Chapter 16 — Wu Yang Flower – Jade Snow Palace

It's like he never appeared here. Xuan Hoa was surprised and wondered softly: "Why did that painter go so fast?" And I whispered a sigh of relief in my heart. Maybe I've been thinking too much. He is just one of countless passersby in Giang Nam, accidentally passing through my life, then quietly leaving, leaving no trace. That's all. Life returned to its usual peaceful rhythm. Until half a month later, Uncle Chung came again. This time, his expression was extremely serious. He told me something that made the whole room suddenly cold - Tieu Quyet had disappeared from the capital. Living without seeing people. Dead without a body. It's like evaporating from the human world. My hand clenched the teacup so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The hot tea spilled out, splashing onto the back of my hand, burning. But I didn't feel any pain, because my mind was completely occupied by another thought. The back of the lake that day suddenly appeared clearly before my eyes - a thin body, a lonely stance, as if carrying an indescribable desolation. No way. Definitely not possible. In the capital, he also has a royal concubine, a son, and all the things he has never let go of. How could he come to Jiangnan? It's even more impossible to become a poor painting seller by the lake. We tell ourselves over and over again, trying to force ourselves to believe that it's all just a coincidence. But that feeling of insecurity is like a vine growing silently, little by little, wrapping tightly around my heart, so tight that I can barely breathe. From that day on, I started losing sleep. Night after night, I lay awake, just closing my eyes, the painter's back and Tieu Quyet's face overlap in my head, sometimes clear and sometimes blurry, appearing alternately, tormenting me to the point of exhaustion. Xuan Hoa saw that I was becoming more and more emaciated and became extremely worried. He quickly invited the best doctor in Giang Nam to check my pulse. The doctor told me that I was worrying too much and that my heart was burning with anger, so he prescribed some sedatives. The medicine I took again had no effect at all. I know clearly that my illness is not in my body, but in my heart. That artist is like a thorn that has pierced my heart. If I don't personally pull it out, I will never be at peace. Finally, one early morning, without telling anyone, I quietly left Thanh Nguyet Cu alone and went straight to the lakeside where the painting booth used to be. Under the weeping willow, there was only an empty space, no thatched stalls, and no people; There was only the sound of the wind rustling through the willow branches, cold and empty. We follow the water's edge, walking aimlessly. In my heart, I was both empty and at the same time had a conflicting feeling that was hard to name - a bit of loss, and a bit of relief as if a burden had been lifted. Maybe it's really just me thinking too much. He… how could he come here? Between me and him... it was originally settled a long time ago. Just as I was about to turn around and go back, suddenly there was a commotion in the distance, the sounds of panicked people mixed with screams, as if someone had fallen into the water. I instinctively stepped closer, only to see a large circle of people gathered on the lake shore. In the middle of the cold water, a child about four or five years old was struggling desperately; The mother knelt on the shore, crying until her heart was broken, but the surrounding crowd could only look at each other hesitantly, no one dared to jump in. The lake water in early spring is still there It was as cold as the skin, every gust of wind causing small ripples on the water surface. The child gradually sank, his small arms weakly waving for the last time. At that moment, a "boom" sounded, and a figure without hesitation rushed straight into the cold water. That person was a very good swimmer. In just a blink of an eye, he reached the child's side, holding the small body with one hand, parting the water with the other, and swimming with all his might back toward the shore. Cheers rang out everywhere, and I unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. He hugged the child and climbed up to the shore, his whole body was soaked, his lips were purple from the cold, and his face was terrifyingly white. He handed the child to the trembling mother, without saying a word, turned around to leave. It was at that moment when he turned his back that I saw that face. His face was noticeably thinner due to long-term deprivation, his lines seemed to have been eroded by wind and dew, and his chin had a stubble that made him look much older than his real age. But those eyes... Those eyes are as deep as cold, once made me love, once made me hate, once made me resent to the core - I can't be wrong in this life. It's him. Tieu Quyet. It's really him.