Chapter 794
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He doesn't know when Mo Ran will wake up, but if he wakes up, he can always eat something right away.
"It's boiled with jī soup, you like it the most." Chu nightning whispered to him, and the spiritual power spells that keep the heart beating have never been broken, but the ink can't wake up.
If he can't wake up, it means that once his spiritual power is cut off, maybe he will never open his eyes again.
There is absolutely no way to be saved.
But not reconciled, how can I be reconciled.
The ink is still alive, and he still has a breath even though it is so weak. These days, the sun, the moon, the morning and the dusk, Chu nightning stayed by his side, watching his chest still ups and downs, he felt that there was still hope, and everything could be turned back.
are still in time.
Chu nightning still remembers that one night, Mo Ran woke up in a daze. At that time, there was no light in the room, and Mo Ran stared at the candlestick, and the dry lips were moving slightly.
He was very excited at the time, and he was busy holding the ink-burning hand and asked him: "What do you want to say?"
"……light……"
"what?"
"...light...want the light..." Mo Ran looked at the candlestick that he was destined to be unable to light, and tears fell down his cheeks, "I want the light to be on..."
At that moment, time overlapped.
It seems to be back in the past, when I first apprenticed to the teacher, Mo Ran was sick, and the thin boy curled up on the bed, groggy all the time.
When Chu nightning went to visit him, he whimpered and called A Niang.
Not knowing how to coax, Chu nightning sat on the side of the boy's bed, hesitantly raised his hand, and touched the boy's forehead.
The skinny child cried and said, "Black...all are black...Auntie...I want to go home..."
In the end, it was Chu Wanning who lit the candlestick, and the bright fire illuminated the four walls and also illuminated the face of Chu Wanning. As if feeling the warmth of the light, the child with a high fever opened a pair of dark eyes that were still soaked with water vapor.
"Master..."
Chu night Ning agreed, twisted the quilt for him, his voice was low, and it sounded very gentle: "The ink burns, the light is on...don't be afraid."
After many years, the lonely lamp of a bean lit up again, and the warm halo filled the hut of our house, dispelling the endless darkness and coldness.
Chu nightning stroked his hair and called him hoarsely: "The ink is burning, the light is on."
He wanted to continue saying, don't be afraid.
But the throat was choked, and I couldn't say it anymore. Chu nightning couldn't hold back tears, but after all, it was against the ink burning forehead, broken and sobbing: "...The light is on, you wake up, okay?"
"You take care of me, okay..."
Lanterns, candles and tears are a dream, this lamp has been burning, from the bright and clear, until the oil is exhausted.
Later, the sky was bright, and the fish belly was white outside the window, and the ink burned and still did not open his eyes. The days when a single lamp could wake up a sleeping boy are over.
never look back.
Three more nights.
These days, Chu Wanning has been staying by his bedside every day, taking care of him, accompanying him, losing to him spiritual power, and telling him to listen to those things he forgot.
On this day, the snow had stopped, and the red sun was shining outside the window, and the setting sun was shining on the earth. A squirrel leaped over the snow-covered branches, causing the white pears to rustle and dance down.
The man lying on the couch was illuminated by this generous twilight, and the sunset added blood to his pale and haggard face. Under his thin eyelids, his pupils turned slightly—and then, when the twilight was about to close, he slowly opened his eyes.
After several days of serious illness and drowsiness, Mo Ran finally woke up.
He opened his eyes, his eyes were still blank and empty, until he saw that Chu Wanning was tiredly lying beside his couch.
The ink burned hoarsely and murmured: "Master..."
He was lying in the depths of the quilt, and his consciousness slowly returned to the cage. Slowly, he vaguely recalled what Chu nightning said to him repeatedly between half-awake and half-sleep.
A glass of wine in the Mid-Autumn Festival, a Begonia handkerchief... and the red lotus water pavilion that year, the eight bittersweet flowers that he planted for him.
Is it a dream?
Is it because he is too eager for redemption that he dreams that Chu nightning told him these stories, is it because he wants to go back too much, that he dreams that Chu nightning is willing to forgive him and forgive him.
He turned his face and stretched out his hand, wanting to touch the man sleeping beside the couch, but his fingertips did not touch it, but he shrank back.
He was afraid that if he touched it, his dream would be shattered.
He is still in the Tianyin Pavilion, still kneeling on the confession platform, and below are the spectators who are shouting from the mountains and seas. He knelt alone in front of thousands of people. In his eyes, those people eventually became one blurry face after another, one after another of the ghosts who once died in his hands, screaming and smiling at him. He asked for his life.
No one wanted him, no one saved him.
It's his brazenness, his ambition, his madness, and his vision of Chu Wanning's coming - it's him who, in the pain of digging his heart, imagines the last fire in the world.
Fake.
No one has ever cut off the iron chains, no one has ever embraced him, no one has ever come from the wind, no one has ever taken him home.
The eyelashes trembled, he was in tears, staring at the sleeping face of Chu nightning, he did not dare to blink, until the eyes were finally hazy, until the tears finally fell.
Chu nightning's reflection was broken into tens of thousands of Huaguang, he was in a hurry
Go to see his good dream again.
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