The person I feel most indebted to is Cheng Muyun.
Xu Zhuohua looked at Cheng Muyun with a guilty expression, but Cheng Muyun gently shook his head. He did not blame her, but was happy that Xu Zhuohua had regained what she had lost.
The thought that Xu Zhuohua had only shown up because she was worried about him made his heart sink piece by piece.
This experience not only allowed Xu Zhuohua to see Cheng Muyun's sincerity, but also made Cheng Muyun realize how important Xu Zhuohua was to him.
For Xu Zhuohua, Cheng Muyun was as important as her own life, and she didn't want anything to happen to him.
The large ship slowly sailed away from Nanhu Lake. As the ship gradually merged into the surging Yangtze River, the night was already so dark that it could not be seen. Sparse stars dotted the dark blue sky, and the lights on both banks were stretched into blurry bands of light, swaying gently with the waves.
After several days of continuous travel and hardship, Cheng Muyun's physical strength finally gave out.
He leaned against the soft couch in the cabin, his head tilted gently towards Xu Zhuohua, his eyelids closed heavily, and his breathing gradually became even and long—beside her, he finally let down all his guard and fell into a deep sleep.
Even in his dream, he didn't let go of her hand.
That hand with distinct knuckles gripped Xu Zhuohua's clothes tightly, not with much force, but with an unyielding tightness, as if it were his only connection to this world, afraid that if he loosened his grip even slightly, the person beside him would disappear into the vast night again.
Xu Zhuohua sat sideways, her gaze fixed on his sleeping face. Her heart felt as if it were being tightly bound by something, and an unstoppable pain rose within her.
She reached out and gently brushed her fingertips across the dark circles under his eyes, those dark patches seeming to silently tell the story of every sleepless night he had endured.
If she could turn back time, she would never make that choice again.
She would rush to him immediately, hold his hand tightly, and never let him suffer the torment of the past six months alone.
He has really lost a lot of weight.
The lines of her cheeks were much sharper than I remembered, the curve of her jaw was frighteningly clear, and even her eye sockets were slightly sunken.
Fine lines had crept into the corners of his eyes, making them no longer as bright and clear as before. On his forehead, a shallow line stubbornly stretched across his face, likely etched by the passage of time from his unconsciously furrowed brows these days.
In just over six months, he seemed to have lost some of his vigor and gained a lot of vicissitudes. At first glance, he looked like he had aged five or six years.
Xu Zhuohua sighed softly and pulled the thin blanket around his shoulders.
He remained steadily beside her, his hand clutching the hem of her clothes, his sleeping posture carrying a cautious dependence, like a child lacking security who could only sleep soundly by holding onto the person he trusted most.
Xu Zhuohua looked at the bright moonlight in the sky and sighed softly.
History is history, and it cannot be changed.
But with so many changes in the past two years, how can we say that history is still the same?
Major historical events remain unchanged, but minor details differ greatly from official history.
The moonlight flowed slowly across the river, a gentle breeze blew, and the wisps of hair on Cheng Muyun's forehead swayed in the wind. Xu Zhuohua reached out and stroked Cheng Muyun's forehead.
A bitter feeling welled up in my heart.
If history truly records it, Cheng Muyun would undoubtedly die.
But by some twist of fate, I survived.
So what can be done to help Cheng Muyun escape?
It doesn't seem too difficult. All that's needed is for the newspapers to publish the news of Cheng Muyun's shooting death, for the general public to know that Cheng Muyun is dead, and for people to see a disfigured corpse.
Xu Zhuohua knew the specific time and place, which gave her the upper hand.
With the help of so many people, Cheng Muyun might be able to escape the clutches of fate.
Looking at Cheng Muyun's sleeping face, Xu Zhuohua felt a surge of warmth in her heart, and she gently kissed Cheng Muyun's forehead.
"Cheng Muyun, I will definitely save you."
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