Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 1035: Gradually Adorable

When Shen Yanzhi bent down to pick up the bag of osmanthus cakes, his fingertips first touched the rough linen brocade bag. The corners of the brocade bag were embroidered with a few crooked clusters of osmanthus flowers, with stitches of varying density, clearly the work of a beginner. He gathered the scattered cakes back into the bag, his fingertips stained with a warm, sweet fragrance. The fragrance was not as greasy as that of ordinary cakes, but rather had a crisp, grassy scent, like golden osmanthus just scooped out of the morning dew. Looking up at the girl again, Shen Yanzhi couldn't help but be slightly startled. She was wearing a plain, washed-out skirt with fine frayed edges at the neckline. She wore a simple cotton rope around her waist, and didn't even have a decent jade pendant. Her long, jet-black hair was casually tied behind her head, secured with an ordinary peach wood hairpin. A few strands of hair hung down by her cheeks, trembling slightly in the night breeze. But those eyes were startlingly bright, their corners slightly tilted upward, imbued with an inexplicable spirit. A faint golden glow shone within their pupils, as if they held the pulsing light of a star. "My name is Shen Yanzhi, and I live in the study up ahead." He handed the osmanthus cake back, his fingertips accidentally brushing against her hand. The touch was as cool as jade, yet with a subtle tremor, like moonlight just plucked from a cold pond. He paused, then added, "If you have nowhere else to go, why don't you take shelter from the cold wind and wind at my house? This deep alley is not peaceful at night." Lingxi's gaze fell on the cluster of ink-embroidered bamboo embroidered on his sleeve. The thread was a very pale smoky gray, yet the embroidery was vivid, the veins of the leaves clearly visible, and the joints were dotted with thick ink, adding a touch of elegance. The elders of Qingqiu said that those who wore white clothes were mostly scholars, and scholars were generally kind-hearted, especially those with flowers and plants embroidered on their sleeves, who were often gentle. She licked her chapped lips, her throat feeling like it was clogged with cotton. It took a great effort to force out a few words: "My name is Lingxi." The words floated lightly, with a hint of the soft, foxy melody that trailed off, like a feather gently scratching the tip of her heart. Shen Yanzhi couldn't help but smile, leaning aside and making a gesture of invitation: "Miss Ling, please follow me." After walking about a hundred steps along the gravel path, they came into view a small courtyard. The courtyard entrance consisted of two old wooden doors, their hinges loose. When they opened, they creaked, startling the night birds from the acacia trees. The courtyard was paved with bluestone slabs, moss sprouting from the cracks. A few orchids grew against the wall, their leaves still stained with night dew, gleaming in the moonlight. The study was smaller than Lingxi had imagined, but remarkably elegant. Facing her was a carved wooden window, its lattice covered with half-worn cotton paper, letting in a dim light. There was a pearwood desk by the window, the tabletop polished to a shine, the ink in the inkstone still steaming, and beside it was a pile of scrolls half a person's height, tied with dark red silk ribbons and neatly arranged. In the corner stood a bookshelf, stretching from the floor to the beams, filled with books. Lingxi didn't recognize the words on the spines of the books, but they had a faint scent of ink, reminding her of the ancient talking trees in Qingqiu. Shen Yanzhi turned and went to the kitchen to boil water. Before leaving, he deliberately moved the scrolls on the table to the side to make a clean space. Lingxi looked around curiously, her eyes falling on the celadon brush washer in the corner of the desk. The brush washer was filled with clear water, with a few dried lotus leaves floating on the water. Next to it was a crystal white inkstone, with the word "quiet thinking" engraved on the edge of the inkstone, and the brush strokes were vigorous and powerful. "Try this." Shen Yanzhi came over with a cup of hot tea. The cup was made of coarse pottery, with a few plum blossoms printed on the wall. It looked simple but warm. In the mist, he suddenly smiled, and fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes: "Miss Ling's name is so beautiful, like the sound of running water in a mountain stream, crisp and clean." Lingxi's fingers holding the teacup tightened slightly, her palms numb from the heat, but her heart was warm. She had never heard of running water in a mountain stream, only the sound of ice breaking by the cold pond in Qingqiu, crackling, like someone breaking rock sugar. But she liked the tone of Shen Yanzhi's voice when he said this, gentle as the spring breeze blowing across fur, with a hint of the fragrance of flowers and plants. The tea was an ordinary coarse tea, a little strong and a little bitter, but Lingxi drank it with relish. She secretly raised her eyes to look at Shen Yanzhi, watching him sit at the desk, spread out the rice paper, pick up the brush and dip it in ink. He held the pen beautifully, his fingers long and slender, their joints distinct. The ink smudged onto the paper, creating one delicate, small character after another. Moonlight filtered through the window lattice onto his profile, his eyelashes casting a faint shadow beneath his eyelids, like the soft shroud of a butterfly's wings. Lingxi suddenly remembered what the foxes in her tribe had said: human emotions are strange. Sometimes, a single glance can be remembered forever, like accidentally ingesting intoxicating grass. Even though you know it will make you dizzy, you can't help but want to smell it a few more times. She shook her head, figuring she must have drunk too much hot tea; otherwise, why would her heart be beating so fast? Late at night, Shen Yanzhi made the couch in the corner of his study and brought out the half-worn quilt. The quilt smelled slightly of sunburn, tinged with the faint scent of soapberry. Lingxi curled up on the couch, the scent of ink and quilt lingering around her nose, as if she were gently wrapped in something, so secure that she almost fell asleep. But she kept her eyes open, watching Shen Yanzhi reading under the lamp. He was reading intently, his brows occasionally furrowed, his fingertips tapping lightly on the tabletop as he muttered something she couldn't understand. The first rain of the nascent autumn arrived unexpectedly. One moment, the sky was clear and sunny, the sun high in the clouds, scorching the bluestone slabs in the study courtyard. The next, a fierce wind blew up, bringing dark clouds from the horizon like a piece of ink-soaked cotton wool, instantly blocking out most of the sunlight. Lingxi was squatting on the threshold, counting ants, watching them carry insect carcasses larger than themselves into the cracks in the wall, when a bean-sized raindrop suddenly hit her forehead. She jumped in surprise, her tail reflexively tensing under her skirt, almost breaking through the fabric. She hurried inside, and as she stepped over the threshold, the rain poured down. Raindrops hit the bluestone slabs, splashing half an inch high, like countless transparent beads dancing on the ground. The gutters under the eaves were not fast enough to drain so much rainwater. The water flowed along the eaves, forming a crystal clear curtain of water, covering the locust tree in the yard. The leaves were washed shiny and green as if they could drip water. Lingxi squatted at the door of the study, chin resting on her knees, staring at the rain in a daze. The rain gathered into a stream, winding down along the lines of the bluestone slabs, and accumulated into small puddles in the low-lying areas, reflecting the fast-moving dark clouds in the sky. The tip of her tail swung restlessly under her skirt, raising fine dust as it swept across the ground - these days, it has become increasingly difficult for her to control her true form, especially when her emotions fluctuate.