Chapter 77: Dreaming nine times of the lord for ten nights in the pavilion (II)

This day that A Luo returned, the sunlight was cool and bright, gentle as moonlight. Wu Qian retrieved the clothes that the neighbouring auntie had washed and dried, spreading it on the wooden chair, having everyone else clear up their own. A Yin had just picked up a shawl with tassels, having a bit of a hard time remembering if was her own or Shijiu's, spreading it open to look at it carefully, and then, in the small openings made by the openwork patterns, saw A Luo stepping through the door. So, her and A Luo's reunion carried along with it a faint scent of honey locust.

In a split second, the bustling hall fell into silence. One of Li Shiyi's legs stradled the the sofa's armrest, and Song Shijiu sat on a somewhat lower cushion, leaning against her, the motion of her hands folding a coat slowing. Wu Qian straightened, and A Yin set the shawl down, placing it on her knees and twisting it for a moment, instinctively moving her gaze away, staring at the pile of clothes for a few moments, and then reached out a hand to grip it, and then picked up a crisp shirt, lowering her head to bother with the sleeves.

That was…Li Shiyi's. Song Shijiu raised her head to exchange a glance with Li Shiyi. Li Shiyi smiled.

A Luo walked into the shade, closing up a blue-green oilpaper umbrella; she still wore a crow-black qipao, her long hair swept to one side. Not having seen her for a month, she'd gotten even more gaunt, and her complexion was also even more wan. She walked over as delicately as a willow held up by an embracing wind, her bloodless lips, when contrasted with her lowered lashes, making them seem as if they'd faded, and she called out softly, "A Heng."

Her first call was A Heng, and after remaining silent for a long time, there wasn't even a second.

The atmosphere was awkward to the point of strangeness; Song Shijiu leaned into Li Shiyi's embrace, still raising her head to look at her, and opened her mouth slightly. Li Shiyi's hand, holding her shoulder, moved slightly, her middle finger tapping twice, indicating to her to keep calm and wait a while.

A Yin finally couldn't remain seated, and raised her head, clearing her throat to call out a greeting, but before she spoke, her brows knit, and, gazing at the one who'd arrived, was stilled on the spot.

An unfamiliar woman followed behind A Luo, her face lotus-like and her eyes restrained; her face was as proper as if having been created in a painting, and she wore an unlined tunic the same crow-dark as A Luo, her unremarkable outfit unexpectedly causing her leather briefcase to look even more astonishing; she stood behind A Luo, her expression as she took measure of everyone bot inquisitive and aloof, and after sweeping a not excessive glance, she restrainedly lowered her eyes.

She was ghostly beautiful, and at a glance, one could tell that she'd been brought from the Taishan seat.

A Luo didn't have the intent to give introductions, only quietly saying her name. "A Tao."

A Tao was a rose myrtle from the Yellow Springs.

At this moment, even Li Shiyi couldn't stand to sit anymore, and she raised a brow and looked at A Yin.

A Yin narrowed her eyes and loosened her jaw, her gaze making a turn over A Tao's figure, and then returned to A Luo's. A Luo turned her head to look at her, a single soft glance, and then pressed her lips together, and at the end, didn't say anything at all.

The tip of A Yin's tongue pressed against her hard palate, and she exerted some effort to brush it twice, and then once more lowered her head and opened up the shirt she'd just folded up, inhaling, and only then did she raise her head to smile in A Luo's direction. "Ah, who?"

Her smile was like a flower, and, raising her head, there was even a vague surprise, her gaze, swaying back and forth, narrowed, yet the final syllable fell without any weight, and actually was somewhat strained. A Luo gave A Tao half a glance, and said quietly, "A servant girl."

A Yin laughed, her two curved eyes looking at her. "I'm actually used to destitution, and didn't know that a servant girl was handled like this, taken by the arm and assisted; how very intimate." Twin eyes, full and gleaming, and the corners of lips drawn upwards without control, having that bit of a sense of fuming with rage.

Song Shijiu stretched her neck out, looking at A Tao's hand in the crook of A Luo's arm. Ten slim fingers, like scallion roots, a pair of pale hands, very pleasing to the eye. They didn't look like they'd ever done work before.

A Tao was somewhat uneasy, and she withdrew her hand; A Luo shook her head, indicating that she retreat a step, wanting to say something to A Yin, but when she met her sharp gaze, she instinctively withdrew her expression, lowering her head to gaze at the clothing in her hands.

It was precisely this avoidant motion that caused A Luo to say to think of when she'd said those heart-rending, lung-splitting, harsh words, and A Luo's hand, on the table, had curled into a fist, taking a self-defensive posture.

In a flash, A Yin's heart hurt as if stabbed by a needle; it was only at this that she understood; A Luo wasn't naturally a blunt woman, and in the past, had only been open towards her due to her wishes, and only because of this had thrown aside a great deal of reservation and face, and held out her wholly devoted heart for her to see. Once she withdrew it, she couldn't even find a door, and slammed into it in chaos from the outside, like a headless fly.

She'd slammed against it to a great degree of embarrassment. Her green plums and bamboo horse, her dear friend within her chambers, her playing partner; she even had this rose myrtle from who had appeared from who knew where, looking clearly at her embarrassment, the aching shoulders, the fiery burn of her face, such that even her earlobes were burning; and yet her heart had lost its warmth and become icy-cold, causing her to feel so unwell that she could only stare at the person before her with empty eyes.

