The chill of autumn in the Capital was growing more pronounced by the day. Shen Mingyue stood in the small courtyard of the inn, gazing at the withered begonia tree by the corner. The once-vibrant petals had long since fallen away, leaving only bare branches shivering in the biting wind.
A few dark red, withered leaves clung stubbornly to the twigs, swaying weakly as the autumn breeze swept over the bluestone pavement with a rustling sound, as if recounting the vicissitudes of time. The sound drifted near and far, at times plaintive like weeping, at times sharp and piercing, as though fate were mercilessly mocking them. Gu Jinghong leaned against the doorframe, holding a bowl of medicine.
The rising steam blurred his pale features as he looked at her slender back, his heart filled with tenderness. Ever since the New Emperor had promised them a life in seclusion, Shen Mingyue had frequently fallen into these trances. Her gaze was hollow and distant, as if she were yearning for the tranquil days ahead or perhaps bidding farewell to the turbulent years of the past.
Chapter 135