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Song Xiaohe, who was abandoned by his family since he was a child, was the most inconspicuous and good-for-nothing disciple in the Immortal League. He had mediocre talent, and it was very difficult just to complete the monthly assessments of the Immortal Sect.
But she secretly likes her junior brother who is extremely talented and has attracted much attention at a young age and is known as the number one prodigy in the Immortal League.
I have liked it for ten years.
Later, Shen Xishan went out on a mission and died in a sea of fire. Song Xiaohe cried for several days and was sent to the outer sect as a punishment for not completing the assessment.
Then he put on his baggage, picked up a wooden sword, and went down the mountain alone, saying that he was going to save his junior brother.
Everyone thought that this was Song Xiaohe's fatal journey with no return, and laughed at her for overestimating her abilities.
No one knew at that time that this stupid-looking girl would turn out to be born after that death disaster.
From then on, the name Song Xiaohe was resounding in hundreds of families in the Immortal Sect.
[Small theater]:
After the news of Shen Xishan's death came back to the Immortal League, Song Xiaohe failed the assessment because he was too sad and was punished to sweep the floor outside.
While cleaning, she thought of her junior brother and cried bitterly, waking up the boy sleeping in the tree. A branch hit her on the head: "It's so noisy."
Song Xiaohe was angry: "Who are you? How dare you hit me!"
The young man jumped down from the tree and announced his name: "Chenxi Mountain."
Song Xiaohe: "Nonsense, this is my junior brother's name."
The young man wondered: "Why don't I remember a senior sister who cries like a pig?"
In the beginning, Shen Xishan looked down upon this noisy girl who looked stupid and failed the monthly assessment. He always thought she was noisy.
Later, Song Xiaohe went down the mountain with others. Shen Xishan disobeyed the teacher's orders and chased him for seven days before he stood in front of Song Xiaohe and gritted his teeth: "Song Xiaohe, where are you going again?"]
Ba Qiehei Shen Xishan with bad personality x Song Xiaohe who talks too much and is an optimist
[The anti-theft ratio is 80%, not a brainless glyph, not a rebirth text.
[The following is what you must read before reading]:
1. The heroine is a mortal. Shuang Jie, 1v1, he, the relationship is slow to heat up, but the male and female protagonists are locked together throughout the whole process. Please look for the only CP in this article: Song Xiaohe x Shen Xishan.
2. Private setting is like a mountain, a group portrait article, it is a long novel, [it is not a strong female protagonist, it is not a big heroine, it is not a sister-brother relationship, it is not recommended to read with a heavy female protagonist, and a heavy male protagonist].
3. The whole article is written in plain language. If you don't like it, don't read it.
——————————
Next book to collect: "Huang Qian Zhi Ban"
·
When Zhou Xing met Lu Zuoguang for the first time, he had a snow-white gown, a smile on his face, and his speech was like spring breeze and drizzle: "Lu is not talented. He has no talent and no ambition. He has read and read books in his life. It is enough to be called a scholar."
Later, on a dark and windy night, she saw this Lu Xiucai, who had "nothing in his body and no ambition in his chest." He was holding a freshly severed head in one hand and a book soaked in blood in the other, muttering regretfully under the moonlight: "It's a solitary copy by a famous scholar, and I can't even read the words clearly. How can this be so good?"
A little suspense + a little intrigue + a little love.
Appearance: A gentle and poor scholar x a businessman with long sleeves and good dancing
Reality: Big weapon x high IQ
Determination: We should strengthen ourselves
Reader comments
Reunion
The prostitute Taro stood stiffly on the spot, as if he was wedged into the ground by invisible nails. The night wind on the Rashomon River whimpered through the ruins, stirring up dust and dead leaves, but he was unaware of it. Those green eyes were locked on the direction Hina was leaving, even though her figure had already been swallowed up by the chaotic shacks and the flickering light of cheap lanterns on the edge of Yoshiwara.
"The sea in Nagasaki... Isn't it very windy?"
That sentence is like an ancient mantra, and like a key that has been rusted for hundreds of years and suddenly inserted into the lock of the heart. Not the original words. What Haruko said before she died was "Go and see the sea in Nagasaki for me...". But the core of this question, which was full of wind and emotion as if it were personal experience, pointed to the same place, the same agreement that only the two of them (and maybe Mei) knew.
Coincide? Ridiculous, heart-stopping coincidence?
