bayedsolid Chapter 213 Confession
Chapter 213 Confession
There was no frenzy like that day, only the tenderness before my eyes. Our lips touched, our breaths blended, as if we were floating on the sea under the moon, floating up and down with the sparkling waves, no matter how surging the waves were or how fierce the wind was.
We are a peaceful haven.
After a gentle kiss, he and I opened our eyes at the same time.
I smiled: "Your kiss is salty."
He smiled shyly, his eyes shining brightly, reflecting the moonlight and sparkling with stars, and then became as deep as the night.
His Adam's apple rolled, then he closed his eyes and slowly approached me, clasping one hand behind my head. I could feel his breath becoming hot, and I couldn't help feeling dizzy and my mouth dry.
This kind of atmosphere made me involuntarily think of that dim, doomsday-like afternoon.
He held me and I had nowhere to escape. I could only accept his kisses dizzily, which were as dense and rapid as the rain that day, and then became deep and long.
My hands were too weak to wrap around his neck, and they slowly fell onto his chest.
His heartbeat was fast and powerful, pounding like the rumbling thunder of spring or the beat of drums at a summer festival.
With his other hand, he grabbed my hand that was resting on his chest and interlocked our fingers. His palm was also burning hot.
I don't know how long it was before he finally let me go.
I lost my strength and fell to the grass.
He leaned down, sat next to me, and helped me lean on his shoulders.
I leaned against him, and within my field of vision were the hanging wisteria flowers, each of which was connected to the branch by only a hair-thin tendril, swaying in the wind. They were so fragile, as if they would fall at any moment, and yet so tenacious, trying hard to hold on to the branches.
In the night sky above the wisteria, stars are twinkling.
He followed my gaze and looked up, saying, "That's the Altair and Vega."
I murmured, "The Milky Way is so clear and shallow, how far apart are they?"
He patted my shoulder gently, as if he was coaxing a child to sleep.
"Jing, do you know where I come from?"
His hand stopped, and he immediately replied: "I heard that your hometown is in the north of the Central Plains, closer to Xiyan?"
I shook my head. A breeze blew by, and he sniffed and said, "Why do I smell a scent that's not wisteria?"
I replied, "I put on the powder. Xiaowei and the others gave me a birthday gift called camellia scented powder." I held his hand and felt a little courage. Then I said, "My hometown is farther away than there, farther than the North, farther than any time and any territory you know."
He said nothing, as if he was thinking about what I said.
Such a good night, such a good person, I probably sighed that the present was too beautiful, and gave birth to a gurgling desire to talk. It may also be that after I came here, I never dared to talk to anyone, and I told Tu Shanjing one lie after another to cover up my secrets, and I was about to reach my limit.
"In my hometown, the speed of light is called a light-year. It is faster than a raccoon's lunge and faster than the fastest horse in the world. It takes about 16 light-years from Altair to Vega. Taking the fastest car there, it only takes a few hours to get from Qingqiu to Chenyi City, but it will take hundreds of years to get from Altair to Vega. The starlight of Altair and Vega that you see now is the light they emitted 27 years ago. The farther star," I raised my hand and pointed to a dim star, and continued, "I don't know how many light-years away it is from us. Maybe when its light reaches your eyes, it has already fallen and disappeared, leaving only the light that it tried to emit long ago. The Milky Way is brilliant, but human beings are insignificant. The lonely moon and wandering stars have traveled through billions of light-years, silently conveying light to you, trying to send out letters that I don't know if there will be any response."
I stood up from his shoulder and looked at him: "Altair and Vega don't meet once a year. Otherwise, people in our place may never see them communicate with each other in their entire lives. In our place, husband and wife are a pair for life. They choose one person and live together until the river of oblivion separates them."
He spoke thoughtfully: "You want to say..."
I looked at him steadily: "I don't want to be a concubine. Originally, I didn't come here for love."
There was a trace of hesitation in his eyes. I took advantage of my courage and continued, "There are many things I want to say, but I will only say two things at this moment. One is that I lied to you before, I'm sorry. The other is..."
I raised my hand and emitted a spiritual power that drew a circle. The light blue circle formed a heart shape, illuminating our faces.
He looked over and asked, "What is this spell...?"
I stroked his face. "You've seen it. I drew it on the back of the letter I wrote to you. It means in my hometown—"
Then I leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I like you."
As soon as I finished speaking, I raised my hand and pressed the acupuncture point on the back of his neck neither too hard nor too soft.
He fell backwards with his eyes wide open, then closed them like Sleeping Beauty and passed out.
I held the back of his head and looked at his eyebrows from top to bottom.
The warm atmosphere of mutual support just now has not yet dissipated.
A tear fell from my eye and streaked across the mole between his eyebrows.
"Thank you for giving me a beautiful dream."
He lay in the grass, and a gust of wind blew, and two small wisteria flowers fell on his face.
I stared at his face, with nothing in my mind. After an unknown amount of time, he finally opened his eyes and asked in a daze, "Where are we?"
I smiled and said, "Tushan."
He sat up, looked around, and asked again with some confusion: "What are we doing here?"
I still smiled: "Appreciate the flowers and the stars, collect the wind and write poems."
He raised his eyebrows and said "Oh?" and asked inquiringly, "Is it done?"
I nodded and recited a poem by an ancient poet: "Wisteria hangs from the cloud tree, and its blossoms and vines are perfect for spring. The dense leaves hide the singing birds, and the fragrant wind keeps the beauty.*" After that, I lifted his chin and smiled like a romantic scholar.
He raised his hand and gently pushed my hand away, turned his face away and said: "The poem is good, but the person is..."
I chuckled and looked at him: "How are people?"
He stood up and patted the hem of his clothes, and his soft black hair fell from his shoulders.
"He's a bit of a non-sensical person." His voice came from below, with a hint of grievance.
I laughed out loud, and for a moment I understood the fun of those scholars teasing the singing girls and dancing girls. I walked forward a few steps with my hands behind my back, feeling very satisfied, so I turned around and said to him, "It's late at night, let's go back now."
*Quoted from “Nineteen Ancient Poems” by an anonymous author and “Wisteria Tree” by Li Bai.