Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 1057

The dormer window of the ember attic was still swinging back and forth, and the iron hinges made a harsh creaking sound, as if wailing for this sudden change. Fu Shiyan's leather shoes stepped on the scattered letter paper, and water stains spread on the word "Monet", blurring into a blurred blue, just like his chaotic state of mind at the moment. The tin box lay open next to the camphorwood box, and the rust on the edge rubbed against his mother's blue cheongsam, leaving an ugly brown mark. The unsent letter at the bottom was rustling in the draft, and the corners brushed Fu Shiyan's ankles, like a restless snake, reminding him of everything that had just happened. His fingers stroked the faded one-inch photo on the diagnosis book. He still had the youthfulness of a teenager in the photo, and his eyes were bright enough to reflect the skylight. But now the man in the mirror had only indelible fatigue in his eyes, and the scar under his left brow itched on rainy days. It was the medal he got when he blocked Shen Zhiyi's motorcycle at the age of fifteen, but now it looked like a hideous mockery. "Zhiyi?" His voice echoed in the empty attic, startling the moths nesting in the cracks of the wall. Fu Shiyan suddenly remembered Shen Zhiyi's trembling shoulders when she had her back to him at the stairs, like a young bird drenched by a rainstorm. At that time, he was holding a strawberry cake in his hand, and the sweet aroma of cream mixed with the smell of rain drifted into his nostrils. Now, only the coldness remained in his palms. He turned and rushed down the stairs, the wooden ladder groaning in the sound of his hurried footsteps. The wall clock in the living room pointed to 3:17, and the sound of the hour hand crossing the clock face was particularly clear in the silence, as if counting down to something. The umbrella in the porch was still hanging on the rack, and water droplets fell along the ribs onto the bluestone slabs, forming small puddles. Fu Shiyan grabbed the thickest black umbrella, his knuckles were white from pinching it, and the anti-slip grooves of the umbrella handle dug into his palm, leaving several red marks. The moment he pushed open the door, a strong wind and heavy rain came towards him, making half of his body numb. The ginkgo tree in the courtyard was blown to and fro, and its leaves trembled wildly in the wind and rain, like countless slapping palms. The lily of the valley in the flowerbed had already been destroyed beyond recognition, and the white petals fell to the ground, stained with mud, looking miserable. Fu Shiyan rushed into the rain, his black shirt instantly soaked, sticking to his back and outlining his bony shoulder blades. Three years ago in the intensive care unit, he was also like this, his hospital gown was soaked with cold sweat, the alarm of the monitor exploded in his ears, and the nurse pressed his chest with such force that it almost crushed his ribs. What supported him to open his eyes at that time was the nurse's words, "Miss Shen is awake, and she is asking when you will go to see her." The plane trees across the street swayed in the wind and rain, like a group of drunkards dancing in a chaotic manner. Fu Shiyan's gaze penetrated the rain curtain and fell on the thin figure under the tree - Shen Zhiyi squatted there with her knees hugged, her long wet hair sticking to her cheeks, her skirt blown up by the wind, revealing her pale ankles. "Zhiyi!" He almost roared as he rushed across the road, and the splashing water wet his trouser legs. The heavy rain blurred his vision, and he almost tripped over the curb several times, and he didn't even notice the pain in his palms from the umbrella handle. When he ran closer, he found that she was shivering, not from the cold, but from the trembling in her bones. Fu Shiyan reached out and grabbed her shoulders. The skin touched by his palm was surprisingly hot, as if he was holding a burning fire. "You have a fever." His voice was tense, and his fingertips unconsciously exerted force. Shen Zhiyi slowly raised her head, the rain slid down her jawline, gathered into water beads at the tip of her chin, and then fell heavily on her collar. Her eyes were frighteningly red, bloodshot all over the whites of her eyes, and her pupils reflected the rain curtain, like two clusters of charcoal fires that burned to the end and could go out at any time. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice was very soft, but it was like an ice-hardened awl, piercing Fu Shiyan's heart fiercely. Every word was wrapped in the chill of rain, with tearful questioning, and it made his eardrums hurt amid the thunder. Fu Shiyan opened his mouth, but his throat seemed to be blocked by something, and he couldn't make any sound. He wanted to say "I'm afraid you can't bear it", wanted to say "I don't want to make you sad", but these words seemed so pale and powerless in front of her red eyes. "Do you think I can live peacefully like this?" Shen Zhiyi pushed his hand away so violently that she nearly fell. "Fu Shiyan, what have you turned me into?" Her questions were like dense raindrops, hitting Fu Shiyan so hard that he couldn't lift his head. He looked at her wet eyelashes and remembered that three years ago in the mental hospital, she had asked him with the same wet eyes: "Brother Shiyan, am I useless?" Back then, he could still smile and ruffle her hair, saying, "Zhiyi is the best." But now, he couldn't even utter a word of comfort. Fu Shiyan subconsciously raised his hand to wipe the rain from her face, but just as his fingertips were about to touch her cheek, he was violently shoved away. "Don't touch me!" Shen Zhiyi's voice suddenly rose, filled with the sound of a broken sob. "Do you know that I have nightmares every day? I dream of you lying on the operating table, covered in blood... I dreamed that the pen I signed with turned into a knife, cutting you one by one..." Her voice was choked and almost incoherent, and each word seemed to be squeezed from her throat, with the taste of blood. "I would rather be the one dying, Fu Shiyan, I really would rather be the one dying!" The last sentence was like a thunderclap, exploding in Fu Shiyan's mind. He looked at the crumbling girl in front of him, the despair and pain in her eyes, and the emotions that had been pent up for three years suddenly found an outlet. Fu Shiyan suddenly laughed, his laughter was low and suppressed, wrapped in thick despair, and echoed in the rain. The rain slid down his forehead and dripped into his eyes, making him unable to open his eyes. "Then what are these three years for me?" He suddenly reached out and grabbed Shen Zhiyi's wrist, pulling her into his arms with such force that it seemed as if he wanted to crush the two of them together, "When I was struggling in the intensive care unit, every time I wanted to give up, what supported me was the thought that you should live well!" His voice was hoarse as if it had been rubbed by sandpaper, and the vibration of his chest was transmitted through the skin that was pressed against them, with a burning temperature. "When I was lying in bed unable to move, the nurse read your drawings to me; when I had an immune response and felt so painful that I wanted to die, I gritted my teeth looking at the postcard you sent me; when I lost my sense of taste and couldn't taste anything, as long as I thought of you saying that we would go eat strawberry cake together when I got better, my mouth would feel sweet..." "Shen Zhiyi," he held her face and forced her to look at his eyes. The moment the anesthetic was injected into her blood vessels, she saw his back as he turned and left, the hem of his white coat blown up by the wind. She didn't know at that time that he was going to the operating room next door to transplant his bone marrow, along with his future health, to her. The effect of the medicine late at night took effect on time. Shen Zhiyi opened her eyes in the dark, and the patterns of the chandelier on the ceiling were twisted into hideous shapes in her sight.