would die.
Xu Zhuohua asked Xu Jixin to inquire around and found that apart from Cheng Muyun's violent suppression of the rebels, he had no negative news.
They were called a rebel group, but they were really just a bunch of workers who were owed wages, and they hardly caused any trouble.
However, Xu Zhuohua knew very well what the working class represented, and if he offended these productive forces, Cheng Muyun's life would not be as smooth as before.
Xu Zhuohua wrote the last line on the paper: "The rage of productivity can never be extinguished by capitalists with bullets."
However, things have been calm lately, like the calm before the storm.
Xu Zhuohua and Cheng Muyun both kept quiet about that matter.
They're practically inseparable, like conjoined twins, and no one can separate them.
Xu Zhuohua also wanted to fully enjoy this wonderful time.
So apart from keeping an eye on Uncle Li, she basically didn't ask about anything else.
It seems that Uncle Li has nothing to do all day except keep Madam Cheng company.
Madam Cheng's spirits improved day by day, and she developed a love for tending to flowers and plants, so Cheng Yuguang filled the yard with lush green plants.
They even hired a gardener to ensure that Madam Cheng wouldn't see a single flower wither in front of her.
As dusk settles, Xu Zhuohua likes to stand on the second-floor terrace.
The evening breeze swept through the flowers and trees in the courtyard, bringing with it the sweet fragrance of gardenias and the earthy smell of soil.
Warm yellow light emanated from the greenhouse in the distance, and Uncle Li's silhouette swayed in front of the window, whether he was pruning the branches or plotting something, it was unclear.
She reached out and caught a falling wisteria petal, and suddenly remembered the ancient book that said, "The epiphyllum blooms only for the sake of Wei Tuo." For whom does this garden of everlasting flowers bloom?
Mrs. Cheng is beautiful, and so are the flowers.
Uncle Li seemed to have a close relationship with Madam Cheng. The two often talked about the past. After staring at each other for a long time, Xu Zhuohua felt as if she had discovered an incredible secret.
Uncle Li liked to keep Madam Cheng company. Sometimes their shadows stretched long on the blue bricks, resembling intertwined vines.
Uncle Li's gaze toward Madam Cheng was not exactly innocent, especially since Cheng Wenjun looked almost identical to the young Madam Cheng.
The drizzle of late spring, carrying the fragrance of gardenias, drifted through the corridor. Xu Zhuohua, through a half-rolled bamboo curtain, saw figures walking side by side on the bluestone rain path.
Madam Cheng's pearl hairpin trembled slightly with each step, and the oil-paper umbrella held by Uncle Li was always tilted to cover her shoulders, while dark water stains appeared on the right lapel of his dark blue long gown.
The two whispered something to each other. Suddenly, Madam Cheng covered her face with her handkerchief and chuckled softly. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes rippled with a girlish coquettishness. Uncle Li looked at her as if he were gazing at a fragile piece of antique porcelain.
Xu Zhuohua stroked the mottled carvings on the window frame, as if remembering something.
Uncle Li seemed even more heartbroken than Madam Cheng at Cheng Wenyun's death, after all, he had watched Cheng Wenyun grow up since she was a child, and Madam Cheng had entrusted the young Cheng Wenyun to Uncle Li's care.
Xu Zhuohua stood in the shadows, watching Uncle Li carefully replace the withered white roses with fresh peonies.
His movements as he trimmed the flower branches were so gentle as to be almost reverent, but his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses was fixed on Madam Cheng, who was admiring the flowers in the distance, as if he wanted to etch that pale yellow figure into his eyes.
Xu Zhuohua guessed that Uncle Li must have feelings for Madam Cheng, but he never expressed them because of his status and the fact that Cheng Yuguang and Madam Cheng had a very good relationship.
The young lady of the Li family and her extremely distant cousin, who had been taking care of her for so many years and had become the housekeeper of the Cheng mansion, never married or had children, choosing instead to stay with Madam Cheng.
Uncle Li truly embodies the ultimate in pure love.
However, Xu Zhuohua couldn't understand why Uncle Li, who had feelings for Madam Cheng, would harm her last child.
After all, Madam Cheng only has Cheng Muyun left as her child, how could she possibly tolerate it?
Although Mrs. Cheng eventually separated from Cheng Yuguang after Cheng Muyun's death, she went abroad alone and became an artist.
However, Xu Zhuohua immediately found out what was going on.
In early June, good news came from the Xu family: Xu's eldest sister-in-law gave birth to a boy weighing 6.6 pounds, much to everyone's delight.
The eastern route to the north has also been completed, bringing double joy.
Xu Zhuohua and Cheng Muyun went to the Xu residence for drinks, and on their way back, they witnessed something they shouldn't have seen.
That night, Cheng Muyun got drunk and was incoherent. Zhang Qi carried him upstairs. Xu Zhuohua remembered that Cheng Muyun's pistol was left in the car, so she went downstairs alone to retrieve it.
As she entered the courtyard, by sheer coincidence, she heard a sound coming from the flowerbed, and she went closer to investigate.
If Xu Zhuohua were given another chance, she would never go closer to look, and she wouldn't even pick up that damned pistol.
Xu Zhuohua walked through the wisteria trellis that blocked the view and saw Madam Cheng asleep on the recliner.
The cicadas' chirping suddenly exploded in her ears, and Xu Zhuohua's fingertips gripped the rough branches of the wisteria tightly.
The dappled sunlight filtering through the emerald leaves flickered before her eyes, fragmenting the scene into a series of disjointed images—Madam Cheng's moon-white skirt slipped down, the veins on Uncle Li's nape bulged between kisses, and his muddy fingers clutched the pale yellow silk.
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