Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 1055 Lily of the Valley

Flower on Ashes, Chapter Two: Medicinal Lead. Dusk, like a piece of velvet soaked in ink, silently drifted over the ginkgo treetops. The restaurant's chandelier cast a warm yellow glow, casting intricate patterns on the teak floor, but it couldn't dispel the subtle chill in the air. A person sat at each end of the long table. The soft clink of knife and fork against porcelain plate was remarkably clear in the silence, like the ticking of a second hand on an empty clock tower. Shen Zhiyi lowered her head to carve the filet mignon on her plate. The medium-rare meat, oozing with pink juice, made her throat tighten. Three years ago, in the sterile ward, the nurse had brought the same tray, containing a few pieces of minced meat whose original color was unrecognizable. The bloody scent she'd smelled then overlapped with the scent of the knife and fork now. Fu Shiyan suddenly put down his knife and fork, and the silverware touched the bone china plate with a crisp "ding." Shen Zhiyi's hand, gripping the knife, trembled, and the tip of the knife scratched a shallow mark on the plate. When she looked up, she saw him standing up and walking towards the sideboard, the hem of his dark shirt rising in a sharp arc as he moved. He brought a gilded glass, filled with amber liquid, its walls clumps of water condensing like tiny diamonds. "It's calming," he placed the glass in front of her, his fingertips carelessly brushing the back of her hand. The cold touch made her pull her hand back abruptly. "The doctor said you need this." Shen Zhiyi stared at the medicine residue floating at the bottom of the glass. The dark brown crumbs swirled and sank, looking very much like the white pills flushed down the drain three years ago. She suddenly laughed, a subtle tremor in the last syllable, shattering into tiny dots in the warm yellow light. "Fu Shiyan," she tapped the tabletop with her fingertips, her nails leaving faint white marks on the mahogany surface, her voice as light as a sigh, "Aren't you afraid that I will pour the medicine into the flower bed like I did before?" His hand, which was cutting the steak, paused, and the serrations of the silver knife left messy marks on the pink meat. The next second, a sharp friction sound pierced the air - he pressed the knife hard on the plate, drawing a harsh arc. "The flower bed is now planted with your mother's favorite lily of the valley." When he raised his eyes, his eyelashes cast a narrow shadow under his eyes, and emotions that she could not understand surged in his eyes, like a deep pool disturbed by a strong wind, "Are you willing to give it up?" The two words "lily of the valley" were like ice-hardened needles, piercing Shen Zhiyi's heart unexpectedly. She clenched her fists suddenly, her nails digging deep into her palms, and the pain made the scene in front of her begin to shake. On the day of her mother's burial, also in this autumn, she stood before the tombstone, clutching a bouquet of lilies of the valley. Morning dew from the petals dripped onto the hem of her black skirt, creating a small, dark stain. Fu Shiyan stood behind her, shielding her from the rustling autumn wind. He said, "Zhiyi, I'll take care of you for your aunt from now on." Back then, his voice still carried the clear, youthful clarity of youth, unlike the lingering chill it carries now. Moonlight from the window had somehow drifted into the dining room, like a cool, silken thread, gently covering the profile of Fu Shiyan's face. The light outlined his prominent brow ridges and illuminated the faint scar beneath his left brow—a thin, pale pink line, yet it magnified infinitely on Shen Zhiyi's retina, ultimately overlapping with the memory of that summer. On her fifteenth birthday, the cicadas' cacophony threatened to boil the world. She skipped across the street, clutching the sketchbook she had just borrowed from the studio, eager to quickly deliver the birthday card she had just drawn to Fu Shiyan. Suddenly, a sharp brake sound tore through the air, and she felt her wrist being violently pulled backwards, and her whole body crashed into an embrace that smelled of sunshine. The motorcycle whizzed past the hem of her skirt, and the stones rolled up by the tires hit Fu Shiyan's forehead, leaving a blood mark. But he didn't care about himself, but just hugged her tightly, his voice trembling with fear: "Zhiyi, look at the road!" Later, with a white gauze wrapped around his forehead, he sat by the bed and watched her paint. She took the paintbrush and carefully drew a crooked lily of the valley next to his plaster bandage. "When you get better, let's go plant a large area of ​​lily of the valley, okay?" She asked with her face raised, her eyes shining like stars. Fu Shiyan smiled and rubbed her hair, the warmth of his palm passed through the hair, warm and comforting. "Okay," he said. "I'll go plant them when I'm better." Back then, he wasn't the cold, hard person he is now. He'd quietly sharpen her pencils while she was drawing, brew her brown sugar ginger tea during her period, and when she was criticized by her studio teacher, he'd take the blame and say, "I interrupted her practice." But now, that gentle, smiling Fu Shiyan seemed to be stuck in that summer forever. "The medicine's cold," Fu Shiyan's voice pulled her out of her memories. He had already cut the steak and pushed the plate in front of her. Each piece of meat was cut into evenly sized cubes, with edges as smooth as if measured with a ruler. Shen Zhiyi stared at the glass of amber liquid, the water droplets sliding down the side of the cup, forming small puddles on the table. She knew she had no room to refuse, just like three years ago in the mental hospital, no matter how she hid the pills under her pillow or stuffed them into the cracks of the bed, there would always be new pills on the bedside table the next day. The conversation at the nurses' station echoed in her ears like a ghost. "Shen Zhiyi, bed 307, threw away her medicine again today?" "Mr. Fu specifically told her to take it, or she'll lose control again..." "But wouldn't taking too much of this hallucinogen be bad for her health?" "Mr. Fu said it's better than suicide." As the white pills melted on her tongue, she felt a brief vertigo. She could see her mother smiling at her amidst the lily of the valley, and Fu Shiyan standing in the sun in a white shirt. But the loss that followed waking up was more excruciating than any pain. She lifted the glass, the amber liquid glistening eerily in the light. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of Fu Shiyan's hand resting on his knee—his knuckles white, as if he were straining to hold something back. The liquid slid down her throat with a slightly bitter aftertaste, reminiscent of tea made from dried lily of the valley. Her mother had always loved making this tea when she was alive, saying it soothed the mind and promoted restful sleep. But Shen Zhiyi hadn't slept a single peaceful night's sleep since her mother passed away. Dinner ended in silence. While Fu Shiyan was clearing the dishes, Shen Zhiyi sat on the sofa, looking at the moon outside the window. The moonlight shone through the gaps in the ginkgo leaves, casting mottled shadows on the ground, like a broken net. She suddenly remembered that rainy night three years ago, when it was also the same moonlight, shining through the glass windows of the hospital, on Fu Shiyan's pale face. He pinched her wrist and pressed her fingers on the consent form for the operation. "Sign, Zhiyi." His voice was soft, but with unquestionable determination, "Only in this way can you survive."