No. After he became a ghost, his senses and intuition had already surpassed the scope of humans. The woman who called herself "Hina" just now had an extremely subtle sense of disobedience. She was not afraid of him, and even had a deliberate, almost provocative approach to him. Deep in her eyes, there was a complex emotion that he couldn't decipher. It wasn't fear or disgust, but something like... A mixture of sadness, nostalgia and some kind of firm determination.
And when she touched his cheek, the warmth from her fingertips, and the words "It's very hard" - vaguely overlapped with a vague but warm fragment deep in the memory.
Most importantly, she mentioned "Nagasaki." In the two hundred years of long waiting, this place name has already been sublimated from a geographical coordinate to a temple of his obsession and a beacon of despair. He had imagined what that sea looked like countless times, but he had never mentioned it to any living (or dead) being. Except for Haruko, except for Mei (who may know, but not necessarily understand the full meaning).
How do you know about a strange young woman who suddenly appears on the banks of the desolate Rashomon River?
Countless possibilities collided and exploded in his cold brain, and were forcibly suppressed by him. The most absurd and unbelievable conjecture, but the one that made his soul tremble the most, was like a toadstool emerging from the darkness, growing crazily.
Could it be that... Could it be that her words before her death, "We will meet again in the distant future...", Were not just words of comfort? Could it be that the so-called "from the future" is not a complete joke?
No, that's crazy. The dead come back to life, crossing time... This goes against all the laws he knows as a ghost, and also goes against common sense. The immortality of ghosts is based on the robbery and curse of flesh and blood, not this... Miraculous return.
But... If... There really is a god, then Haruko is not the god-like light of salvation in his ruined darkness.
What if that faint soul resonance was real? What if she really returned to this time and space in another way, with another appearance?
This thought brought not pure ecstasy, but more surging fear and confusion. If it was really her, what had she been through? Why have the appearance, age, and even hair color and eye color changed? Why didn't she recognize each other directly? Were her actions and words just now a test? Still teasing? Does she know that he has turned into a ghost? Is she... Still willing to accept him like this?
Two hundred years of waiting have already made that emotion extremely complicated. It is no longer pure longing and love, but a mixture of deep-seated regret, self-loathing, paranoid watching, and an almost masochistic twisted belief in using "waiting" to punish oneself and maintain existence. He was used to chewing memories in the dark, used to numb the passage of time with hunger and fighting, used to seeing himself as an inhuman container that existed only for "waiting".
Now, suddenly, the vessel is thrown into a fire that could ignite everything or blow it up completely.
What should he do?
Catch up with her? Catch her? Force the truth? With the power of his winding land, he can easily control her and torture out every detail.
But what if... What if she really is? What if his roughness scares her away, hurts her, makes her... Disappear again?
No, he couldn't bear to lose again. Even if it's just a little bit possible.
His green eyes flickered on and off in the darkness, eventually settling into a bottomless, more paranoid darkness. The murderous intent and rage were forcibly suppressed, replaced by a hunter-like patience and an almost pathological desire for observation.
He needed confirmation.
Quietly, far away, without letting her notice.
If she was, he would know sooner or later. If it weren't for... An impostor who dared to tease him and touch his deepest obsession, his end would be thousands of times worse than falling into the hands of other ghosts.
He took one last look at the stone with no word tombstone and key imprint, and his figure quietly disappeared in place like an ink droplet blending into the night.
In the days that followed, Hina could clearly feel that cold and persistent gaze, like an invisible spider web, began to cover her vaguely.
Opposite the small hotel she rented, the shadows at the alley always seemed thicker than elsewhere. When she went to the tea house to inquire about news, she would occasionally catch a glimpse of the familiar dark green hair tips passing by on the street corner. Even when she closed the window at night, she could feel something lingering on the eaves outside the window, silently.
He didn't show up immediately, didn't take any action, he just stared silently and stubbornly.
This actually made Hina relax, and even made her want to laugh. This is very "whore Taro". Awkward and suspicious, he will never reveal his true intentions and emotions easily before confirming them. Two hundred years of being a ghost seems to have failed to completely erase these undertones in his character.
She is not afraid. On the contrary, this feeling of being secretly watched made her feel strangely reassured - he was here, he was watching, and he had doubts. The plan was going in the direction she expected (or, what she subconsciously hoped for).
