The Guide to Capturing a Black Lotus

111

It was cold after the snow and the damp, cold wind seemed to drill into the bones.

As Mu Sheng walked through the night, ignoring the west wind that was sharp as a knife, all the heat was blown away from his body.

When he returned, he warmed himself in front of the charcoal fire before lifting the canopy to see the person who was inside, just like a child carefully opening a box containing treasure.

The bell at the top corner of the canopy rang softly with his movements.

Ling Miaomiao slept flat on her back, the two rows of eyelashes were quietly curled. As a result of the high fever, her cheeks were constantly red, the same way she looked when she was too warm while sleeping, which made him want to hold her in his arms and kiss her.

Under this veil of color, her life was slipping away little by little.

He scooped up Ling Miaomiao and touched her cheek with his cold lips. She was gently leaning in his arms, her eyes tightly closed, with no sign of awakening.

"Miaomiao." He whispered in her ear, like a lover's murmur. He tipped the small bowl, but she was unable to open her mouth.

He took two sips, cupped her jaw and fed it to her. His eyelashes drooped with tenderness and devotion.

After feeding her a bowl of water, he still lingered on her lips, gently moving his head from side to side. Their noses touched lightly and his kisses were cold.

He put Ling Miaomiao down, covered her with the quilt and pulled down the canopy back into place.

A beautiful glass lamp was placed on the table, carved in the shape of a water lily. The heart of the flower was a flickering candle flame, shining on yellow paper on the table.

The tip of the pen was wet, and the rough surface of the paper lay just next to it. The lines drawn were extremely thin, like the letters of a small snake, with an air of being nearly intangible.

The ink in the inkstone had dried up and solidified into cracked blocks.

The tip of his pen paused and dipped into the wound on his wrist, and the lines resumed with a rich, deep red color.

The wind blew the gauze that had been carefully removed, and a faint, sickeningly sweet scent floated up into the air.

His expression didn't change as he squeezed his wrist hard, hard enough that the blood gushed out even quicker.

His blood could not be poured out onto the inkstone as it would dry up and he needed it to be fresh.

He drew one, then placed it aside, and soon there was a large pile gathered beside him. The candle flame swaying through the glazed flower petals, reflected on his concentrated face, with a bright glare.

A quarter of an hour ago, he sent Mu Yao back and handed her over to Liu Fuyi.

He could see that Mu Yao was thinking the same thing as he was.

But if he was still a man, he couldn't just watch her do it.

The fact that she had already planned to do so meant that time was reminding him to hurry.

He raised his eyes to look out of the window, the moisture in his eyes softening them. The raised tips at the outer corners of his eyes were like the carefree yet controlled strokes of a famed artist's brush, leaving a bit of empty space at the end, but also leaving a longing to say more.

The night was like spilled ink as the trees in the distance were enshrouded completely, leaving only a black outline. The curved hook-like moon was out of reach, acting its role as an experienced observer of the human world. The outside was so quiet that even the chirping of crickets could no longer be heard.