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Feng Mo looked at her, perplexed, but maintained a smile. His light scarlet robe brushed past the black wooden table as he poured a cup of rage ant chrysanthemum tea for her. ”I'm waiting for someone.”

Meng Fuyao raised a doubtful glance at his words.

”Many years ago she said she would wait here for me. I traveled for too long, and when I came back, she was gone. Her former house had been torn down and rebuilt into this. The place has changed tremendously but certain things, like the lavender flowers in the garden, remained, which is why I can't bear to leave.”

He smiled faintly, with a romantic charm that older men usually carried. The fine lines extending from the corner of his eyes were angled perfectly.

”What has that got to do with this?”

Meng Fuyao kept her eyes on the faint yellow petals that blossomed on the jade green cup. She felt as though something was soothing out deep within her heart, along with a past that couldn't be touched. Someone was also waiting for her in the other world. Everyone had someone they were waiting for, but ever-changing circumstances often forced them to move on. What kind of determination must one have in order to stay put?

Drops of dew formed deep within her heart, and it was a harmonious resonance that surfaced. Feng Mo's perseverance made her feel understood.

A person like Feng Mo would indeed be a good buddy. He wasn't one to invade privacy and played good chess and zither. Plus, he never once expressed frustration or ridicule at playing against a rookie like her. No matter how dumb her move was he just smiled and guided her patiently. They played a game from morning till mid-afternoon, and while Meng Fuyao thought hard over her next move, he simply waited with a kind smile, his soft gaze occasionally shifting toward the layer of fallen lavender petals that had covered the corridor.

In this place, Meng Fuyao finally found the mental peace that she had been seeking for the past 18 years of her life. The torment and burdensome responsibilities that had been following her all this while were being placated by those clear, gentle eyes of his. She craved for this rare tranquility and enjoyed the compassionate smile he maintained. Meng Fuyao appreciated the gentle manner he extended his hand out to catch the falling petals as if reaching for the scattered pieces of a pearl-like dream, and she also appreciated the nostalgic expression that surfaced after.

. . . . .

Feng Mo's birthday was approaching, but he kept it from her. Nevertheless, she remembered conversations in which he casually brought up times his parents had celebrated for him. That noon, they drank tea and recited poetry till evening time, where he then sat down and readied himself for a game of chess. What greeted the table wasn't a chessboard but a scrumptious meal.

Meng Fuyao stood by the door with crossed arms and raised brows. ”Happy birthday.”

Feng Mo looked at her in silence, and she started checking herself to make sure that there weren't grains or minced meat stuck on her face. Upon inspection, she returned the look and laughed. ”Is that you feeling touched?”

He smiled and waved for her to join him. When she had settled down, she blinked. ”So easily touched? I have one more gift, though. Are you going to start crying in my arms?”

”You can take it out, and we'll see.” His eyes lit up increasingly under the red lamplight, the ripples within showing through.

Meng Fuyao acted mysteriously, handing him a box, to which he accepted with a smile. ”Open it, open it,” she urged.

A faint fragrance spread as he opened the lid, and the expression in Feng Mo's dazzling eyes gradually changed.

It was an exquisite crystal house with flower walls and a small well in the courtyard. There were three steps before the main door, leading to a fingertip-sized carriage, and the back garden was filled with lavender.

It wasn't the brothel but the place in which the woman had waited for him. It was a story, which he had unintentionally brought to her notice, being crystallized into something to be commemorated.

Past events that had been frozen in time were grinding at his heart every day, but the result was an item so beautifully created that one wouldn't bear touch it in fear of dimming its splendor.

Feng Mo studied the house silently as Meng Fuyao waited in unease. He hasn't shared the ending of his story. It could be a tragedy, and her gift could possibly have sparked yet another bout of heartache.

But he smiled. His length almond eyes narrowed as he kept the box carefully. ”I can't bear to…” he started.

”Can't bear to?” she repeated while lazily resting her arms on the table.

”To accept this gift, ” he finished with a tinge of regret. ”It's been so long since someone has gotten close to and given such a gift to me.”

”It's not worth much, please don't mind it,” she waved before pouring a cup of wine for him. ”Come. A toast for a special occasion.”

Their cups clanked in midair, the crisp sound of porcelains waking up the nocturnal birds and their gentle twittering.

Getting-drunker-at-every-cup Meng Fuyao lost herself very quickly and blurted out, tongue-tied, ”Will she return?”

”That's no longer important, I think,” Feng Mo replied with a strange yet charming soft gaze. He reached out to stroke her long black hair while looking vacantly into the garden filled with fluttering lavender petals.

”Miss Meng,” he called out gently after some time.