daily life

Chapter 1

In the 28th year of Yonghe, he attacked the mansion.

It's late autumn, and the flowers that have passed their best season are silently withering, turning and spinning into the dust.Osmanthus fragrans, hibiscus, and a bunch of red flowers are in full bloom, swaying and dancing.

The rich or light floral fragrance blends into the rustling wind and spreads into the room.

Xiang Zhixuan frowned, disliked the entanglement of several aromas lingering around her nose.Putting down the brush in her hand, she picked up the teacup, took a sip of tea, and glanced at Xi Lang inadvertently.

He stood in front of the desk and wrote with a pen, his brows were calm and his expression was focused.

The imperial doctor asked him to rest in bed, his arms could not move, and he should try not to move around.He would not listen.It was as if the body and injury belonged to someone else and had nothing to do with him.

Xiang Zhixuan put down the teacup, rested her chin on her hand, and looked towards the window.

The shadows of flowers and trees are cast on the window screens, floating with the wind, and the light and shadows in the gap are like broken jade, dazzling people's eyes.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, turned her gaze around the room, and landed on Xi Lang.

He was wearing a black brocade robe with arrow sleeves, with a bun and black eyebrows, making his face and hands paler.

Elegant and handsome face, cold and lonely breath.Under the bright sunlight, people seem to be shrouded by the moonlight on an autumn night, isolated from the world of mortals, and guarding one side alone.

Galloping the battlefield for three years, killing thousands of miles like a fire, and beheading seven enemy generals with a sword—these are his experiences before marriage.

Without those experiences, he would not have been seriously injured, and she would not have married him.

He was seriously injured in the tough battle of Zhanjie. After returning to Beijing, his injuries were repeated, and his life was once hanging by a thread.The old lady Xijia and the eldest lady cheered him up.Her grandmother and uncle seized this opportunity. Although the matter was full of twists and turns, they finally got their wish and the two families got married.

In fact, how can he be happy?With such a resolute temperament, he was even cruel to himself, how could he be easily killed by injuries.

Concentrating her thoughts, Xiang Zhixuan walked to Xi Lang, refilled him a cup of hot tea, saw that there was not much ink left in the inkstone, picked up the ink ingot, but hesitated, "Do you want to take a break?"

"It's okay." Xi Lang held her hand, fair and thin, "Call the servant girl." He doubted that she didn't have the strength.

Xiang Zhixuan smiled, "I feel a little cold, I can do something to warm me up."

Xi Lang's gaze moved up and met those big eyes.Like black jade immersed in clear autumn water, the water is shining, and the tails of the eyes are slightly raised.There was a slight smile in her eyes, and as soon as she met him, she lowered her eyelids and concentrated on rubbing the ink.

He continued to concentrate on copying the Lotus Sutra.Buddhist scriptures can calm the mind.

Every stroke that escapes from the pen tip will bring sharp or dull pain.This process is like holding a sharp knife, torturing myself one by one.

It's not about competing with anyone, let alone trying to be brave, it's because the wound hurts like this no matter what.Then it is better to do something moderately, so that the muscles and bones will not be stiff, and the mind will not be tired.

Occasionally, when he thinks about the glorious years on the battlefield, he feels like a world away.

Between day and night, the eyes of killing are red, bloody and demonic, life and death are gambled.The results of it?One will succeed and all will die.He who became famous almost died, and the brothers who were born and died together have buried their bones in countless battlefields, and they will never see the love of the world again.

As his mood fluctuated, he couldn't help but control the strength of his writing, and the sharp pain in his right arm hit his heart again and again, making his breathing stagnant.

He put down his pen, turned around and sat down, only to find that the person beside him had already ground the ink and was staring at several roses in the vase on the window sill.

After a while, she couldn't help fiddling with it.

The corners of Xi Lang's lips raised unconsciously, and he narrowed his eyes to look at her.

(End of this chapter)