In front of you, there are countless paintings!

This tower is smaller than the first, but it is still very spacious, but there is almost no decoration in such a spacious place, not even a single ornament. But it's not empty, it's crowded. Because countless scrolls of pictures hung down from the roof!

Hundreds of picture scrolls, snow-white picture scrolls, hanging in front of the eyes, there are windows that are not closed, and the wind blowing through the copper bells under the beams also poured in, blowing the paintings in front of them fluttering, as if countless white flags, fluttering with the wind.

The people in the painting seem to have gained life because of this, joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, all of which are so vividly presented in front of you in an instant.

For a moment, I was confused.

And when I reached out and grabbed the scroll of the nearest painting in front of me and saw the person on it, I felt like I was about to stop breathing.

The painting is of an eleven or twelve-year-old girl, with a fair face, big black and white eyes, and a small pink mouth, which is not only beautiful, but also looks extraordinarily aura. She was wearing an emerald green skirt, which looked particularly slim; With a double peach bun on her head and pink ribbons hanging on both sides, she looked so pink and jade.

A gust of wind blew, and a painting next to it shook.

I turned my head and saw that it was a girl in a goose-yellow dress, kneeling in front of the guqin, plucking the strings seriously. This time, she wore it in a hanging bun, but there was nothing else to embellish it. She lowered her face, barely seeing any expression on that quiet face, only the pitch-black, long eyelashes that seemed to cast a haze over that face.

I looked at another painting, a girl with a double fan in her hand, dancing......

A girl, sitting in a pavilion, seriously practicing knitting......

A girl, sitting in front of the window, biting the pen and writing poetry......

……

I walked forward, stretched out my trembling hand, opened the scroll in front of me, and looked around, each painting was a figure painting, a thousand postures, a thousand expressions.

But it's the same person who painted it.

The same girl, in her splendid, bright, dark, or gloomy years, every move, every smile, were recorded on the drawing paper.

At this moment, I had forgotten whether I was surprised or frightened, and as if I had lost those perceptions, and only quietly looked at these paintings, slowly walking among them, until I reached the other end of the tower and walked up the stairs.

The third tower is also covered with paintings, just like the second.

This girl has grown up a little.

She was sent to Hongyan Building, where there were other girls of the same size and beauty as her, but when they were together, they were not playing and playing, nor were they quarrelling, nor did they have the joy of a small fan.

They entered Hongyan Building in order to get out alive.

Only one, who will get out alive.

Hongyan Building, in fact, the name is incomplete, in fact, it should be - Hongyan Withered Building.

And the girl in the painting is the only one who walked out alive. Although she walked out alive, her youth had already withered in the Hongyan Building.

I stared at the scrolls in a daze, my eyes were a little hot and sour, and then I continued up the stairs.

Fourth-tier tower.

This is the highest level of the Sister's Tower.

When I walked the last step of the stairs, I saw that there were still countless paintings hanging in this tower, but unlike the two floors below, there were more oil lamps here, lined up around the tower, and a piece of light was shining, and when I walked in, I felt like I was in the middle of a galaxy. And in the center of the tower, I faintly saw that there was a table, and there seemed to be a painting on it.

I brushed aside the windswept pictures in front of me and walked slowly.

It was a bookcase, but there was no chair next to it, as if the person using it didn't need to sit on it. On the table, there is a painting that has not yet been completed.

In the painting, it is a woman.

The figure is long, a little thin, the long hair seems to be soft black silk satin hanging down the back of the head, the soft lines seem to extend to the body, she is wearing a plain white Amin clothes, and the whole person is also lined with plain white and elegant.

She raised her chin slightly, as if she was talking to someone, but she was alone in the painting.

This painting is not complicated, and the brushwork is very simple, but the people in the painting are so lifelike, as if they are living in front of people.

And as soon as I saw this painting, I was speechless with amazement.

This is clearly the appearance of wearing a silk robe after I took a bath today!

How could it be-

I looked at the painting blankly, and at this time, another gust of wind blew, and several paintings around me swayed and moved, and I hurriedly looked up to look.

The painting on the left, with me still covered in the wind, with one hand raised to the side on my face with the fatigue of the long journey and the anxiety of being anxious to see my daughter.

There was nothing wrong with this painting, but the movement of this hand made my whole person look a little awkward.

But immediately, I understood that something was wrong.

That was when I just stepped down from the carriage, my hand was not raised, but was held by Pei Yuanxiu, but Pei Yuanxiu was not painted on this painting at all, not even his hand was drawn, so my lonely hand was raised like this, it would look so awkward.

I looked to the side again.

The painting over there, still painted by me, also after the bath, the long hair still with the moist humidity on the back of the head, a silk dress made me look very relaxed, the wind blowing up the sleeves and skirt corners, but also picking up a strand of hair on my cheeks. I stroked the stray strand of hair with one hand, lifted the corner of my skirt with the other, and carefully walked down the steps.

And this is exactly when I just came out of the bathroom after showering today!

The paintings here are all today, just happened to me!

As soon as I realized this, I immediately broke out in a cold sweat.

It's not a secret that I returned to Xichuan, anyone who accompanied me could see me and see any scene painted in those scrolls, but really, seeing myself being portrayed in such detail made me feel a chill rise from the bottom of my heart.

I'm watching!

And the people who watched me were so quick to draw all the events of the day. I walked back to the table and saw the portrait of me on the side, and I understood, this is what I looked like when I talked to Pei Yuanxiu after taking a bath, but there was still no him in the painting, only me!

It was less than an hour ago!

Subconsciously reaching out to touch it, my fingertips immediately felt that some ink on the painting was wet, and I looked backhanded, and my fingertips had been stained black.

The person who painted these pictures has just put down his pen!

And just then, a hand reached over and touched my palm.

"Ahh

I let out a low cry of fright, and hurriedly tried to break free of the hand and retreat, but the hand grabbed my hand tightly, and not only did I not retreat, but I was pulled back by a stumbling back.

A gust of wind poured in from the windows around the tower, blowing the paintings in it messily flying, and I was pulled by that hand, as if in an instant I had passed through countless flying scrolls, and also through the memories of the years depicted on the scrolls, I had laughed, cried, hurt, and hurt.

And as soon as I looked up, I saw a figure in my sight behind the scrolls.

At this moment, my heart almost stopped.

Because I know who I've seen.

The man who appeared to me like a ghost was very young, and though I knew that he was nearing the end of his life, his face was so pale that it was almost transparent and still carried the handsomeness and roundness of a young man. He is very similar to his mother, and even his handsomeness has a bit of his mother's beauty, willow eyebrows and phoenix eyes, both beautiful and a little sharp. There was a faint blood-red mark between his eyebrows, and when he was expressionless, it was like a jade carved Guanyin.

But I knew that the little mark was a bruised wound by his mother.

Over the years, it has not subsided.

I looked at him, and I couldn't feel whether my heartbeat was crazy or stopped at all, I just listened to my breathing chaotic, and I forgot to retract my outstretched hand, and he was still gently grasping it.

He stroked my cold palm, and the same slightly cool fingers slid all the way over my hand, moved to the fingertips, and gently rubbed it, erasing the ink stains I had just stained.

Then, he looked up at me with a smile on his face.

"Sister."

My fingertips trembled in his palm again.