Chapter 228

The night was deep and the water clock was running low; the iron wind chimes at the eaves chimed melodiously in the night breeze. I tossed and turned on the bed, and the brocade quilt had already been twisted into a miserable shape. A thick layer of red wax had accumulated on the candlestick, and occasionally a wick spark burst forth, casting Mùróng Zhuó's desolate expression at that moment onto the wall.