From when she'd pleaded with Li Shiyi, she'd counted the days, thinking of this person's return.

The first day, she'd made a copy of those few sentences of love poems that made the teeth ache; the second day, she'd held a beauty contest for her clothes; the third day, she'd carried her shoes and asked the sleep-drowsy Song Shijiu which pair of shoes' height was just right.

And this day, everything was finally right; she sat gently and refinedly, and at dawn, she'd put on the most appropriate look, the fragrance of her figure neither heavy nor faint; it was that in the person that she waited for that an error occurred. She hadn't planned extensively for an apologetic manner, whether casual or solemn; but she simply hadn't imagined that the person before her would unexpectedly become two people. It caused her to be unable to open her mouth.

A Luo's long breaths rose and fell, and she didn't explain any more, only saying to Li Shiyi that she was tired, and, one at the front and one behind, ascended the stairs with A Tao.

A Yin paused, her head lowered, still folding clothes.

Within her line of sight, a pretty hand appeared, its five fingers falling and moving briefly; A Yin raised her head, seeing Li Shiyi, who she didn't know when she'd come over, extending a hand towards her. "Shirt," Li Shiyi sighed; it had become twisted beyond recognition.

A Yin bit her lower lip, and returned the cloth which she'd been twisting in her hands to her, her expression as dejected as it had been that day, like a dripping, withered and falling blossom. Li Shiyi picked up the clothing, and, tugging at Song Shijiu, left, leaving behind a figure that, no matter how much one would like to, couldn't be helped.

Since A Luo had returned, she came and left along with A Tao; usually, she only came downstairs to eat, and then return to shelter in the room; when A Yin passed by, she couldn't help but take a few glances; inside, it was inky-black, as if the lamps hadn't even been lit; occasionally, A Luo's elegant coughing would emerge.

She no longer had the full-hearted, satisfied warmth of before towards A Yin; when she spoke, she would keep the distance of a stool, and her expression also retained a degree of distance. The stomachful of words, A Yin had no way of speaking; it was as if using the entirety of effort to strike at cotton; each day, she was more discontented than the last, and she couldn't sleep at night, sitting on the stairs before A Luo's room, staring blankly.

The nights of the early winter were bone-chilling; A Yin, coughing, was just about to return to her room, but within the sound of footsteps, she caught an unusual sound. Her heart leaped as if a clipped candlewick, and, barely believing it, she retreated a couple steps, pressing her ear against A Luo's door.

A light sound, a heavy sound; the pauses between elicited one's wild thoughts even more; she was even more familiar with these sounds; in the past, when she'd been infatuated and head over heels, and then in midnight dreams, it was always those few sounds. A Luo's moaning was incredibly controlled, and often it was only the hurried gasps and soft humming in her nose, like the paws of a cat, the soft padding on her desires.

She exhaled, the hand clutching her handkerchief pressing against her chest.

The faint moaning magnified in her ear, fighting against the sound of her heartbeat, beating it into a sorry, defeated state. A Yin returned to her room in a daze, closing the door as if fleeing, and gazed at the swaying candle flame, blinking her stinging eyes.

The second day, it rained, and A Yin went downstairs with a splitting headache; Song Shijiu had her chopsticks in her mouth, and was startled, her brows raising; Yin-da-nainai's face was waxy, her hair in a disarray and her hairpin askew, ink-black bruises under her eyes, and, eyes drooping, she carried out a bowl of porridge.

A Luo furrowed her brows, tilting her head to look at her.

A Yin felt her gaze, but deliberately didn't look at her, her chopsticks stirring the porridge without eating. A Luo, wanting to speak but hesitating, finally said, "Are you sick?"

The tenderness caused A Yin to want to cry without reason. Song Shijiu raised her bowl, cocking her ear to listen as she took small mouthfulls.

A Yin blew her nose, speaking in a low, muffled voice. "I'm not."

A Luo raised a hand to press against her lower lip, and then coughed a couple times; A Yin, hearing the sound of her breathing, was furious, and set her chopsticks aside, saying, "I only strolled around the night market with A Ping for a few shichen, and carelessly caught a cold."

Song Shijiu choked on a mouthful of porridge; Li Shiyi soundlessly reached out to pat her back. A Luo raised her head, gazing deeply at A Yin. "A Ping entered the Taishan seat a half month ago."

Wu Qian sighed, unable to sit still out of awkwardness.

A Yin's face was somewhat embarrassed, and she grit her teeth, still reluctant to admit her mistake. "I misremembered; it was actually the A Cheng from the neighbouring alley."

Li Shiyi picked up a chopstickful of pickles, and then heard A Yin unhurriedly add on, "This lady's gun jam bing are really many; it's simple to be unable to remember."

Li Shiyi swept an indifferent gaze across her, bringing along a degree of warning; she hadn't had the time to withdraw her gaze when she heard a "pa", and A Luo knocked her chopsticks against the table, leaving behind half a bowl of warm porridge as she rose, tugging her gown around her as she left.

When she stepped onto the stairs, she supported herself on the wall, and, slim shoulders trembling, she let out a soft cough.

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