Ren Le nodded: "Yes, how much do you want, Your Highness?"
"The more, the merrier."
"Okay, I'll go look for it in the warehouse later and send it to His Highness's room."
The sound gradually faded away, and the deer, which was drinking water by the river downstream, suddenly tilted its head and pried open the grass blades by the river with its front hooves.
The grass blades parted, and a touch of red shone in the sunlight.
The deer bit it curiously, then shook its head and let go in disgust, then jumped and disappeared into the forest.
At night.
The stars twinkled, and the cold moonlight fell across the sky and earth, coating the green and lively mountains and forests with a layer of silvery brilliance.
The bottom of the cliff became quiet, with the occasional chirping of cicadas.
On the eaves next to the stone cliff, the windows were dimly lit with weak and dim candles.
The handsome man was sitting by the window, holding the roughest brush he had ever used with his slender fingers, dipped in the cheapest ink that smelled of ink, and writing scriptures stroke by stroke on the frizzy paper. .
He looked pious and wrote in extremely neat regular script.
Throughout the night, the candle flame went out and brightened again, and became bright and extinguished again.
There was already a thick pile of paper in his hand.
Although the paper was full of Buddhist scriptures that could calm the mind, he wrote faster and faster, and his handwriting became more and more sloppy.
In the end, the neat regular script turned into a flying cursive script.
Suddenly, when the first ray of light appeared in the sky, his long, well-jointed fingers suddenly exerted force, and veins appeared on the back of his hand, and he wrote word by word——
[If there is a god in the world, please protect my wife’s safety. 】
When I finished writing, the last ray of light from the candle went out.
The breeze blew from the window, and the ink-stained paper fluttered to the ground.
Mo Rongyan looked at the paper that fell on the ground in a daze.
After a long time, a bitter smile escaped from his throat, and his hoarse voice was like falling to the ground and breaking into several pieces of cold jade, "You...really don't want to forgive me?"
The paper was blown by the wind and fluttered twice.
As if responding to him.
Holding the medicine, Ren Le opened the door and was greeted by the strong smell of ink.
The small room was filled with papers written on Buddhist scriptures.
He subconsciously picked up a piece of paper and took a deep breath when he saw clearly the two sentences written neatly and clearly on the back of the paper, as well as the red blood stains on it.
"Your Highness, you didn't sleep all night?"
Without the ink, Mo Ronyan continued writing with the blood on his hands.
His voice became hoarse and he answered the question inappropriately, "Is there any more Mo?"
His jade-like hands were now covered in wounds and their hands were dripping with blood.
The brush and paper in his hand were stained with bright red.
But he didn't seem to notice it.
Ren Le carefully placed the paper on the table, frowned and said: "Your Highness, you can't write anymore, your hand will be useless if you write again!"
Mo Ronyan kept writing and frowned, "Where does the river in the forest lead to?"
Ren Le put the medicine bowl in his hand and hesitated, "I don't know either. I just know that it flows from the cave to the outside downstream."
Passing through a cave?
Mo Ronyan paused with the brush in his hand.
The third prince's concubine was so weak that even if she fell into the river, she was lucky enough to survive.
But there is no air in the cave, and she is so fragile...
Thinking of this, Mo Ronyan felt as if his heart was tightly grasped by a big invisible hand. He looked at the scratch on the paper and said in a very low voice, "Can you take me to see the cave?"
Ren Le worriedly advised: "Your Highness, you are injured and cannot leave anymore."
"My grandpa and I searched all over the bottom of the cliff, but we couldn't find the third prince's concubine. She is a lucky person, so she will be fine!"
"You are the God of War of Dongqi. There are so many people in Dongqi, and they still need you to protect them!"
Mo Ronyan looked out of the window at the distant sky.
Along with the chirping of birds, Ren Le clearly heard his almost cold words:
"I don't want to be the God of War, and I don't have the heart to be benevolent."
The man's voice was cold and cool.
As if all living things were as light as smoke in his eyes.
None of them are as good as that woman.
An inexplicable soreness suddenly surged in Ren Le's heart.
He sniffed: "His Highness drank the medicine. Grandpa will give His Highness another injection later, and I will take His Highness down."
Mo Ronyan lowered his eyes, his eyes fell on the paper again, and he slowly wrote the last stroke.
...
There is no one at the bottom of the cliff all year round. Only Ren Le and his grandson live here, making it seem cold and quiet.
Mo Ronyan stepped on the slippery grass and walked leisurely by the river.
The hem of his black and white clothes slid across the lush grass blades.
The dead black and white contrast sharply with the vibrant green.
His features were dignified and self-possessed, as if he were a banished immortal approaching slowly.
The pace seems to be unhurried, but the speed is extremely fast.
Ren Le panted after him: "Your Highness, please slow down..."
Suddenly, the banished immortal in front stopped.
Immediately afterwards, his always cold and calm expression changed, he squatted down and carefully pushed aside the grass by the river.
"Hey, what is this?" Ren Le bent down and looked at a flash of red on the grass, "A broken hairpin?"
But I saw the noble and elegant man picking up the broken hairpin with trembling slender fingers.
I saw the excellent jade hairpin in the man's hand, broken from the top of the banyan tree.
Mo Ronyan's bloodstained fingertips slowly landed on the break of the hairpin-headed banyan tree.
Violent ripples rippled in his deep eyes.
The next moment, he clenched his palms suddenly.
Regardless of the broken hairpin, it penetrated deeply into the flesh.
The man's breath suddenly became cold, and the suppressed emotions in his eyes gradually spread.
After a moment, he staggered to his feet, a self-deprecating laugh leaking from his throat, "Xiao Haitang, do you really want to leave me?"
Do even the crabapples on hairpins have to leave the banyan tree?
