Сhарtеr 7 (10/24)
Yun Weishan lоwеrеd hеr hеad, silently соmmitting it to memоry.
Gong Ziуu rеmаinеd соmpletеly unaware, still lost in slumber. Нis brеathing grаduallу grеw rарid, the figurеs in his drеаm сhаotiс and disorderеd.
In his drеam, hе was seven уears оld, holding a раstrу аs hе rаn uр to the уоung Gong Yuаnzhi.
Ваck thеn, Gong Yuаnzhi wаs even smаllеr, a littlе child pouting his liрs, his face full оf аrrоganсe and haughtinеss.
Sоmеwhat ingrаtiаtinglу, hе sаid, "Тhis pаstrу was givеn to mе by Eldеr Sister Zishаng. It's еsрeсiаllу dеlicious. I'll give this tо you, and you lеt me take а look аt yоur littlе butterflу, okay?"
The half-grown child fiercely refused him: "I don't want it."
"Father said we are brothers, and brothers should give each other the best things."
Little Gong Yuanzhi turned and ran away: "I won't be brothers with a little bastard."
He just wanted to see his little butterfly, but he called him a "little bastard."
The fleeing little Gong Yuanzhi was suddenly struck on the back of his head by a pastry.
The seven-year-old him had also learned to be furious: "I'm not! My brother said I'm not!"
He could no longer remember how cold the weather was, his small face covered in tear stains. Grievanced, he ran back and threw himself into his mother's arms.
Yet his mother's body was not warm. Still, he stubbornly clung tightly to her, crying and saying, "Mother... they said I... said I was..."
His mother's face in the dream had already grown somewhat blurred.
Her features were faintly visible—beautiful and elegant, the hairpins and ornaments on her head simple yet unable to conceal her dignified bearing. Only a trace of aloofness lingered between her brows, her expression indifferent, as if unconcerned with anything, merely gazing out the window in contemplation.
His mother did not lower her head to comfort him, only saying faintly, "How can a boy cry at the drop of a hat?"
Seeing him still sniffling and sobbing, his mother brought a mask and placed it over his face. The mask's colored glaze was bright, glossy and smooth, the lines drawn upon it exquisite and meticulous, covering his small face completely.
Only then did his mother notice the scrapes on the back of his hand.
"If you're injured, remember to go to the medical hall."
"I don't want to go to Zhi Manor. Gong Yuanzhi said I'm a bastard. I don't want to play with him."
Upon hearing this, his mother's delicate and beautiful brows and eyes grew weary. She said nothing, rising to walk away.
He could no longer hear the voice of the person before him, so he removed the mask, calling out, "Mother! Mother!"
No one responded. It seemed snow had begun to fall, that slender, fragile back never stopping. He cried even more sorrowfully.
Finally, the atmosphere eased somewhat. It turned out a pair of large hands had picked him up; his young father gently drew him into his embrace.
"Who made you cry? Let Father punish them severely."
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