She moved on with her life. During the day, she would go to the more peripheral and less chaotic areas of Yoshiwara to observe the current trends in snacks, try to use limited materials and tools to reproduce some modern and improved wagashi, and occasionally sell them on consignment at a stall to earn some living expenses. She deliberately lets her craftsmanship reveal some "Haruko"-style ingenuity, but it is not too prominent and mixed in with common styles.
She no longer took the initiative to inquire about old events two hundred years ago, as if it was just a boring act on her whim. Most of the time, she is like an outsider who is curious about the prosperity of Yoshihara but keeps a distance, quietly observing this era.
But she knew that those eyes in the dark would notice everything. The occasional fillings in her snacks that do not match the current common combinations (such as trying to season with citrus peels); the insights and casual comments she inadvertently reveals about certain things that are beyond the ordinary women of this era; even some habitual little movements when she walks...
She was waiting for him to lose control.
The opportunity came a little later than she expected.
It was a gloomy afternoon, with leaden clouds accumulating in the sky, as if a heavy rain was brewing. Hina had just come out of a small food kiosk, where she successfully sold a small batch of her own "warabi cake" with lightly salted bean paste and received a good reward. In a good mood, she decided to go to the nearby market to buy some fresh ingredients and try to cook something more complicated in the evening.
Just as she turned into a relatively quiet alley with the back walls of warehouses on both sides, the light at the intersection ahead suddenly dimmed.
A thin and tall figure, with his back to the faint skylight at the entrance of the alley, was blocked there. Dark green curly hair, pale skin, black markings, and double scythes at the waist. It was Taro the prostitute.
This time he did not hide in the shadows, but appeared directly in front of her. The distance was not too far but not too close, just enough for her to see clearly the cold expression on his face, and his pair of green eyes that looked particularly deep and dark under the gray light of the cloudy sky.
Hina stopped, her heart beating faster involuntarily, but her face showed just the right amount of surprise and a hint of vigilance, and she frowned slightly: "Is it you? Mr. Night Watchman on the bank of the Rashomon River? What a coincidence, we meet again."
The prostitute Taro did not respond to her greetings. He slowly took two steps forward, his steps silent but with an invisible sense of oppression. His gaze was like substance, slowly sweeping over her face and body, as if he was evaluating an item, or looking for some clues.
"Hina." He spoke, his voice hoarse and deeper than last time, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time, "What exactly do you want to do when you come to Yoshiwara?"
"What to do?" Hina tilted her head, showing a slightly confused and innocent expression, "Didn't I say? Come to see the world and find some livelihood. Yoshihara is so big, can you always accommodate me, a foreign girl, to make a living?"
"Making a living?" The prostitute Taro's mouth twitched, as if he was smiling, but without warmth, "By making those... Strange snacks?"
"Is it weird?" Yang Nai blinked and took a step closer, as if unaware of the dangerous distance between them. "I think it tastes pretty good, and the guests like it too. Have you ever tasted it?" There was a bit of provocation and curiosity in her tone.
The prostitute Taro was silent for a moment. He did "taste" it - through some special means, he got the snacks she consigned. That smell... Was so familiar that it made his heart ache. It's not exactly the same, as the materials and techniques are different, but the core "ingenuity" and a certain subtle seasoning tendency vaguely echo the vague but stubborn flavor deep in his memory.
"Who did you learn your craft from?" He avoided her question and asked instead.
"I taught myself." Yang Cai answered easily, "I like to think about food, watch others make it, and then try it myself. Is there any problem with this?" She looked at him and suddenly smiled, "You seem to be particularly interested in my dim sum? If I had known it, I should have given you one to try last time. But it's not too late now. I have made a new bean paste with some special spices. Do you want to try it?"
As she spoke, she actually took out a small snack wrapped in a clean leaf from the small cloth bag she carried with her and handed it over. His movements are natural and his eyes are clear, as if he is just sharing it with an unexpected and a bit strange "acquaintance".
The prostitute Taro looked at the snacks handed to him, and then looked at her calm face. A trace of extremely complicated emotions flashed deep in his green eyes. There was confusion, vigilance, a hint of annoyance aroused by this bold move, and a hint of... A deeper throbbing that even he didn't want to admit.
He didn't answer.
"Are you from Kansai?" He changed the question, still staring into her eyes.
"Yeah, near Osaka." Haruna lied without hesitation. This was the origin she had made up from the beginning.
"The flavor of Kansai's dim sum seems to be different from that of Edo." Taro the prostitute said slowly, as if he was making a statement, but also as if he was testing, "What you make is not like Kansai style, nor is it entirely Edo style."
