radicalducati Chapter 127 Filming Us
Chapter 127 Filming Us
Meng Jiangyu held Shen Qingyao's hand, his fingertips interlacing between her fingers, the warmth of his palm soothing.
He looked down at her, the coldness in his eyes softening completely. "Would you like to go see the covered bridge?"
Shen Qingyao looked up at him, the moonlight falling on his brows and eyes, outlining his clear features. She smiled and nodded, her voice as soft as sugar: "Yes."
"Okay." Meng Jiangyu took Shen Qingyao's hand, his fingertips firmly gripping her wrist. As he stood up, he picked up the thin coat from the back of the chair and draped it over her shoulders.
"It's chilly at night, don't catch a cold." His voice was low, carrying an undeniable tenderness.
The noise in the attic subsided somewhat. Zhou Yanqiu, a lit cigarette between his fingers, leaned casually against the vermilion pillar, his gaze sweeping over the moon's reflection on the lake.
Xu Xi's light pink cheongsam had a few osmanthus petals stuck to the hem. She carefully looked at Zhou Yanqiu's face, her voice as soft as cotton candy: "Brother Yanqiu, the lyrics to that performance of 'The Peony Pavilion' were really well written, especially the part where Du Liniang seeks her dream..."
Before she could finish speaking, Zhou Yanqiu suddenly turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow.
He had captivating eyes with slightly upturned corners. When he smiled, he exuded a nonchalant roguish charm, while when he wasn't smiling, he seemed aloof. "You can understand?"
Xu Xi's face flushed instantly, her fingers gripping the buttons of her cheongsam, and she murmured softly, "I...I looked up the interpretation, it's about a young girl's feelings."
Zhou Yanqiu chuckled softly and didn't press the matter further. He simply reached out and gently tugged at a strand of her long hair that hung down her shoulder.
The hair strands are fine and soft, and the touch of it against my fingertips is very pleasant.
He didn't speak, his gaze returning to the lake. The warm yellow light from the palace lanterns on the covered bridge fell on his profile, outlining his clear jawline.
Xu Xi's heart skipped a beat, her cheeks burned, but she dared not utter a sound. She simply stood quietly beside him, watching his profile and the moonlight falling on his slender fingers.
The singing from the distant pleasure boat rose again, carrying the line "What a pity that such a beautiful day is wasted," its melody melodious and carried far by the wind.
Zhou Yanqiu turned his head, reached out and ruffled Xu Xi's hair. The gesture wasn't exactly gentle, but it wasn't perfunctory either: "Come on, I'll take you to a pleasure boat to listen to opera."
Xu Xi's eyes lit up instantly, as if filled with stars, and she nodded quickly, "Okay!"
She followed Zhou Yanqiu's footsteps, her lotus-pink skirt swaying in the wind like a lotus flower in full bloom.
Xu Mingxuan leaned back in his chair, propping his arm up with his hand, his gaze half-closed as he looked at Wen Qing.
She was gazing absently at the moon's reflection on the lake, the hem of her white dress draped over the bluestone slabs, adorned with two fallen osmanthus petals.
He leaned closer, his fingertips gently catching a strand of her long hair that fell over her shoulder, twirling it around his fingertips, his voice laced with a casual languor: "What are you staring at so intently? Is the moon prettier than me?"
Wen Qing came to her senses, turned her head to look at him, and the aloofness in her eyes faded a little, but she didn't say anything. She just raised her hand and brushed the strand of hair that he had messed up behind her ear.
As her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, the slightly cool touch made Xu Mingxuan raise an eyebrow.
He simply reached out and put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his nose brushing against the faint scent of gardenias on her neck.
Wenqing's body stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Her fingertips gently touched the back of his hand, and her voice was soft, like an evening breeze brushing across a lake: "The moon here is rounder than the one in the city center."
Xu Mingxuan chuckled softly, the vibration of his chest sending a slight tickle through her shoulder: "You like it?"
He nibbled on her earlobe and asked in a slightly roguish tone, "If you like it, come often in the future."
Wenqing didn't respond, but turned to look at the lake. Moonlight fell on her profile, casting a faint shadow on her eyelashes.
Xu Mingxuan didn't press her, but tightened his grip on her arm and looked at her profile.
Xu Mingxuan had been fond of this aloof and mature woman's demeanor lately, and her indifferent attitude towards him was alluring to him.
The Peking Opera singing in the painted boat took a different turn, the melodious tune wrapped in moonlight, drifting over the eaves of the pavilion.
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The two walked along the carved corridor toward the covered bridge. The bluestone slabs under their feet shone brightly in the moonlight, and the shadows of the osmanthus trees on both sides swayed, with delicate petals falling all over them.
Several palace lanterns hung on the vermilion railings of the covered bridge, their warm yellow glow spreading out and blending with the moonlight, creating a hazy, dreamlike scene.
"It's so beautiful, it has a special charm at night too."
When they reached the middle of the bridge, Meng Jiangyu stopped, turned around and pulled her into his arms, their backs pressed against the cool railing.
How beautiful?
Shen Qingyao looked up at him, her nose almost touching his chin, and she could smell the crisp scent of cedar mixed with the sweet fragrance of osmanthus on him.
"A sparse fence, a bright moon; a quiet window, a gentle breeze," she said softly, her eyes curving into crescents.
"The moon lingers long in the dimly lit courtyard, the wind gently blows across the winding covered bridge." Meng Jiangyu lowered his eyes, his gaze falling on her reddened lips, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.
He leaned down, gently pinched her chin with his fingertips, and kissed her.
The kiss was light, carrying the soft glow of moonlight and the mellow aroma of wine. At first, it was just a light touch, but it gradually deepened.
Shen Qingyao unconsciously clenched the hem of his shirt, her eyelashes trembled slightly, and her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.
The lake beneath the covered bridge shimmered with light, the moon's reflection swaying in the water, and the singing from the painted boat continued, its melodious tune drifting over the two embracing figures.
The moonlight stretched their shadows long and thin, like a silver thread softened by the evening breeze, wrapped around the corridor.
Meng Jiangyu's palm was warm and dry, his well-defined fingers holding Shen Qingyao's hand tightly, his fingertips inadvertently brushing against the faint old scar on her wrist.
Shen Qingyao lagged half a step behind, and when she looked up, she could see his straight shoulders and back. The hem of his neatly pressed shirt was lifted by the night wind, carrying a faint, cool fragrance of cedar.
She held up her phone, the camera lens filled with the moonlight and the two people's clasped hands.
His hands, with their sharp knuckles, completely enveloped hers.
The moment the shutter clicked, Meng Jiangyu suddenly turned around, his eyes and brows bathed in moonlight, spreading a soft halo.
"What are you filming?" he asked in a low, husky voice, with a hint of amusement at the end.
Shen Qingyao shook her phone screen, and the full moon in the photo was hanging above the two of them.
"Take a picture of us," she said. "We'll develop it every day until September 25, 2026, the Mid-Autumn Festival."
He chuckled at her words, stopped in his tracks, turned around and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, his voice drifting over her ear: "This is the third Mid-Autumn Festival."
Her tone was filled with undisguised tenderness, "There are many more to come."
The evening breeze drifted through the carved windows of the corridor, carrying the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, mixed with his own scent.