He caught his breath.
silence.
A deathly silence.
Even the sound of the lights exploding disappeared.
All that remained was the flickering candlelight and Yan Zhuoxu's frozen face.
The hand that was turning the prayer beads froze for a moment.
The dark, heavy Bodhi prayer beads lost their weight at that moment.
It fell to the ground with a "thud".
All his composure and aloofness, all the high walls he had built, crumbled into dust before this scroll of "scripture".
In an instant, a stormy sea surged within those eyes!
He stared intently at that skin, as if he could see his years of perseverance and reason being burned away.
There is no hope for the future, and even gods and Buddhas will not save us.
Yan Zhuoxu's fingertips trembled. He abruptly stood up and lifted Shen Zhiyi off the ground. "Do you know what you're doing?!"
Shen Zhiyi looked completely innocent: "I was copying scriptures for the master..."
Yan Zhuoxu stared intently at her face.
A clear, gentle face, as compassionate as that of a god or Buddha.
It was only he who fell into depravity and collapse.
He closed his eyes tightly.
"go out……"
"Get out of here!"
The door closed.
He leaned against the door frame, slowly slid down, and fell to the ground.
Scripture, flesh...
Ink, snow white...
The Buddha's smile, her smile...
Yan Zhuoxu collapsed to the ground in agony, the world spinning around him, as if it were falling apart.
He seemed to see himself falling into the deepest hell...
Something fell out of my arms.
It was her silk handkerchief.
Yan Zhuoxu picked up the handkerchief, her hands trembling slightly, and held it up in front of her.
Then, I buried my face in it and took a deep sniff...
He fainted.
Yan Zhuoxu had a dream while he was running a high fever.
A wretched and bewildering dream before the Buddha...
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