After about five breaths, Alain returned to the cave with a bloody breath.

His robe was clean, and there was not a single speck of blood on his body, except for the wet mud on the soles of his boots.

But Hana really knew that he had killed someone.

"It's a Munahetai." Alain pressed his hands on the hilts of the swords on both sides, and there was no emotion on his dead face: "It's already disposed of."

Hanama breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as she heard the words "Mu Na Heitai", her heart fell back into her stomach, and when she heard that the disposition was over, she wanted to smile as usual, and praise her guards again.

However, her eyes turned slightly, but she inadvertently swept the envelope in her hand, so the smile that she had not yet reached the bottom of her eyes completely froze in an instant:

"Damn! Damn it!" She clenched her eyebrows tightly, and there was an unconcealable hatred between her eyebrows: "Mu Nahetai really deserves to die! Everybody deserves to die!"

Her voice was low and thick, like a hammer to slap the disgust and resentment in that speech. Cursing in a low voice, she lovingly unfolded and smoothed the letter, trying to restore it to its original state.

However, the flower paper and the envelope were all pulped several times of Xinli cardboard, and when I kneaded and stroked it, obvious creases appeared on the paper, and in some places there was also gray-white glue, which looked a little dirty, and the gorgeous and dazzling appearance before the breath was no longer counted.

The expression on Hua Zhen's face changed from gloomy and hideous, and then from hideous to calm.

"Damn it!" She cursed one last time, and threw the letter at Alain's hand, and the two smile curves at the corners of her lips were straightened, which made her face appear gloomy from before:

"Wait a minute, you go and chop Namu Nahetai into minced meat...... No, don't puree the meat, chop me up into pieces of meat to make a broth, and feed it to the Munahetai to eat, and tell them that this is their own kind of meat, and whoever eats more will get a reward."

Alain still didn't say a word, only quietly put the letter away, and turned his head to look out of the cave.

The rain has weakened, the wind has eased a bit, but the sky is still gloomy, and it seems that it may be a long time before it rains.

"Let's go back." Hanama also noticed the sky outside. Xu felt that it had been quite a long time since he left the Hundred Flowers Courtyard, so he whispered a word and walked out.

Alain, who was tall and long-legged, crossed in front of her in just one step, picked up the oil umbrella that was lying upside down, and held it above her head first.

In the slanting wind and drizzle, a man in black accompanied a girl in a light yellow spring shirt held an oil umbrella and walked slowly. The spring grass is like grass in all directions, the branches are new and green, and the end is a picture of appreciating spring.

However, more than ten steps outside the cave, a corpse with its head separated fell to the ground, shattering the picturesque scenery.

The wind gently rolled up the rain and threw it on the head that had been cut off by a sword, and the white hair was already soaked by the rain, and clung to the cheeks, so that the face of the corpse could not be seen clearly, but the blood could be seen like a winding river spreading around, and the mottled red fell all over the mud path.

Hanama lifted the hem of her skirt and stood on tiptoe, carefully stepping over the wet red spots on the ground. Somehow, the mood seems to be getting better again.

She bent her eyes towards the crimson on the ground, gently stepped on the clogs, opened her lips, and sang the most fashionable song at the moment with the sound of the rain and the clogs stamping on the ground: ....

"Spring benefits, swings are lazy, and no one cares about the redness......

………………

The peach blossoms are about to bloom.

Even though it is far away from the north of the Yangtze River, spring usually comes later than the other place, and the peach blossoms will bloom after all.

With the gradually softening wind and the clearer and clearer sky, the freshness that has been buried for a whole winter will eventually bloom.

The time sequence changes, just like when a flower blooms, there are some people who are no longer there.

Wei Shu did not find Mama Zhu's body.

The only thing she was sure of was that Mama Bamboo was dead.

The thin figure that stood quietly in the dusk and waved to her was Wei Shu's last memory of her.

She knew that this white-haired old woman must be somewhere in Zuo Shuai's mansion: underground, at the bottom of a well, and in a pond

of the depths. The thin, old body must have been curled up in cold in these unknown places, decomposing and weathering on its own, until it melted into the dust.

No one knows how Mama Bamboo died.

She just disappeared into thin air. Like the countless slaves who disappeared in the White Frost City.

The death of a Munahetai is no more important than the death of a dog. The prosperity, liveliness and joy of White Frost City have never been affected by the death of a few Song people.

The rainy season has passed, and spring is blooming.

In the garden of Balan's house, the peach blossoms have been full of flower bones, and the noble ladies who have gone green are in groups of three or five, dressed in brocade, the colorful dresses are more delicate than the peach blossoms, and the precious incense is even more dyed in the spring breeze.

In this full of Qiluo fragrance, the blue moon gauze skirt on Hua Zhen's body is like a drop of water in the lake, which is clear to everyone.

In fact, occasionally someone looks at it by mistake, and will feel that the blue of that body is still somewhat similar to the clothes of the maids in the green clothes and blue skirts of various provinces.

So, since the beginning of the feast, those eyes with various meanings swept towards Hua Zhen's body from time to time, and the light laughter of the girls was occasionally heard, and every time Hua Zhen looked back, the smiling and watching nobles either rolled their eyes casually, or smiled back seemingly friendly, as if those whispers and silent ridicule were just an illusion.

Even though it can never be an illusion.

Such eyes, discussions, and that kind of silent but pervasive side gaze have almost run through Hua Zhen's not long life, and now it is just a change of place and some characters, and the little thing inside has not changed.

She had long been accustomed to this, and on the surface, she was also calm.

Naturally, people with good eyesight can still see that the blue gauze skirt on Hua Zhen's body is as light as a floating cloud, like a tear falling from the sky, and the embroidery on it is even more delicate and elegant, far from being comparable to the outfits of the maidservants.

But even so, Hua Zhen at the outing banquet was once again surrounded by a kind of cold because of this dress.

Compared with the heavy brocade hundred butterfly skirt written by the fifth daughter of the Balan family, Mu'er Balan, and the 1,000 taels and one horses of the silk sheer shirt written by Pearl Fulun, the daughter of the wolf-headed upstart Nadan family is still a shallow and poorly dressed soil bun.

Even if her father and brother were in charge of half of the border army, and even if half of the forces in White Frost City were in the hands of Mangtai, the Nadan family was still an existence that the nobles could not mention chopsticks.

This is the difference between the upstart and the old noble.

Hua Zhen stood under a magnolia tree, the coldness in his eyes was like a sword, killing the reckless east wind, but the smile on the corner of his lips was as sweet as usual.

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Yao Jishan