The Yulin Royal Guards had sealed off the Lin 47th Street, but more and more people of Chang 'an were crowding around. They didn't care about the cold rain drenching their bodies. They looked at the black-faced man under the wall nervously, uneasily, excitedly, or pitifully, and guessed what had happened.
Ning Que stood in the rain with a black umbrella and looked at Zhuo Er, who was sitting in the rain, through the crowd. His expression was calm and he looked very focused, as if he wanted to engrave that face in his mind forever.
Seven years ago, when we met on Min Mountain, this face was already so dark. Why are you so dark? Darker than the bottom of a pot, darker than Sangsang, and darker than the night. They hadn't seen each other for seven years, but Little Darkie had become a black-faced man. After all, this face was still a little strange. So at this last moment, he had to look at it seriously and remember it firmly.
Zhuo Er, whose eyes were always closed, was carried out of Lin 47th Street by the sergeants of the Yulin Royal Guards. The onlookers dispersed, and Ning Que and Sangsang walked back to the shop under the black umbrella. He looked calm, but Sangsang could clearly feel that there was no light in his eyes, as if he was a shell without a soul.
After the shop door was closed, Ning Que sat in the armchair and kept silent for a long time. Then he said in a low voice, "Let's have noodles tonight."
"Okay." Sangsang answered as fast as she could. She threw the book and makeup box aside and went into the backyard.
After eating a bowl of noodles with three fried eggs specially made by Sangsang, Ning Que's mood seemed to have completely returned to normal. He even made fun of her after putting down the bowl and chopsticks, but his laughter was inevitably a little dry.
In the dead of night, when the rain stopped, Ning Que walked out of the shop. After making sure that no one was watching in the dark, he slowly walked to the gray wall opposite the shop and squatted down. He raised his arm and slowly stroked the wall. That guy's body temperature had long disappeared from the damp and cold wall. He didn't know why that guy came here when he was seriously injured and on the verge of death, what he wanted to tell him, how long he had waited in the cold rain, and what he was thinking when he waited …
His slender fingers touched a brick and slightly froze. There was a very faint blood stain on the corner of the brick, as well as a very small mark. If he didn't touch it with his fingers, he would never be able to see it with his naked eyes.
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…
Walking back to the shop, Ning Que handed a few pieces of thin paper soaked in oil to Sangsang and told her to take good care of them. Then, he boiled a pot of water and scalded his feet. Then, he crawled into the damp and cool quilt. As usual, Sangsang slept on the other side of the bed, curled up like a mouse.
"Seven years ago, I only stayed with him for a dozen days before he was taken away by his dead master. However, you don't remember those things. He didn't learn anything from that dead man all these years, and now he's just a spy for the military. He's not doing very well. "
"We did exchange letters, but we only met again after seven years. I don't know what kind of person he has become. It would be too pretentious to say that I have deep feelings for him. My relationship with him is one of mutual use. To be more precise, I used him to find out about Xia Hou's matters. "
"But he died just like that. This is very troublesome. I'm the only one who knows about the massacre of those villages. Of course, I didn't count you in. Doesn't that mean that I'm the one responsible for it? But now I'm already in a lot of trouble. How can I have the energy to care about this? "
Sangsang knew that he just needed to vent or convince himself. He didn't need anyone to talk to him, so she didn't speak and gradually fell asleep. Ning Que couldn't fall asleep.
He opened his eyes and looked at the stains formed by the rainwater in the corner of the room. Suddenly, he sat up, put on a thin cotton jacket and went to the small courtyard. He took out three old knives from the pile of firewood and lowered his head to sharpen them under the eaves of the well.
After sharpening the knives, he still didn't feel sleepy. He walked to the shop and lit the lamp. He poured water to grind the ink and moistened the brush. Then, he tore a piece of paper at random and wrote a few lines of words with the ink splashing like the heavy rain in the daytime.
"Chasing is too cruel. My name is Mu Jue. The pain penetrates my heart and liver. The pain is unbearable. Unable to get the Mercedes-Benz, the sorrow deepens. Choking on the paper, I don't know what to say … Little Ning, I bow my head. "
There was no expression on Ning Que's face. His eyes were calm, which formed a sharp contrast with the gradually bitter and agitated handwriting on the paper. Sangsang didn't know when she got up from the bed. The little handmaiden stood beside him in a thin cotton jacket. She looked at the words silently and then raised her little face to look at him in doubt.
"These words were written by a predecessor. I'm just copying." Ning Que explained, "That predecessor's ancestral grave was dug up. Although it was restored immediately, he couldn't go back to see it. So he wrote these words in grief and anger."
Sangsang nodded, but judging from the perplexed look in her eyes, she probably still did not understand. Ning Que smiled and did not explain further. He had copied this famous piece at least ten times. Only tonight did he roughly understand what kind of pain could pierce through his heart and liver, and what kind of things could make people choke with emotions and not know what to say at the last moment.
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…
After daybreak, the rain stopped.
The sun that had been washed by the spring rain was extraordinarily clear and beautiful. It shone on the quiet Lin 47th Street, painting all the eaves and the gray wall with a layer of beauty. The door of the Old Brush Pen Shop was wide open. Ning Que sat in a round chair and read a leisurely book. Sometimes he frowned or smiled because of the contents of the book, and then he picked up the teapot and took a sip of tea.
There was a piece of oil-soaked paper in the middle of the seemingly leisurely book. The words that would never be wet by the rain were very clear in the oil-soaked paper. He wasn't reading the book at this time, but he was looking at the paper.
This piece of oil-soaked paper was stuffed into the brick before Zhuo Er died. It recorded a few names and some information such as their whereabouts and hobbies. Ning Que didn't know whether this paper had anything to do with Zhuo Er's death. But at least he knew what he should do to make Zhuo Er's death worthwhile or to make him happier after death.
The first name on the oil-soaked paper was Zhang Yiqi.
Zhang Yiqi was an Assistant Censor of the Imperial Censorate. He was responsible for inspecting the officials and impeaching those who violated the law. When Censor Zhang was still a Supervising Censor, he was responsible for the trial of Xuanwei General Lin Guangyuan's treason. When he was promoted to the Secretary of the Imperial Censorate, he was also one of the officials who investigated the village extermination case in the Yan territory.
Rising from the eighth rank to the lower sixth rank in thirteen years didn't seem like a good official career. But Ning Que didn't care about this. He only cared about the role this person played in the two cases. General Xiahou could kill the enemy and get away from the village extermination case. This person obviously played the role of an Imperial Censor.
Then, you should die.
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