Chapter 78: Dreaming nine times of the lord for ten nights in the pavilion (III)

A Yin gazed after A Luo's retreating figure, her heart thundering, truly stoppered up. She truly didn't understand how this Yama-daren, whose second nature was romance and seeking happiness elsewhere, had the pitiful, hard to look at appearance of having been ravaged a good number of times, as if it was she herself who had taken advantage of her.

Some peoples' weakness was a weapon, their weakness causing them to have courage in their convictions.

A Luo had been back for a few days; A Yin had moaned and groaned in pain for a few days, like a fighting cock whose comb had been cut, propping up her head, nonplussed, occasionally shooting a glance at the passing A Luo, plaintive and aggrieved, but if A Luo were to turn her head, that plaintiveness would suddenly cover up with a hard shell, the cock's comb built up once more, parading ostentatiously about the town with a high head and a thrust-out chest.

In the dead of the night, she was once more vexed, as if what was before her was an expanse of clear water; you knew clearly that you ought to use a ladle to scoop it up, but you would always, disbelieving the impossibility of the endeavour, use a bamboo winnowing basket, riddled with holes.

Her self-esteem, which couldn't hold love, was precisely this hole-riddled winnowing basket.

She ate less, and in the daylight, she'd become gaunter; she thought it was time having a chat with A Luo; for better or worse, there was always an immediate theory. The words from the start had been pondered more or less to the end, yet the rice in the bowl had only decreased a few grains.

A meal was eaten calmly and slowly, as if intentionally waiting for someone; there was a single empty spot by A Yin's side; the rose myrtle didn't eat; she came downstairs to retrieve A Luo's clothes, shyly offering a greeting, and then returned upstairs.

The cold seeped into the chicken soup, a film of yellow fat floating atop. The group set down their chopsticks; Li Shiyi and Song Shijiu conversed with lowered heads, not at all hurrying to leave. A Yin was just chewing a bit of soft vegetables when the sound of movement came faintly from upstairs. The soundproofing in the old building was incredibly poor; by chance, it was the time for an afternoon rest, and the surroundings were incredibly tranquil, causing the vague, soft murmurs to be even more attractive.

The group's eyes attended to their noses and their noses to their hearts, acting as if they hadn't heard, yet they heard a banging sound; A Yin threw her chopsticks aside, rising in a whoosh to head upstairs. "Being openly obscene in the broad day, without even any shame!"

Song Shijiu raely heard this sort of frank speech, and her cheeks immediately lit aflame, gazing helplessly at Li Shiyi; Li Shiyi lightly patted the back of her head, pressing the corners of her lips together.

A Yin stomped upstairs; by the time she came to the turn, her fury still hadn't abated, and she raised her hand and struck the door. She felt that she herself was incredibly shameless, like a shrew hammering on doors; the usual her would definitely scoff a disdainful sneer, and turn around to laugh with Tu Laoyao, saying that to be a young lady, the most important thing was face. But now, she knocked on the door, already having cast aside a layer of dignity. She stood at the door as if bare; only then did A Luo finally open the door, her wan face expressionless, her right hand fastening the toggle knots on her chest.

Once she'd done up the knots, she drew out the hair that had gotten tucked inside her collar, laying it against her sweat-sheened skin. A Yin felt as if she'd been severely twice, such that the beads of her tears finally overflowed, and she bit her lip firmly, her jaw still raised aloft, gazing at A Luo with tear-filled eyelashes. She didn't want to say anything more, and only stared at her rigidly, swallowing back bile, feeling wronged.

A Luo's gaze left her suddenly her face, which was suddenly weeping and wanting to sob, and looked towards her rising and falling chest, and then finally shifted to the hand which clutched her handkerchief tightly. A Luo's sigh was gentle, and she turned around to say to A Tao behind her, "Leave first."

A Tao aquisced, and A Luo looked at A Yin. "Come in."

The door was closed, and the room was inky-black, not even the curtains having been drawn, the delicate fragrance left behind by the rose myrtle in the air disturbing one; A Luo slowly walked to the table to light the lamp, and then leaned against the bedside, attentively looking at A Yin, her bloodless lips softly pressed closed.

She had truly missed her, but she also didn't dare to say it.

A Yin rarely used this sort of apologetic expression to look at her, causing the lake in her heart to eddy with ripple after ripple. The seduction that A Yin had towards her was always skilled, heart's wish which the hand accomplished; it was like that from the start, and up till now, she had always misunderstood.

Only after a while passed did she hear A Luo quietly say, "A Ping reincarnated."

A Yin was startled; she absolutely hadn't imagined that this would be her first words.

A Luo paused, and then said, "The time since he departed the human realm wasn't long, and the matter had a cause, and wasn't a cause of his own; so, the arranged record of fate was still counted as level."

Her voice was incredibly pleasant to listen to, rhythmic and in cadence, bringing along the antique sense of a deep well, and her words were also easy to understand, yet A Yin couldn't understand a single character, only opened her half-dried eyes, and dazedly asked her, "You're really speaking of this to me?"

The name within wasn't A Yin, nor even A Tao, but actually A Ping?

A Luo fell silent; A Yin wanted to question her further, but she'd just approached a step, when she saw A Luo instinctivcely retreat half a small body's distance, still maintaining the distance of a headboard and a footboard.

