In the blink of an eye, evening arrived. After being tidied up, Ye Lingling's small courtyard looked like a newlywed chamber.
Ye Lingling sat beside the dressing table by the window, her profile reflected in the mirror.
Today, she had changed into a pale red long dress, with fine silver patterns embroidered along the collar and cuffs. A narrow dark belt was tied around her waist. Her long hair was pinned up, with one lock left hanging down, its end tied with a red string.
She had begun preparing in the afternoon—bathing, combing her hair, drawing her brows, applying lip rouge. She had done each step more carefully than usual. The reflection in the mirror was exceptionally beautiful. She turned her face and examined herself once more, only sitting by the window to wait after confirming there were no wrinkles on her face or dress and that her hair bun had not loosened.
The sky outside the window gradually darkened.
As she sat there, she began stroking the embroidery on her cuff, her fingertips moving back and forth along the silver thread as though counting the spacing between stitches.
Her breathing was shallower than usual. Occasionally, she would tilt her ear to listen for movement outside the courtyard, but there was only the sound of wind passing through the treetops and faint insects chirping in the distance. No footsteps ever came.
She looked outside the window once more. Dusk had completely fallen, yet the lanterns in the courtyard had not been lit. The light was shrinking inch by inch from the base of the walls, as though the entire evening were hesitating over whether to surrender itself completely at this very moment.
She raised a hand to smooth the stray hair by her ear, then lowered it again. She let