The bedroom was silent and no one was whispering.
A corner of the brocade box was still in Song Lingzhi's hand. The candlelight flickered and danced in Song Lingzhi's light eyes.
Her eyes opened wide, and she murmured, "No, I, I..."
Incoherent and stumbling.
Song Lingzhi blushed anxiously: "I just, I just accidentally saw it."
The excuse is lame and ridiculous, and not at all credible.
Song Lingzhi was so flustered that he forgot to close the brocade box.
Shen Yan lowered his eyes and glanced at it, and said calmly: "...Do you know how to use it?"
His tone was calm and indifferent, like autumn water, without the slightest ripple.
Song Lingzhi's eyes were filled with shock, his pupils gradually widened, and he almost suspected that he had some kind of ear disease.
What is Shen Yan talking about
How could he say such a thing without batting an eyelid
It's so shameless, so despicable...
Song Lingzhi's face was as if covered with a thin layer of powder and stained with rouge, making it completely red.
The tips of his ears were burning like red coral, and Song Lingzhi scolded angrily.
"You're sick, and you can still think about these things?"
Thinking of Shen Yan's pretentious expression just now, Song Lingzhi felt his face turn red and punched Shen Yan on the shoulder.
Shen Yan had not yet recovered from his serious illness. His frail face was pale and thin, without a trace of blood.
Song Lingzhi reduced his strength by three points and muttered in a low voice: "Aren't you afraid that something will really happen someday..."
If it was something else, it would be fine, but if something happened inside the tent...
Song Lingzhi was thin-skinned and felt ashamed to face people just thinking about it.
Shen Yan's eyebrows were indifferent, and he glanced at Song Lingzhi vaguely: "... Are you Peony?"
Song Lingzhi was stunned for a moment, frowning in confusion: "What peony, Shen Yan, are you..."
Before he finished speaking, Song Lingzhi suddenly realized something...
peony…
To die under the peony flowers, even as a ghost, one can still be romantic*. (*From Tang Xianzu's "The Peony Pavilion")
Shen Yan looked from top to bottom, and the corners of his lips curled up with a hint of ridicule: "Then it's not impossible for me to be a ghost."
The bright yellow nightgown was scattered on the ground, and mottled light and shadow fell on the corners of Shen Yan's eyes. The dark eyes were slightly curved at the corners, showing a faint smile.
Song Lingzhi punched Shen Yan on the shoulder, this time using all his strength.
She was furious: "You—"
Gnashing his teeth, the last thing he said was just two dry words: "Go away."
Shen Yan covered his lips with one hand and coughed two or three times.
Surrounded by shame, Song Lingzhi panicked and pushed people away, lifting her skirt and running out of the hall.
The night wind blew up Song Lingzhi's sleeves, and her disorderly footsteps disturbed the candlelight in the hall.
Outside the window, the shadows of the trees sway and the light and shadows interweave.
The palace maids who were standing under the eaves with their hands hanging down were all startled by Song Lingzhi, and hurried over with glass hydrangea lanterns in their hands.
The towering palace stands behind me. Looking back, I see only bright lights and the ground is desolate and deserted.
Song Lingzhi suddenly turned around and went back to the door of Shen Yan's bedroom.
There was a bluestone platform under his feet, and two hexagonal pavilion-style lamps made of cloisonné enamel were hung at the entrance of the palace, and their light and shadow fell on Song Lingzhi's shoulders.
Shen Yan did not stand up in the hall. The dim light and shadow fell on his eyebrows. He leaned against the bamboo combing chair behind him and rubbed his eyebrows with one hand.
His tightly furrowed brows did not reveal a trace of gentleness or smile.