Bit by bit, everything he did was slowly permeating her life.
Regardless of past and present, Zhou Shengchen has never changed. He does not talk about love or love, but he can let her know that he cares about her.
In the next few days, Zhou Shengchen was as busy as ever. On the day before grandma's 90th birthday, he was a little leisurely and returned to the yard where they lived. Before he could change clothes in the future, Shi Yi seemed to think of something: "Are you tired?"
"Not very tired."
"Shall we go to the library?"
"The library?"
"Well," Shi Yi got up from the sofa, "and... can someone prepare some, pen and ink, the kind that doesn't grind, just the big bucket of ink."
Zhou Shengchen found it interesting and quickly ordered people to prepare.
The two changed their clothes and came to the library. No one came here on weekdays, now there are only two of them, and the things you need in time are ready and placed next to the bookshelf. She came up, put her hand on the carved wooden handrail at the end of the stairs, looked at the wall with calligraphy and painting through the gap of the three-meter-high bookshelf, and seemed to be thinking about something.
Zhou Shengchen was not in a hurry to bother her, walked over and picked up a book from the nearest bookshelf.
He flipped through the book and merged with the entire space.
Shiyi's eyes moved from the wall and the three-meter-high bookshelf to him, sky blue trousers and white shirt, wearing a pair of silver metal frame glasses, and his suit jacket was placed on the wooden ladder next to the bookshelf. .
It was almost dusk, and the lights in this book building had been lit early.
The afterglow of the setting sun outside the window, the bright candlelight, and him, all looked like an ink painting in her eyes. The background is light, and when it comes to the figure, the stroke of the pen changes from light to thick... Shi Yi walks over, hugs his waist from behind, and presses his face against him.
He put one hand on hers: "Did you think about how to write?"
"Um."
"It's been a hundred years since this book building," he laughed. "You're still the first person who wants to put calligraphy on the wall."
"How do you know I want to write on the wall?"
He is noncommittal.
Well, her intention is obvious.
It is really spotless here, even if the calligraphy and painting are taken from the wall, there is still no obvious long-hanging mark. Shi Yi picked up a pen from the prepared pen holder, stood on the three-story wooden escalator, and wrote the "Shanglin Fu" that was so familiar to me every word. Sheng Mo's small bucket was hung on the corner of the escalator, shaking slightly as she adjusted her posture from time to time.
She wrote attentively, and Zhou Shengchen was also quietly accompanied.
The eloquence came down all the way and stopped at that sentence.
"Forgot?" Zhou Shengchen asked her with a funny look.
She pursed her lips and turned her head to look at him.
He laughed: "The second half of the sentence is: lust gives the soul and the heart is happy."
She looked in a trance for a moment, something superimposed, overlapped, making it difficult for her to write down quietly. She jumped off the escalator and put the pen on the shelf.
"Why didn't you write?" Zhou Shengchen leaned against the window, looking at the night outside the window.
Unknowingly, the sky is completely dark, and most of the old house can be seen here, brightly lit, and the atmosphere of the old man's 90th birthday has begun. Zhou Jiaji valued these things, so it was natural to make preparations long ago, and there will be an all-night casino and old drama tonight.
Three days and three nights, tomorrow is the birthday banquet.
Although the library building is remote, some sounds can be faintly heard.
He was thinking whether or not to let someone deliver food first, Shi Yi had quietly blown out all the lights and walked over. Her hand slid from his waist to her chest, and then her finger stopped on the second button of his shirt.
The palms of her hands are a little hot, and her body is a little hot, sticking to him.
Lips are also attached to his skin.
She wants him.
"What's the time?"
"Yeah." She bit his collarbone lightly, not so hard, like a cat or dog licking the palm of her hand.
Zhou Shengchen closed the window easily, and he wrapped her around her and let her lean on it: "It's a bit cold here."
"Yeah." She pulled out the hem of his shirt and slid her hand into his clothes.
It was really cold, her hands were cold, and his body was hot.
His hands are also a little cold, fearing that the ice will come in time, just separated from her coat. Soon he touched her chin, raised her head, lowered her head, and kissed her.
It was quiet and dark all around.
When the window is closed, only the outline of his eyes and face can be seen.
She breathed gently. At first it was she who took the initiative, but then she began to be out of her control. While untying her clothes, Zhou Shengchen was distracted to listen to the movement in the whole building. From time to time, he bit his lower lip, closed his eyes, pressed his back against the window, and hugged him tightly.
The tip of his nose brushed her chin and collarbone.
Wrap her arms around her so that all of her shirts don't fall off.
She kissed him and parted again.
The distant noise is separated by a window.
"Floating life is like a dream, what is it for joy?" His voice pressed against her ear, "There is a time to be alone, for what I want..."
She was sore and weak, leaning against him, and kissing him tenderly.
In the previous old dream, she sealed her pen under the pen and paper.
Here and here in this life, at this moment, she was tossed and loved, and it was him that she loved with all her heart, the person in front of her.
…
The two gathered their clothes and went downstairs. Zhou Shengchen put the pleated shirt on his arm, without any extra performance, as if he had been only reading upstairs... But after the lights were off for so long, how would the people downstairs know what they were doing? But like him, he was calm and composed.