A Yin disappointedly lowered her gaze, and didn't move a hair more. She heard A Luo bitterly laugh, and ask her softly, "What else can I say anymore?"

These days, she'd always been thinking of whether A Yin's heartlessness of that day were true or false; her innermost heart had an obstinate sound day after day, saying it was false, but this phrase was isolated and lonely, and there wasn't any supporting evidence. What made her feel the worst was that she had rummaged through everything in her and A Yin's past, and couldn't find half a reason that could cause her to allow herself believe her own lies.

She had never said any intimate, gentle words, had never thought of wanting to be together with her, had never even mentioned a word about liking her. She had used her as a medicine, had cried in front of her because of Li Shiyi, had wanted to retch after becoming sober because of her kiss, and had thrown her aside to meet with A Ping.

She had put on a humble posture in front of A Yin for long enough, and in the very end she had said—no matter who it is, it isn't you.

She thought that, as long as A Yin's heart had a bit of good towards her, she might feel a bit sorry for her. So, A Luo lowered her head, and sank once more into a long silence.

Only after a long while did she raise her head and say to A Yin, "I'm somewhat tired."

A cue to leave wasn't novel to A Yin; what was novel was that it had come out of A Luo's mouth, angering her in a flash as if she'd lost her spirit; with a wooden expression, she headed out; only once she came to the door did she dare to let out the breath she'd been holding. She was afraid that she would expose her own weakness, and so simply returned to her room and closed the door, resolutely going to sleep.

In the afternoon, A Yin felt that she herself was a bit better; as she'd eaten little lunch, she went to the kitchen to heat up a bowl of sheep's milk, the heavily fragrant liquid boiling into milky-white bubbles in the pot; she was just gazing, lost in thought, when she saw A Tao enter, carrying a winnowing basket, fresh, water-soft stem lettuce leaves atop it. She politely greeted A Yin, and A Yin replied lazily, unable to help but cast a glance at her; her soft, white raddish-like cheeks, showing the pink of spring peaches; even her actions, picking out edible parts of the vegetables, were as if playing a qin, incredibly elegant.

It was affected; the sour water in A Yin's heart, placed on the stovetop, boiled loudly, and started to foam. She turned over her hand over and pressed against her aching waist, massaging, and couldn't help but ask her, "Will you eat?"

She knew A Tao didn't eat, and had asked it deliberately.

A Tao was, at the end, guileless, and shook her head. "Daren is somewhat hungry, and said she wanted to eat plain yangchun noodles." As she spoke, she pulled her hands out from the water, standing on tiptoe to search the cupboard for noodles.

A Yin shifted her neck, and passed by her to pull them out. "These ones, she likes eating the thin ones." The last half of the phrase wasn't at all necessary, but A Yin had wanted to say it; as she spoke, she furtively watched A Tao's expression, and, sure enough, she saw A Tao still, pressing her lips together and taking the proffered noodles.

A Tao boiled the noodles incredibly quietly; A Yin stood at the side, watching. She was somewhat distracted; A Tao had the same brightly youthful face as Shijiu, but what was strange was that, when Shijiu and Li Shiyi had become intimate, while she'd been unhappy, she hadn't had this sort of enmity, baring fangs and brandishing claws, yet she did towards A Tao.

Only then did she realise that, towards her, Li Shiyi and A Luo weren't the same. In the past, towards Li Shiyi, it was as if she were gazing at a precious, valuable flower on the street, without the money and unable to buy it, and had placed it in her heart, liking it, and seeing that someone had bought it, she could only inwardly urge: you'd better treat it well.

But A Luo wasn't the same; she had always grown in her own courtyard, and even if she hadn't previously paid much attention, someone couldn't brazenly dig it up. Towards A Luo, a unique, possessive desire had arisen, having quite a deal of repulsiveness to its appearance.

She listlessly smacked her lips and sat, the milk in the pot having half boiled away. So, she stood up, reaching out with the ladle to stir it, paying attention to A Tao's actioins out of the corner of her eye, and, thinking for a moment, she opened her mouth and asked, "You and A Luo, how long have you been intimate?"

"Been intimate?" A Tao asked weakly in reply, her brows furrowing.

A Yin, seeing her timid appearance, was about to blow up, and looked scornfully at her. "If you're not intimate, what's she doing bringing you along?" A Yin snapped her jaw shut, biting back even more blatant words.

Yet A Tao said, "Daren's sick."

"Sick?" A Yin hurriedly blinked. "She brought you along beacuse—" A Yin stopped her stirring motions, thinking of A Luo's coughing and impatient moans.

"Rose myrtle is a medicine," A Tao said.

A Yin stared at her, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly's wings, as if having been beseiged for many days, and finally about to fly from the imprisonment of her eyerims. She heard some sort of sound of dying yet being reborn; the scent of the noodles, the scent of the milk, and the floral scent of A Tao's figure mingled into a vigorous power, her bright, dazzling, charming eyes filled with a vast, boundless vitality, focusing on A Tao's tender shoot-like face. "So, what sort of sickness?" A Yin asked, the corners of her lips pressed firmly together, such that no one could see their rising posture.

A Tao thought for a moment, and said, "Common cold."

The last bit of anxiousness also sank, and A Yin softly let out an "o", and looked at A Tao once more, inexplicably seeing half a degree of cuteness.

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