"Oh, did you notice?" Yang Cai not only didn't panic, but instead seemed to have been told something proud, her eyes curled up, "I just like to mix it up, I just add whatever I think is delicious. There are too many rules, and the things I make will be the same? How boring." She took back the snack, broke off a small piece and put it in her mouth, tasted it carefully, and nodded, "Well, the salt taste seems to be a bit stronger this time... Add less next time."
The way she was enjoying herself and completely ignoring the terrifying ghost in front of her made the prostitute Taro feel an unprecedented sense of powerlessness and... Irritability. Why does this woman act so completely out of line with common sense? Is she ignorant and fearless, or does she have other motives?
He took another step forward, and the distance between the two was so close that he could feel the completely different scents of each other - she had the scent of clean soap and a faint sweet scent of snacks, while he had a cold scent mixed with a touch of rust and old wood decay.
"You're not afraid of me." This is not a question.
Hina raised her head and faced his close, oppressive gaze. His pale and strange face was clearly reflected in her light brown eyes. She didn't back away, and even raised her chin slightly.
"Afraid?" She repeated, with a strange seriousness in her tone, "Why are you afraid? You look like..." Her gaze lingered on his face, passing over the markings, and finally returned to his green eyes, "... You don't want to hurt me. At least not now."
She paused, and her voice became softer, but her words were clear, like feathers scratching his cold heartstrings:
"There is no murderous intent in your eyes. There are just many, many... Questions, and a little... Sadness."
The prostitute Taro's breathing completely stopped at that moment.
It was as if the sharpest ice pick had suddenly pierced the outermost layer of ice that had been wrapped in the heart for hundreds of years.
Sad?
She actually said... He looked sad?
For two hundred years, no one has dared to interpret him this way, and no one can see this. Even he himself has already buried those weak emotions belonging to "Prostitute Taro" deeply under the ghost's cold mask.
This woman...
He took a step back suddenly, as if he had been burned by something. His green eyes shrank and expanded violently, and a storm surged inside them. On the pale face, the black markings seemed to be slightly distorted by the violent fluctuations of emotions.
Seeing him shaken violently, Hina felt sour in her heart. She almost couldn't help but step forward, hold his face as she did before, and tell him, "It's okay, I'm back."
But she can't. Not yet. The timing and method of breaking through this layer of window paper must be decided by him, and it must be after she is confident enough to deal with all his possible reactions - whether it is ecstasy, doubt, or anger and paranoia distorted by long waiting and ghostly nature.
She just stood there, looking at him quietly, her eyes clear and tolerant, as if she could accept all his chaos and unhappiness.
The rain finally started to fall.
Thin raindrops floated silently, wetting the mottled ground in the alley and also wetting the clothes on their shoulders.
The prostitute Taro stared at her in the rain, as if he wanted to see through her soul. After a long time, his hoarse voice sounded again, with a tightness and difficulty that even he himself had not noticed:
"... Who are you?"
Hina smiled slightly. That smile looked a little hazy in the gradually falling rain, but it was extremely clear.
"I told you," her voice came softly through the rain, "my name is Hina."
She paused and added, her voice softer, but it seemed to hit his heart with a huge weight:
"Someone... Who might be able to understand all your questions."
After saying that, she no longer looked at the shocked expression on his face, nodded slightly, turned around, opened the oil-paper umbrella she had held in her hand at some point, and walked calmly into the increasingly dense rain, leaving the prostitute Taro standing alone in the empty alley, letting the cold rain wash away his stiff body and boiling thoughts.
Understand... All the questions?
The rain was getting heavier and heavier, hitting the eaves and the ground, making a gurgling sound. But in the prostitute Taro's ears, those last words echoed repeatedly, as well as the vague but extremely clear faint smile when she looked back in the rain.
She knew it.
She must know something!
This knowledge was like a wildfire that started a prairie fire, swallowing up all his reason and hesitation in an instant.
Whether she was a miracle, a conspiracy, a phantom, or something else... He had to figure it out!
The green ghost eyes shone horribly in the rain. There was no longer pure scrutiny and confusion, but a mixture of eagerness, desire, fear and an almost paranoid determination.
His figure flickered and merged into the shadows again, like the most loyal ghost, closely following the oil-paper umbrella that was getting further away in the rain.
This time, it's no longer just observation.
