Chapter 59: The Ripple in the Stream - I Forged Them in Darkness, and They Buried Me in It

**Chapter 59: The Ripple in the Stream** "Are... are you okay?" Xiao Yu was startled by Luo Cong An's demeanor. She thought to herself that it was fine to cry, but it was indeed alarming to cry without making a sound... Luo Cong An shook her head, her voice still as hoarse as ever. "I'm fine." She stepped forward, reaching out to place a hand on the wheelchair, but halfway there, she pulled it back. "Continue," she uttered the words. Although Xiao Yu found it odd, it was rare to encounter someone interested in Mr.'s life before he passed, so she didn't press further. After all, she had been holding in a lot as well, with so much to say and nowhere to vent it. She hesitated, a hint of uncertainty on her face. "Actually, I feel that Mr. liked sitting at the doorway not because he enjoyed the breeze, but because... he was waiting for someone?" "I asked him several times, but he always smiled and shook his head, unwilling to tell me, so I stopped asking after a while." Hearing this, Luo Cong An’s body lightly trembled. She began to move again, akin to a slowly creeping insect, gradually making her way toward the hall. As she was about to step over the threshold, Luo Cong An stopped. Xiao Yu curiously watched her back, wondering what this white-haired, red-eyed girl, who seemed oddly familiar, intended to do. After a while, she stepped forward and asked, "Do you want to go inside and take a look? Actually, there's nothing much left inside; it’s empty since I took most things to be burned." "Because those who performed the ritual said items used by the deceased shouldn't remain in the living world for long..." Luo Cong An didn't speak. She mechanically turned around and shuffled toward another room nearby. She continued her slow, deliberate advance. The curiosity in Xiao Yu's eyes grew stronger as she followed behind Luo Cong An. This room was smaller compared to the others, with an old wooden door sealed by an iron chain, covered in thick dust — clearly unopened for a long time. Xiao Yu offered an introduction: "This is the storeroom where Mr. kept some little wooden carvings he made." She paused, then suddenly remembered, "Oh, I nearly forgot. Mr. had another hobby when he was alive — carving those odd little wooden figures." "Back then, apart from eating and sleeping, he would just sit there with a carving knife, daydreaming. Though they looked strange, everyone praised them as exquisite. Even Ma Chengzhu couldn't resist wanting to commission Mr. to carve some." "But in the last couple of years, Mr. suddenly stopped carving. When I asked why, he'd always change the subject." Xiao Yu sighed, "I always felt Mr. had so many stories bottled up inside, but I was too foolish — he never wanted to share them with me." She glanced at Luo Cong An, smiling, "And honestly, those little wooden figures were really strange. I bet you can't guess..." Suddenly, Luo Cong An interrupted her. "Big head, no neck, and short limbs." Xiao Yu was taken aback, her expression one of utter surprise. "You actually know..." Luo Cong An reached into her chest and pulled out a wooden carving Mr. had given her on their last farewell. Over the years, the carving had warped a bit, with a small crack at its base, exuding a faint pine aroma. Upon seeing it, Xiao Yu's surprise intensified. She studied the wooden figure intently, then scrutinized Luo Cong An's face. Finally, she realized why the girl seemed so familiar. This wooden figure bore a striking resemblance to the girl. Individually, it might not spark any connection, but seen side by side, the similarity was undeniable. Xiao Yu's eyes widened, and she exclaimed in shock, "Could you be Mr.'s long-lost daughter?" Luo Cong An looked at her expressionlessly. Xiao Yu paused, then tentatively asked in a low voice, "Could it be... not?" Simultaneously, she was puzzling it over in her mind. If she's not Mr.'s daughter nor his long-lost child, could she possibly be Mr.'s betrothed wife? Luo Cong An ignored her, stepping forward to gently test the storeroom's door. The iron chain rattled, sounding out in response. Xiao Yu offered, "If you want to go in, I'll get the key from the hall." She turned to leave for the hall, but Luo Cong An stopped her. "No need." Then, she extended her hand, snapping the chain effortlessly, even though it was thicker than her arm. Xiao Yu's eyes widened into full circles, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of shock. The chain fell heavily to the ground, stirring a cloud of dust. Luo Cong An pushed the door open and walked in. What greeted her was a swirl of tiny dust particles dancing in the air, clearly visible under the sunlight. There was also the foul stench of rotting, moldy wood. Carvings of peculiar shapes filled the room. Locked away for years in this small storeroom, they finally saw the light of day again. Neglected over time, a thick layer of dust covered them, with many cracked, just like the one cherished by Luo Cong An. Leaning against the doorframe, the girl stared blankly inside, her expression seemingly lost in thought. Xiao Yu approached, covering her nose, and looked inside as well. The moment she laid eyes on the room full of neatly arranged carvings, she couldn't help but remark, "So many... only a few empty spots left." "I never understood why Mr. stopped carving. He could've finished filling this place with just a few more." This was a mystery to Xiao Yu, and Luo Cong An naturally had no answers either. Suddenly, she asked, "Did Mr. leave any last words before he passed?" Xiao Yu tilted her head thoughtfully and replied, "Mr. left peacefully; he didn’t leave any specific instructions..." Midway through her sentence, Xiao Yu's eyes sparkled as she ran back to the hall, returning with an old, yellowed stack of xuan paper. Carefully setting the stack down, she looked at Luo Cong An with hope in her eyes, "You're from the capital, so you must know many characters. These were found in Mr.'s room, but I can’t make out many of them. Could you read them to me?" Xiao Yu could read a little, but not much. A young man from the capital named Li Yizhou had visited a few days ago. Xiao Yu had hoped he'd read them for her. But Li Yizhou only stayed briefly, paid his respects, and left hastily, not even sparing Xiao Yu a glance. So she placed her hopes on this girl before her. After all, unlike the other mourners, she seemed more interested in Mr. himself. Luo Cong An’s gaze shifted slowly from the carvings to the stack of paper, its corners yellowed and frayed with time. She picked up the top sheet and read softly, "Who feels the chilling west wind alone? Withered yellow leaves close the sparse window, pondering past events standing in the setting sun..." Her voice halted suddenly. "What’s wrong?" Xiao Yu, ears keenly listening beside her, was puzzled by Luo Cong An's pause. Holding the paper, the girl's fingers quivered ever so slightly. She remembered that morning, the first poem Mr. recited to her — it was this very "Ripple in the Stream." She still recalled how she had interrupted him so willfully. With a trembling voice, Luo Cong An forced herself to continue. "The charm of reading, the fragrance of spilled tea; at the time, I took it as ordinary..." (End of Chapter)