novelraw Chapter 515 - 239. Sentenced the reporter Nan Wan to 9 months of fixed-term imprisonment.
Chapter 515 - 239. Sentenced the reporter Nan Wan to 9 months of fixed-term imprisonment.
Since childhood, she had always had long hair.This time, let’s treat it as an experiment. Nine months isn’t long, it will pass quickly.
After nine months, she can grow her hair long again.
The prison guard sighed in relief and nodded quickly, saying, "Alright, alright."
The scissors snipped open and closed, and the long black hair slowly fell to the ground in thousands of strands, entangled with things that should not be remembered.
Nan Wan stared blankly at herself in the mirror. She could clearly feel the cool air from the air conditioner slipping into her collar now that there was no long hair blocking her neck.
Well, this is summer. Short hair should be more comfortable.
Shoulder-length short hair, lacking the grace of long hair, made her small face even daintier by her ears. Looking at it like this, she actually felt a sense of unfamiliarity.
But that unfamiliarity only lasted for a few minutes; she accepted it quickly.
Walking through the main entrance and down the winding corridors, Nan Wan was taken by the prison guard to a corner room.
There was only one prisoner inside, very quiet, and at her arrival, he just looked up indifferently before closing his eyes and turning over to continue sleeping.
The sound of the iron door locking was quite loud. After the sound of the prison guard’s footsteps faded, Nan Wan moved her legs to the other corner.
The bed board was somewhat hard, but the sheets and bedding were clean, and you could still smell the scent of laundry detergent.
This was a corner room, with a small window in the wall where the sun shone, even though its side length was less than twenty centimeters. The summer sun was so intense that light was enough to fall into the room.
When Nan Wan came in, she had looked left and right, and compared to the others, this room was brighter.
So she thought, after lights out at night, she should still be able to see the moon.
If the weather is good.
Just like today.
...
After the heavy showers of summer in Qing City, there would be days of fine weather with blue skies and white clouds.
In a room where two people lived, aside from when necessary, there was not a word of unnecessary communication. Each in their own space, neither would create noise, forming an unspoken tacit understanding of non-interference.
After Nan Wan folded her quilt, the prison guard handed her an envelope.
Tearing open the seal, inside was a lily petal, still fresh with no signs of wilting.
Besides that, there was also a piece of dark yellow kraft paper, each word written with a brush; she could still smell the ink.
The strokes danced energetically, the strokes of iron and silver hooks, clearly strong in handwriting, yet seemingly suffused with threads of tenderness.
That tenderness was because the words on the kraft paper formed a love letter:
I like the cobblestone path after rain
I like the sycamore trees under the sun
I like the little cat basking in the sun at the street corner café
I like the old stories in old movies
I like the warm sunshine of early spring
I like the fireflies on a midsummer night
I like the golden sunset of late autumn
I like the pristine white snow of winter
Just like, I like you
...
Nan Wan sat at the bedside, repeatedly reading from the first word to the last.
In this square prison, she seemed to see Mr. Mu sitting at his desk, writing each character with focus.
His gaze was attentive, gentle.
He didn’t like overly glaring light; he would probably only have one desk lamp lit.
If Pea clung to him then, there might be black ink smudged everywhere, turning her clean little face into a dirty kitten, and even his face wouldn’t be spared.
Mr. Mu would surely find it laughable yet helpless.
She suddenly remembered, before the wedding, Yu Qinglu brought a ’wedding gift’ to the hospital to ’chat’ with her, casually bringing up that long ago, she had also written a love letter to Mr. Mu.
That day, although she appeared poised in front of Yu Qinglu, not showing a trace of unhappiness, after work when Mr. Mu came to pick her up, she seemed to have sourly teased him.
Pretending not to care, she very proudly told Mr. Mu to write to her too.
Mr. Mu had agreed at that time, but later it seemed he forgot; she didn’t bring it up again, and he hadn’t really written one.
After so much time, she had long forgotten, yet he still remembered.
...
The next day.
At the same time, the prison guard handed Nan Wan the second letter, once again with a piece of kraft paper and a lily petal.
The words were fewer than yesterday’s but carried a hint of classical charm:
The world holds a thousand things, my loves are but three.
The sun, the moon, and you.