The Road Turns White Tonight

The little girl from the neighbor Su’s house ran over, lingered with his daughter, and looked at him in alarm. Later, his elder husband, her brother-in-law, and the child adopted by her brother-in-law Chi Hou came over.

Both her mother and her sister had died, and like her, she died suddenly of a heart attack. It was a genetic disease of her family. It’s hard to imagine that her sister and brother-in-law actually adopted a child who also had a heart disease.

They kept talking in his ears, anxious and sad, but he couldn’t hear anything at all, and it was he and her only daughter who finally calmed him down. Those black and clear eyes were like those with no trace of impurities, those were exactly like her eyes.

Finally, he saw her at the small hotel called Willow in Lushan.

She crouched on the wooden table in front of the window, and outside the window was Ruqin Lake. The messy paintings in the room are the same every frame. The winged butterfly, the ugly torso, lay sideways in front of a flood of autumn water, looking desperately to wear, but could never fly past.

Broken-winged butterfly, death is the best destination, otherwise there is nothing else. Ruqin Lake is over there, Chi Zheng is over here. The sea is over there, and the butterfly is over here. The fate of the butterfly is doomed to the sea.

Looking at the pool of tears in Ruqin Lake, her eyes did not close, as if waiting for an answer, maybe there will never be an answer. The heart of her favorite person may have been determined, but before she left, she was miserable.

Everyone present covered his face and dared to look, and the hotel owner’s child, Yang Zhi, hid in horror from his parents.

Is she terrible?

No. Just in the winter, the body was not corrupted, her eyes widened, as clear as ever.

Suddenly he didn’t dare look closely at her eyes, afraid of seeing resentment inside, and fear that she would fall into reincarnation with hatred against him.

The small room was crowded with people, only she died in silence and loneliness. When he died, no one was around. His wife.

Remember the day he told her, I hope my wife is you.

Hehe, it is now he who is driving her to death.

He shivered and carried her into his arms, like he had done a thousand times before, but this time, she would never call him “Ayi” again. Never again. There is no longer between them forever.

His eyes fell on the small wooden table, and the rice paper on it was still an ugly butterfly, and he suddenly caught a word on the paper. Written in charcoal, crooked.

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At the time, she had only this short charcoal pencil in her hand. Someone said that her paintings are magical, but her words are not beautiful. Before she died, she wrote with the last drop of strength, and it looked so ugly.

“Shen Tuo, help me”

There are charcoal winding back, that is the unfinished words, but it has nothing to do with him or their daughter. Beyond the pain and remorse, the anger filled him with hatred of her cheekbones.

Chi Zheng, did you use this method to force me to hate you, do you remember you all your life, or did you love another person in your heart?

Shen Tuo, he knows this man. She never told him anything. It was the man who had pursued her before she knew him. The son of a businessman, a good family. She had told him that the man was fine.

He asked with a smile, why she chose herself in the end.

She just laughed, “Mr. Yi, let Chi Zheng keep a little secret.”

The secret is that she married him, is she actually another person?

After finishing her funeral, he trapped himself in her studio.

It is not so much a studio as a classroom. After marriage, she has rarely painted.

She spent her energy on him, on him and her daughter. Although he retired, he had a wide range of friends. In his early years, he had many friends in the official market and was not a general friend.

She is the best painter, but she is too shy and not good at communication. She followed him, watching quietly, slowly learning, helping him greet friends, and later helping him manage a home.

You Yan seems awkward, without inheriting the wisdom of his father, nor the talent of his mother. It’s a pity that friends came to play. She stubbornly accompanied her little daughter to paint. From the simplest copy to the most complex abstraction.

She’s okay, clearing little by little in his mind.

He felt pain and regret, and he hated her even more. It was not his name that she wrote with all her last strength, and he would be better off if it was their daughter’s name.

The question she asked of him before her death seems to have become his question at the moment, Chizhen, who is it in your heart?