Ikebukuro's Master House hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Huang Ying and Liu Zhenzhi cried well [crying] [crying] Two broken bodies and white souls, I hope they can be together in the next life [crying] [crying]
That's right for seniority.
Xia Zhi still likes Song Ye, Song Ye also never forgets Xia Zhi. The two of us are so destined, I think there is still a chance that we can be together.
Nice
Maybe it's camouflage!
Youyou and the others are dead, and Yunke is going to do it all over again?
又来看一遍，真的很喜欢夜风的文
I hope there will be a sequel [crying] [crying]
The moonlight shines brightly in front of the bed, the text is posted on the Jinjiang River, the nutrient solution is irrigated, and the code words are doubled~
Pay attention, your nutrient solution is here~ Come on and write
This is your nutritional solution, take it now~
Thank you to heaven, thank you to earth, thank you for your hard work~
Sprinkle flowers ~*^O^* There is a good article, I will never forget it, I will drink nutrient solution vigorously, and I will be frivolous about it.
Love is always the same across thousands of rivers and mountains, can you give me an extra bottle? OK! So great [Calico cat head]
I will spend my whole life supporting you, and may the nutrient solution guide your way forward!
Awesome
It seems like two chapters a day or it will be finished right away 🙂
The new nutrient solution is here~ Come on, come on, come on!
Come on, code word, enough nutrient solution!
The nutrient solution has been filled with the "code word energy tank", please start the update!
Nutrient solution is detected, please turn on the "Crazy Coding" mode!
Let's go, let's fire a mine!
Nice
I saved up "Expedited Nutritional Solution" for Da Da. Remember to take a sip when you stay up late typing~
分线结束了还有番外吗？大大我还想看[星星眼]
The moonlight shines brightly in front of the bed, the text is posted on the Jinjiang River, the nutrient solution is irrigated, and the code words are doubled~
Hahaha, take the body and keep it
Chirp~~~~~bang! A grenade hit the author's backstage!
Reunion The prostitute Taro stood stiffly on the spot, as if he was wedged into the ground by invisible nails. The night wind on the Rashomon River whimpered through the ruins, stirring up dust and dead leaves, but he was unaware of it. Those green eyes were locked on the direction Hina was leaving, even though her figure had already been swallowed up by the chaotic shacks and the flickering light of cheap lanterns on the edge of Yoshiwara. "The sea in Nagasaki... Isn't it very windy?" That sentence is like an ancient mantra, and like a key that has been rusted for hundreds of years and suddenly inserted into the lock of the heart. Not the original words. What Haruko said before she died was "Go and see the sea in Nagasaki for me...". But the core of this question, which was full of wind and emotion as if it were personal experience, pointed to the same place, the same agreement that only the two of them (and maybe Mei) knew. Coincide? Ridiculous, heart-stopping coincidence? No. After he became a ghost, his senses and intuition had already surpassed the scope of humans. The woman who called herself "Hina" just now had an extremely subtle sense of disobedience. She was not afraid of him, and even had a deliberate, almost provocative approach to him. Deep in her eyes, there was a complex emotion that he couldn't decipher. It wasn't fear or disgust, but something like... A mixture of sadness, nostalgia and some kind of firm determination. And when she touched his cheek, the warmth from her fingertips, and the words "It's very hard" - vaguely overlapped with a vague but warm fragment deep in the memory. Most importantly, she mentioned "Nagasaki." In the two hundred years of long waiting, this place name has already been sublimated from a geographical coordinate to a temple of his obsession and a beacon of despair. He had imagined what that sea looked like countless times, but he had never mentioned it to any living (or dead) being. Except for Haruko, except for Mei (who may know, but not necessarily understand the full meaning). How do you know about a strange young woman who suddenly appears on the banks of the desolate Rashomon River? Countless possibilities collided and exploded in his cold brain, and were forcibly suppressed by him. The most absurd and unbelievable conjecture, but the one that made his soul tremble the most, was like a toadstool emerging from the darkness, growing crazily. Could it be that... Could it be that her words before her death, "We will meet again in the distant future...", Were not just words of comfort? Could it be that the so-called "from the future" is not a complete joke? No, that's crazy. The dead come back to life, crossing time... This goes against all the laws he knows as a ghost, and also goes against common sense. The immortality of ghosts is based on the robbery and curse of flesh and blood, not this... Miraculous return. But... If... There really is a god, then Haruko is not the god-like light of salvation in his ruined darkness. What if that faint soul resonance was real? What if she really returned to this time and space in another way, with another appearance? This thought brought not pure ecstasy, but more surging fear and confusion. If