Yuan Xiaozhong sighed in loneliness. He didn’t even have anyone to talk to, and as a chatterbox, he was about to die of boredom. So, he went to the lake to find Old Turtle to play with and babbled nonsense to it. But ever since he had cut a piece of flesh from Old Turtle’s leg, Old Turtle had been avoiding him. Yuan Xiaozhong used an iron net to forcibly fish Old Turtle out and sat beside it, babbling on while Old Turtle, with teary eyes, silently listened.
“When do you think Dazhong and the master will come back? You can’t talk, and Xiao Erji only spins in circles all day. Here I am, this handsome, dashing, elegant man, all alone in this big paradise. Isn’t that just too tragic? Ah, you're crying. You think it's tragic too, don't you?”
Old Turtle lay collapsed by the shore, utterly miserable. It wished it could become a spirit overnight, transform into a human, and leave this den of monsters, far away from this cruel automaton.
Suddenly, a faint disturbance at the entrance of the paradise startled it. Old Turtle turned its white head and looked over, puzzled. Yuan Xiaozhong reacted even faster than it did and dashed toward the entrance like a blur—Dazhong and the master must have returned!
But in the end, he didn’t welcome the smiling immortal lovers he had hoped for. Instead, at the entrance lay a disheveled man, covered in blood. Yuan Xiaozhong gasped and rushed over to help him up—it was Dazhong! His upper body was soaked in blood, and the wound seemed to be centered on his chest, near a vital area. Who had done this?!
Yuan Xiaozhong gently lifted Yuan Zhong and quickly ran toward the small building, but suddenly felt his wrist tightly gripped by Yuan Zhong. In a trembling voice, Yuan Zhong asked, “Tan Yin... Has she... has she come back?”
Yuan Xiaozhong, panicking, replied, “No... what happened to you? How did you end up like this?”
Yuan Zhong's brows furrowed as if he was trying to endure the pain. His face was pale, with dried blood spattered on his cheeks. His breathing alternated between rapid and shallow—a sign of a severe, life-threatening injury. Yuan Xiaozhong carefully carried him into the small building. Just as they were about to enter, Yuan Zhong whispered, “Take me... to the courtyard... under the tree...”
“You’ll die!” Yuan Xiaozhong blurted out in panic.
“Go.”
With no other choice, Yuan Xiaozhong gently placed him beneath a flowering tree. “I... I'll go get you some medicine...”
But Yuan Xiaozhong wasn’t sure what medicine to use. Dazhong’s injury was on his chest—would wound medicine help? Or should the wound be cleaned first? Yuan Xiaozhong was utterly at a loss, spinning around in circles in a panic.
Yuan Zhong rested for a moment under the tree, his expression slowly softening. He looked down at his blood-soaked clothing and began to carefully untie and remove it. Yuan Xiaozhong then noticed that Yuan Zhong's right hand hung limply by his side, as if the bones were broken, and his left foot appeared to be injured as well. The discarded clothes lay on the ground, revealing his blood-drenched body. A deep wound gaped in his chest, and thick, dark blood slowly trickled from it. Even more terrifying was that the wound seemed to be widening, as if something were corroding his flesh.
“Bandages, water, clean clothes, a comb, and a bronze mirror,” Yuan Zhong ordered simply.
At a time like this, why would he need clean clothes, a comb, and a mirror?! Yuan Xiaozhong couldn’t understand it, but reluctantly fetched the requested items.
Yuan Zhong washed the blood from his body and wrapped the wound with bandages, then changed into clean clothes. Yuan Xiaozhong held the bronze mirror in his hands as Yuan Zhong stared at it for a long time. His vision gradually blurred, making it impossible to see his reflection clearly. He sighed softly and began to carefully comb his long hair.
After what seemed like a long time, he finally managed to pin his hair up again and asked in a low voice, “How do I look?”
Yuan Xiaozhong scratched his head. “You look great! But Dazhong, your wound...”
“I’m waiting for her here,” Yuan Zhong said quietly. “Go now. Don’t disturb me.”
What was going on?! Yuan Xiaozhong felt like he was about to explode with frustration, but he stepped aside, watching Yuan Zhong intently, not daring to speak or leave. Yuan Zhong's breathing grew weaker, and his face turned paler, as if he could collapse at any moment.
For five days, he waited in the courtyard, changing his bloodstained clothes repeatedly, always maintaining his best appearance.
The willow trees by the lake had sprouted tender buds, and the wind carried the warm, sweet fragrance of spring. Yuan Zhong leaned against the tree, his once-beautiful eyes now dull and lifeless, like two gray glass beads.
“Have the flowers bloomed yet?” he suddenly asked.
Yuan Xiaozhong broke off a branch of pear blossoms and handed it to him. “They’ve bloomed.”
“And Xiao Erji?”
“I... I'll go bring it here.”
Just as Yuan Xiaozhong turned to leave, suddenly, he saw Tan Yin. She was dressed in white, floating in the distance just outside the courtyard. Most of her body seemed translucent, and her white robe fluttered in the wind. Yuan Xiaozhong’s jaw nearly dropped to the ground. He pointed at her, stammering and jumping wildly, “Your body...”
Before he could finish speaking, his throat seemed to tighten, and he couldn’t make another sound. He was like a foolish frog, jumping in panic.
Don’t speak.
Tan Yin’s dark eyes quietly gazed at him. Once again, Yuan Xiaozhong saw the plea in her eyes—the same look she had shown him many days ago. Why? He still didn’t understand, but slowly, he lowered his waving hands. His expression turned gloomy, and without a word, he turned and left.
Yuan Zhong, sitting under the tree, didn’t lift his head. His dull, gray eyes stared blankly into the distance, but he could hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching through the grass. That familiar, intoxicating scent surrounded him. Someone slowly squatted down beside him and whispered, “I’ve finally found you.”
Both of them had known all along that this was where they would end up—he had waited here with certainty, and she had come with the same certainty.
Perhaps this was just another dream. He had had countless such dreams in recent days, unable to distinguish day from night. Was this real? Or was it just another illusion? He couldn’t see her face, those black gem-like eyes, always hiding a smile as gentle as the spring breeze, always saying those unspoken words of affection to him.
Yuan Zhong closed his eyes and slowly leaned his body against hers, murmuring softly, “Hold me.”
That familiar, gentle presence enveloped him. Her hair brushed against his neck, and her cold, smooth cheek rested against his. She bit her sleeve and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
I’m sorry, I can’t hold you properly.
“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.
“Mm.”
“...Do you know everything now?”
“I know.”
“Is there anything you want to say?”
Yuan Zhong remained silent for a long time—so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he suddenly spoke, “If you want my left hand, I’ll give it to you.”
“Don’t do that,” she shook her head.
“Then say you love me,” his voice once again became feverish.
This familiar conversation had occurred countless times in his dreams. She had never said anything, and he had chased after her like a monkey chasing the moon, blindly believing, blindly pursuing. He had traveled to countless places, met countless people, and even laughed and flirted with many beautiful women, but his heart had always remained on the Gui Xuan Terrace, in her eyes.
When would this feverish passion ever come to an end?
You love me. You just don’t want to say it. Even now, you don’t want to say it.
Suddenly, a few drops of water fell on his lips, tasting salty and bitter—tears.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. This was the first time, and perhaps the last. “Yuan Zhong, I love you.”
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