Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 1042: Old

Sweet osmanthus blossoms continued to fall, settling in their hair, on their shoulders, on their clasped hands. The surface of the cold pond reflected the bright moon, the two embracing, and the eternal tranquility and gentleness of Qingqiu. The years ahead were long, and there might be storms, setbacks, but as long as they were by each other's side, Lingxi knew that whether in the valleys of Qingqiu or the streets of the mortal world, they could always be like this, bathed in the gentle moonlight, and stay together for the rest of their lives. Lingxi grasped the sweet osmanthus hairpin, feeling the coolness against her fingertips, yet her heart warmed. She stared at the osmanthus blossoms on the hairpin's tip, suddenly remembering the sweet osmanthus blossoms that fell year after year by the cold pond in Qingqiu. Back then, she would always sit alone by the pond, watching the sweet osmanthus blossoms fall onto the surface, drifting away with the current, unsure of where they would go, or what her future would hold. She picked up the sweet osmanthus hairpin and carefully pinned it to her hair. The girl in the bronze mirror wore a delicate osmanthus hairpin in her long hair, her eyebrows and eyes were even more charming, and her light golden eyes were shining with happiness. Lingxi raised her head, and finally let out a long sigh that dissipated in the morning air. The sunlight outside the window grew brighter and brighter, shining on every corner of the study, but it could not illuminate Shen Yanzhi's heart, which was full of haze. He knew that the Heavenly Palace's Marriage Department was hidden in the clouds on the west side of the South Heavenly Gate. Ordinary fairies always held their breath when passing by - not because they were afraid of disturbing the gods, but because the red sandalwood that filled the room was too intoxicating. The fragrance was a mixture of thousand-year-old sandalwood from Kunlun Mountain and the concentric pollen secretly made by Yue Lao. The smell easily reminded people of the love between men and women in the mortal world. Even the iron-faced and impartial door gods passing by could not help but take a few more breaths. The shelves within the office were piled high with files tangled with red string. At the top, the tome "A Complete Record of Marriages During the Wanli Period" had curled its corners like a chrysanthemum, its cover still stained with osmanthus wine from last year's Qixi Festival. Amidst this pile of "worldly debts," Yue Lao sat, his head resting on a cushion embroidered with mandarin ducks playing in the water—a birthday gift from the Weaver Girl three hundred years ago, the stitching nearly worn smooth. He wore a pair of crystal reading glasses, their lenses as thick as dewdrops, sliding down to the tip of his nose, swaying gently as he dozed. "Hmm..." Yue Lao smacked his lips, his dream reminiscent of the Peach Banquet, the osmanthus wine handed to him by the Barefoot Immortal still bubbling. He twisted the red string three times around his fingertips, like a restless little snake. Suddenly, a breeze from the window blew the thread's end across his itchy muscles. "Ha-chi!" A loud yawn startled the pile of files and made them drop dust. Yue Lao suddenly opened his eyes, his eyes narrowed into two slits behind his lenses. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and glanced at the copper kettle dripping on the table. The water in the kettle was almost empty. "Why is the red thread in this world getting more and more tangled?" He muttered, took out a handkerchief from his bosom, and slowly wiped his lenses. The handkerchief was embroidered with "Lovers in the world will eventually get married." He embroidered it with his own hands when he was young, and now the vertical hook of the word "couple" has been worn away. Yue Lao flipped through the list of today's pairings. The yellow paper booklet was densely packed with names, and the ink was some fresh and some old. When his fingertips ran over the three words "Zhang Cuihua", the paper suddenly made a "click" sound - it was the crisp sound of being soaked in tears and then dried in the sun. "This girl should be married to an honest and dutiful man..." he muttered to himself, his fingertips moving to the name "Li Goudan" diagonally below. There was a crooked little hoe drawn next to the name. "Well, a vegetable farmer, down-to-earth." He pulled two red strings from the shelf. The one in his left hand was connected to Zhang Cuihua's fortune card. The string had a faint pink glow, which was the shyness of a girl. The one in his right hand was connected to Li Goudan. The end of the string was wrapped with a grain of rice, which was stained with the fishy smell of soil. Yue Lao picked up some gold powder from the brocade box, touched it with his fingertips and flicked it at the intersection of the two red strings. The moment the golden light flashed, the four small words "A Happy Marriage for a Hundred Years" immediately appeared on the string, and they drilled into the string like insects. But at this moment, the sycamore leaves outside the window were suddenly blown by the wind and hit the window frame. The crisp "snap" sound scared his hand and made it tremble. The two red threads spun in mid-air, snapping into a knot even stronger than the one he'd tied for the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl the previous year. Gold dust splattered all over the table, like a shower of stars. "Ouch!" Yue Lao frantically tried to untie it. His fingers fiddled with the knot for a long time, but the red thread seemed to have taken root, tightening the more he pulled, even deforming the tiny characters on the thread. He blew his beard in anxiety, not even noticing the red thread stained his goatee, so preoccupied was he with wrestling with the knot: "You disobedient creature..." He didn't notice that another red thread, dangling from the edge of the table, was quietly poking out. The end of the red thread, which was supposed to be connected to the Tofu Xishi in the east city, had somehow become stained with lard (perhaps from the Kitchen God's last visit), and now it had clinging to the butcher knife's leash next door. The knife rope was still tangled with pig hair, and as soon as the red thread touched it, it immediately took on a meaty smell, causing it to shiver. Meanwhile, in the mortal world, the tofu shop in the south of the city was steaming. Zhang Cuihua placed her last bowl of tofu pudding into a bamboo basket. The blue cloth handkerchief, a dowry left by her mother, embroidered with a small lotus flower on the edge, had been washed so hard that the color was almost unrecognizable. She wore a moon-white coarse cloth jacket today, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing strong and muscular forearms—the result of years of grinding beans. "Brother Li should come to get the tofu pudding today," Cuihua muttered as she walked out, rubbing the handle of the bamboo basket until it was shiny. Just as she reached the door, a sudden gust of wind, carrying yellow sand, rushed in. She subconsciously raised her hand to shield her face, and the blue cloth handkerchief on the bamboo basket was blown high in the wind, flying out like a blue butterfly. "Who is this!" The gruff voice shook the dogtail grass on the roadside. Cuihua pulled off the handkerchief stuck to her face, only to be confronted by a sleek beard, a pair of green eyes hidden within the beard, now wide open. Butcher Wang was wearing a newly made black cloth apron, sewn by his sister from leftover material from the dyeing workshop, which still shone with an indigo hue. He held half a pig's belly, with oil dripping down the skin and creating tiny spots of oil on the bluestone slab. The handkerchief had just covered his face perfectly, and it carried a hint of the aroma of braised tofu pudding, frightening him so much that he thought it was some kind of demon begging for meat. To make matters worse, a corner of the blue cloth handkerchief had gotten tangled in the pork hook, and the embroidery thread had just happened to get stuck in the gap of the hook. Cuihua pulled the handkerchief back, and Butcher Wang, thinking she was trying to steal his meat, pulled back with all his might, the two of them competing like pulling radishes. "Let go!" Cuihua's face flushed red. No one had ever dared to snatch things from her since she was a child. "Let go first!" Butcher Wang's beard stood up. He couldn't let his new apron get dirty. At this moment, the hook suddenly made a "click" sound and turned half a circle.