it was really her, what had she been through? Why have the appearance, age, and even hair color and eye color changed? Why didn't she recognize each other directly? Were her actions and words just now a test? Still teasing? Does she know that he has turned into a ghost? Is she... Still willing to accept him like this? Two hundred years of waiting have already made that emotion extremely complicated. It is no longer pure longing and love, but a mixture of deep-seated regret, self-loathing, paranoid watching, and an almost masochistic twisted belief in using "waiting" to punish oneself and maintain existence. He was used to chewing memories in the dark, used to numb the passage of time with hunger and fighting, used to seeing himself as an inhuman container that existed only for "waiting". Now, suddenly, the vessel is thrown into a fire that could ignite everything or blow it up completely. What should he do? Catch up with her? Catch her? Force the truth? With the power of his winding land, he can easily control her and torture out every detail. But what if... What if she really is? What if his roughness scares her away, hurts her, makes her... Disappear again? No, he couldn't bear to lose again. Even if it's just a little bit possible. His green eyes flickered on and off in the darkness, eventually settling into a bottomless, more paranoid darkness. The murderous intent and rage were forcibly suppressed, replaced by a hunter-like patience and an almost pathological desire for observation. He needed confirmation. Quietly, far away, without letting her notice. If she was, he would know sooner or later. If it weren't for... An impostor who dared to tease him and touch his deepest obsession, his end would be thousands of times worse than falling into the hands of other ghosts. He took one last look at the stone with no word tombstone and key imprint, and his figure quietly disappeared in place like an ink droplet blending into the night. In the days that followed, Hina could clearly feel that cold and persistent gaze, like an invisible spider web, began to cover her vaguely. Opposite the small hotel she rented, the shadows at the alley always seemed thicker than elsewhere. When she went to the tea house to inquire about news, she would occasionally catch a glimpse of the familiar dark green hair tips passing by on the street corner. Even when she closed the window at night, she could feel something lingering on the eaves outside the window, silently. He didn't show up immediately, didn't take any action, he just stared silently and stubbornly. This actually made Hina relax, and even made her want to laugh. This is very "whore Taro". Awkward and suspicious, he will never reveal his true intentions and emotions easily before confirming them. Two hundred years of being a ghost seems to have failed to completely erase these undertones in his character. She is not afraid. On the contrary, this feeling of being secretly watched made her feel strangely reassured - he was here, he was watching, and he had doubts. The plan was going in the direction she expected (or, what she subconsciously hoped for). She moved on with her life. During the day, she would go to the more peripheral and less chaotic areas of Yoshiwara to observe the current trends in snacks, try to use limited materials and tools to reproduce some modern and improved wagashi, and occasionally sell them on consignment at a stall to earn some living expenses. She deliberately lets her craftsmanship reveal some "Haruko"-style ingenuity, but it is not too prominent and mixed in with common styles. She no longer took the initiative to inquire about old events two hundred years ago, as if it was just a boring act on her whim. Most of the time, she is like an outsider who is curious about the prosperity of Yoshihara but keeps a distance, quietly observing this era. But she knew that those eyes in the dark would notice everything. The occasional fillings in her snacks that do not match the current common combinations (such as trying to season with citrus peels); the insights and casual comments she inadvertently reveals about certain things that are beyond the ordinary women of this era; even some habitual little movements when she walks... She was waiting for him to lose control. The opportunity came a little later than she expected. It was a gloomy afternoon, with leaden clouds accumulating in the sky, as if a heavy rain was brewing. Hina had just come out of a small food kiosk, where she successfully sold a small batch of her own "warabi cake" with lightly salted bean paste and received a good reward. In a good mood, she decided to go to the nearby market to buy some fresh ingredients and try to cook something more complicated in the evening. Just as she turned into a relatively quiet alley with the back walls of warehouses on both sides, the light at the intersection ahead suddenly dimmed. A thin and tall figure, with his back to the faint skylight at the entrance of the alley, was blocked there. Dark green curly hair, pale skin, black markings, and double scythes at the waist. It was Taro the prostitute. This time he did not hide in the shadows, but appeared directly in front of her. The distance was not too far but not too close, just enough for her to see clearly