The Guide to Capturing a Black Lotus

111

It turned out that when Ling Miaomiao was not talking, his world was this dead and silent.

He drew them one by one, calculating the time in his mind. The pile of drawn talismans grew higher and higher until the morning light rose from the sky, covering the entire canopy little by little.

From the bottom to the top, the whole sky was dyed with a faint white and light yellow, and the branches of the trees were lit by a dark greenish-orange color.

The birds in the distance emitted crisp chirps that echoed between the earth and sky. He heard their chirps with his ears, but with no echo to be found.

He tilted his head as the cage hanging in front of the desk swayed from side to side. Shengsheng chirped while flapping its wings and jumping up and down, still retaining the habit of wild birds: Doing morning exercises.

He stopped writing, lowered his eyes, gathered the pile of talismans together, knocked them into alignment once, then took out a new white sachet from the drawer, untied the thin autumn themed ribbon, took out all the dried flowers, rolled up the thick mass of talisman papers, stuffed it in, and sealed the sachet.

His face was pale, making the eyes set in his face appear even darker. They had almost turned cold enough to become numb, but the moment he lifted the tent and saw her face, he managed to feel the sound of his own heartbeat.

Like unwrapping a long-awaited gift and like a groom lifting the bride's head.

Ling Miaomiao is like a sleeping fairy, her cheeks were full like apples.

He put his hand on her forehead, slowly moving down, stroked her face, and landed on her soft neck.

The redness in the corners of his eyes was tinged with redness. His hand lovingly caressed the soft skin on her neck and slowly tightened.

This was the kind of softness and fragility that, if he squeezed a little harder, she would always and forever be his, not smiling lovely at others, not spending her life with others in his absence.

He felt her pulse.

As soon as it was pressed, the blood vessels trembled suddenly. This feeling was as if his hands were closing in on the tips of a wild bird's wings, its extremely fragile wings were just like a perpetually beating heart.

The first half of his life was wild and arrogant, ruthlessness became second nature, and he never showed any mercy. However, he succumbed to such an obviously fragile life and was willingly tamed.

Yearning yet dreading, he desperately wanted to consume it cruelly, but was afraid of hurting even a single finger of hers.

He released his hold and gazed at her for a long time. Finally, he just touched her face very gently. Then he bent down and tied the sachet around her waist.

It was strange that the knot which only took him a few seconds to tie could not be fastened this time.

He took it off and tied it again. His fingers trembled, and after, he felt something cold slide down his face.

Two spots of crimson splashed on the sachet, like diagonal raindrops, marking a slender exclamation point.

He stared at the blood on his fingertips, his thick eyelashes drooping.

So this was how the tears of parting felt.

He smeared the blood on his fingertips on her pale lips, painting a beautiful bride, and kissed the girl on the forehead. His lips stayed on her forehead for a long time, until his lips lost their warmth.

He took the Demon Restraining Circlet off his wrist and put it on her right wrist.

He looked at her appearance from the corner of his eyes, faintly smiling with satisfaction, his smile like the budding of fresh green buds on the tips of a willow branch, the branches welcoming the beginnings of spring.