White Jade Cicada

About This Novel

There was nothing unusual about the night Chen Zhiyuan died. Lan Ling returned home at 11:30. He even went out once. He didn't wear glasses and his face looked tired. He has had the same complexion for more than a year, yellow with blue, and a little swollen under his eyes. He had just finished a large oil painting. On the day he finished it, he said that he had not painted anything recently. He would clean up the studio first and then take her to Japan. However, he started painting again within two days. Lan Ling didn't talk about him either. Chen Zhiyuan went to the bathroom. Lan Ling heard him flush the toilet, wash his hands, come out, and tell her that he didn't feel good today. She said, if it's not good, go to bed early. He stared at the wall in confusion for a while - no matter how he thought about it later, Lan Ling didn't realize there was anything wrong with that period of confusion. It was not good. Was he a bad person? Or am I not very good at painting? After being stunned for twenty or thirty seconds, I saw that she had messed up her hair and was only wearing a petticoat. Knowing that she wanted to take a bath, he nodded and said, go to bed now. Oh, good.

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