the cold expression on his face, and his pair of green eyes that looked particularly deep and dark under the gray light of the cloudy sky. Hina stopped, her heart beating faster involuntarily, but her face showed just the right amount of surprise and a hint of vigilance, and she frowned slightly: "Is it you? Mr. Night Watchman on the bank of the Rashomon River? What a coincidence, we meet again." The prostitute Taro did not respond to her greetings. He slowly took two steps forward, his steps silent but with an invisible sense of oppression. His gaze was like substance, slowly sweeping over her face and body, as if he was evaluating an item, or looking for some clues. "Hina." He spoke, his voice hoarse and deeper than last time, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time, "What exactly do you want to do when you come to Yoshiwara?" "What to do?" Hina tilted her head, showing a slightly confused and innocent expression, "Didn't I say? Come to see the world and find some livelihood. Yoshihara is so big, can you always accommodate me, a foreign girl, to make a living?" "Making a living?" The prostitute Taro's mouth twitched, as if he was smiling, but without warmth, "By making those... Strange snacks?" "Is it weird?" Yang Nai blinked and took a step closer, as if unaware of the dangerous distance between them. "I think it tastes pretty good, and the guests like it too. Have you ever tasted it?" There was a bit of provocation and curiosity in her tone. The prostitute Taro was silent for a moment. He did "taste" it - through some special means, he got the snacks she consigned. That smell... Was so familiar that it made his heart ache. It's not exactly the same, as the materials and techniques are different, but the core "ingenuity" and a certain subtle seasoning tendency vaguely echo the vague but stubborn flavor deep in his memory. "Who did you learn your craft from?" He avoided her question and asked instead. "I taught myself." Yang Cai answered easily, "I like to think about food, watch others make it, and then try it myself. Is there any problem with this?" She looked at him and suddenly smiled, "You seem to be particularly interested in my dim sum? If I had known it, I should have given you one to try last time. But it's not too late now. I have made a new bean paste with some special spices. Do you want to try it?" As she spoke, she actually took out a small snack wrapped in a clean leaf from the small cloth bag she carried with her and handed it over. His movements are natural and his eyes are clear, as if he is just sharing it with an unexpected and a bit strange "acquaintance". The prostitute Taro looked at the snacks handed to him, and then looked at her calm face. A trace of extremely complicated emotions flashed deep in his green eyes. There was confusion, vigilance, a hint of annoyance aroused by this bold move, and a hint of... A deeper throbbing that even he didn't want to admit. He didn't answer. "Are you from Kansai?" He changed the question, still staring into her eyes. "Yeah, near Osaka." Haruna lied without hesitation. This was the origin she had made up from the beginning. "The flavor of Kansai's dim sum seems to be different from that of Edo." Taro the prostitute said slowly, as if he was making a statement, but also as if he was testing, "What you make is not like Kansai style, nor is it entirely Edo style." "Oh, did you notice?" Yang Cai not only didn't panic, but instead seemed to have been told something proud, her eyes curled up, "I just like to mix it up, I just add whatever I think is delicious. There are too many rules, and the things I make will be the same? How boring." She took back the snack, broke off a small piece and put it in her mouth, tasted it carefully, and nodded, "Well, the salt taste seems to be a bit stronger this time... Add less next time." The way she was enjoying herself and completely ignoring the terrifying ghost in front of her made the prostitute Taro feel an unprecedented sense of powerlessness and... Irritability. Why does this woman act so completely out of line with common sense? Is she ignorant and fearless, or does she have other motives? He took another step forward, and the distance between the two was so close that he could feel the completely different scents of each other - she had the scent of clean soap and a faint sweet scent of snacks, while he had a cold scent mixed with a touch of rust and old wood decay. "You're not afraid of me." This is not a question. Hina raised her head and faced his close, oppressive gaze. His pale and strange face was clearly reflected in her light brown eyes. She didn't back away, and even raised her chin slightly. "Afraid?" She repeated, with a strange seriousness in her tone, "Why are you afraid? You look like..." Her gaze lingered on his face, passing over the markings, and finally returned to his green eyes, "... You don't want to hurt me. At least not now." She paused, and her voice became softer, but her words were clear, like feathers scratching his cold heartstrings: "There is no murderous intent in your eyes. There are just many, many... Questions, and a little... Sadness." The prostitute Taro's breathing completely stopped at that moment. It was as if the sharpest ice pick had suddenly pierced the