Su Xingyan quietly looked at She. The last ti he saw her, the birthmark on her face was still there, not nearly as stunningly beautiful as she was now.
The tis when she used to like him seed like events from a lifeti ago.
So distant that they already felt sowhat unreal to him.
He should have asked how she was doing or perhaps said sothing like "How about this monk," at the very least instinctively utter "Amitabha." But, he couldn’t say a single word. She was like a grain of cinnabar buried in his heart, unable to be erased, forgotten, or loved.
Han Jing gave him a slightly astonished glance, then turned away and walked past him.
She had never thought they would et again in this life, but to her, whether they t or not was nothing worth ntioning anymore. Since he had already taken the path of enlightennt, the past should have long vanished into smoke and clouds.
Han Jing considered it rely a chance encounter, and she truly had nothing to reminisce about with him, so she just brushed past him.
Su Xingyan stood quietly in place. He could feel her cool fragrance wafting through the night breeze as she walked past him, could sense that she had truly moved on.
Long after she walked past, he remained standing on the bridge, unmoving amidst the bustling crowd.
It seed as if the world only consisted of him, oh, and her, who just brushed past.
This scene, he thought, he would rember for the rest of his life.
Their life’s fate, the love and hate of this life, were like this passing-by scene.
Like a beginning, and also like an ending.
They unexpectedly t, exchanged a glance, paused for a mont, and then missed each other for a lifeti.
He didn’t grasp her hand when he should have; by the ti he wanted to reach out to her, she had already walked past and left.
So things, so people, so fates, so feelings, love and hate alike, are just like this missed encounter, drifting away in the night breeze, vanishing into smoke.
He was long accustod to his hands clasped together at his heart, but he could no longer feel the pain.
It’s not letting go, it’s emptiness.
Love, hate, life, death, all is void.
——
Han Jing leisurely walked back to the Prince Yu Mansion, without alerting any of the servants, and directly returned to their small courtyard.
Lanterns still hung in the courtyard, and candles were lit inside the room.
Everything was just as it appeared in her mories, as if not a single thing had changed.
She frowned, suddenly catching a whiff of a scent.
A very familiar aroma that teased the taste buds, nostalgic and almost forgotten.
Han Jing quietly stood in the courtyard. There wasn’t anyone around, but the scent was palpably present.
She looked towards the direction of the small kitchen.
There was candlelight in the small kitchen, and also... a person.
She wanted to turn and leave, but her feet felt like they were filled with lead, unable to move a step.
Then she saw Su Yu holding a tray in his hands, with a slightly larger porcelain bowl on it, from which a tantalizing aroma drifted out.
The scene was all too familiar.
How many nights had she craved the noodles he made, even in the middle of the night, pestering him to make so, and he would promptly do it for her.
She would just quietly wait at the door, watching him co out of the kitchen, holding a bowl of mouth-watering noodle soup.
All the food she ate on the way back from the palace seed to have already been digested.
She was a bit hungry.
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