outermost layer of ice that had been wrapped in the heart for hundreds of years. Sad? She actually said... He looked sad? For two hundred years, no one has dared to interpret him this way, and no one can see this. Even he himself has already buried those weak emotions belonging to "Prostitute Taro" deeply under the ghost's cold mask. This woman... He took a step back suddenly, as if he had been burned by something. His green eyes shrank and expanded violently, and a storm surged inside them. On the pale face, the black markings seemed to be slightly distorted by the violent fluctuations of emotions. Seeing him shaken violently, Hina felt sour in her heart. She almost couldn't help but step forward, hold his face as she did before, and tell him, "It's okay, I'm back." But she can't. Not yet. The timing and method of breaking through this layer of window paper must be decided by him, and it must be after she is confident enough to deal with all his possible reactions - whether it is ecstasy, doubt, or anger and paranoia distorted by long waiting and ghostly nature. She just stood there, looking at him quietly, her eyes clear and tolerant, as if she could accept all his chaos and unhappiness. The rain finally started to fall. Thin raindrops floated silently, wetting the mottled ground in the alley and also wetting the clothes on their shoulders. The prostitute Taro stared at her in the rain, as if he wanted to see through her soul. After a long time, his hoarse voice sounded again, with a tightness and difficulty that even he himself had not noticed: "... Who are you?" Hina smiled slightly. That smile looked a little hazy in the gradually falling rain, but it was extremely clear. "I told you," her voice came softly through the rain, "my name is Hina." She paused and added, her voice softer, but it seemed to hit his heart with a huge weight: "Someone... Who might be able to understand all your questions." After saying that, she no longer looked at the shocked expression on his face, nodded slightly, turned around, opened the oil-paper umbrella she had held in her hand at some point, and walked calmly into the increasingly dense rain, leaving the prostitute Taro standing alone in the empty alley, letting the cold rain wash away his stiff body and boiling thoughts. Understand... All the questions? The rain was getting heavier and heavier, hitting the eaves and the ground, making a gurgling sound. But in the prostitute Taro's ears, those last words echoed repeatedly, as well as the vague but extremely clear faint smile when she looked back in the rain. She knew it. She must know something! This knowledge was like a wildfire that started a prairie fire, swallowing up all his reason and hesitation in an instant. Whether she was a miracle, a conspiracy, a phantom, or something else... He had to figure it out! The green ghost eyes shone horribly in the rain. There was no longer pure scrutiny and confusion, but a mixture of eagerness, desire, fear and an almost paranoid determination. His figure flickered and merged into the shadows again, like the most loyal ghost, closely following the oil-paper umbrella that was getting further away in the rain. This time, it's no longer just observation.
Ikebukuro's Master House hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Huang Ying and Liu Zhenzhi cried well [crying] [crying] Two broken bodies and white souls, I hope they can be together in the next life [crying] [crying]
That's right for seniority.
Xia Zhi still likes Song Ye, Song Ye also never forgets Xia Zhi. The two of us are so destined, I think there is still a chance that we can be together.
Nice
Maybe it's camouflage!
Youyou and the others are dead, and Yunke is going to do it all over again?
又来看一遍，真的很喜欢夜风的文
I hope there will be a sequel [crying] [crying]
The moonlight shines brightly in front of the bed, the text is posted on the Jinjiang River, the nutrient solution is irrigated, and the code words are doubled~
Pay attention, your nutrient solution is here~ Come on and write
This is your nutritional solution, take it now~
Thank you to heaven, thank you to earth, thank you for your hard work~
Sprinkle flowers ~*^O^* There is a good article, I will never forget it, I will drink nutrient solution vigorously, and I will be frivolous about it.
Love is always the same across thousands of rivers and mountains, can you give me an extra bottle? OK! So great [Calico cat head]
I will spend my whole life supporting you, and may the nutrient solution guide your way forward!
Awesome
It seems like two chapters a day or it will be finished right away 🙂
The new nutrient solution is here~ Come on, come on, come on!
Come on, code word, enough nutrient solution!
The nutrient solution has been filled with the "code word energy tank", please start the update!
Nutrient solution is detected, please turn on the "Crazy Coding" mode!
Let's go, let's fire a mine!
Nice
I saved up "Expedited Nutritional Solution" for Da Da. Remember to take a sip when you stay up late typing~
分线结束了还有番外吗？大大我还想看[星星眼]
The moonlight shines brightly in front of the bed, the text is posted on the Jinjiang River, the nutrient solution is irrigated, and the code words are doubled~
Hahaha, take the body and keep it
Chirp~~~~~bang! A grenade hit the author's backstage!