ZHAO JUREN'S LAST LOVE
CHAPTER 79. Same-Sama Ghosts

In the hall was not turned on by any oil lamp, there were only white candles that lit without sound, casting a deathly pale light that merged into a dense shadow of the candle.

In such a large, quiet mourning hall a slim figure quietly sat in the darkness, a light as if it could not penetrate the darkness by its side, leaving only a gloomy circle of light, which was not the same, his face was not clearly visible, it was only seen that on the tea table by his side, there were half-dry cups, the scent of wine filling the entire place. Tea offerings while guarding the spirit.

So long since she had been in this place, it was probably decades past when she was a child.

Behind the door of the strong wind swept through everything, the leaves of large wutong trees flew over the ground and shrubs, even barely drowning the eyes, inside the hall of the shadow of the thick candle, silent and peaceful, he sat alone in silence, but his ears seemed to hear the clangs of weapons at the border gate, hearing the soldiers lifting a machete, crashing in the cold wind and fighting, and the, hearing the commoners amidst the cold wind shrieked bitterly over their hometown, fresh blood meandering spread all over the place, drowning the towering walls of the northern Doting Gate, and the, and drown their homesickness.

"Mother?" Zhao Juren stared at the tightly closed stone chest, as if in disbelief behind the cold stone, the strong and cruel figure of the mother lying down.

His head was dizzy, his eyes felt like he was drunk, in a daze, he suddenly thought of summer nights many years ago, in the house of the noble Zhao family, who was supposed to be his father, he spent a lot of time studying and studying with a pile of books sent by the queen mother from her Harem palace. Half his day in the study room, the rest he practiced swords and all sorts of tools of war.

Sometimes he was so upset at the queen mother for having been disciplined in such a way, put into the school of the nobles, as a person he called aunt, Suri Li Sui's mother was sometimes too excessive according to him. Half of his heart loves his hard aunt and the other half he is depressed even though he does not really hate her.  But, he finally understood, after the day the coup took place. What is behind why this woman is so much involved in her life.

Zhao Juren approached and stood frozen in front of the coffin, ten days ago, said Li Jin, whose mother was found hanging from a branch of a willow tree, which is behind the Sunyen temple. On that small hill Zhao Juren once dug a hole and buried a woman named Jiu Fei. His former lover.

In the blink of an eye time passed, the years were like heartless hands, with as easy as flipping palms flooding into memories that were leaping in memories. Sometimes he felt like his life was like a melting ice cube, a homeland, a father he could not call father, a mother who made himself an orphan, teacher, lover, father, all for various kinds of reasons little by little left him, disappearing just like that. The more he wanted to grip them with strength, the faster they left, and finally, like the meltwater of ice, fell to the ground and disappeared. Even now, the world he stands in considers himself dead.

He lifted his head, before him was the tomb of the Zhao family where the coffin of the mother was located, this spacious mourning hall became colder than he remembered. At his push slowly closed the stone coffin, as hard as he could he prepared to see the appearance of the mother, despite having died ten days ago. The shadow of an outstretched tongue and eyes that glared in horror at being entangled by a rope passed for a moment before his eyes, making him goosebumps for a moment but as the heavy lid opened up, the, all that was plastered was a pale face that was silent as if sleeping quietly in a long loneliness.

The beautiful Zhao Li Sui, who in old age remained like a young girl, one of them was believed to be because of the blood mask that he always ritualized, he who only ate vegetables and leaves, fruit and all herbal drinks because obsessed with prolonging his life is not in pain with his own hands took his life.

Zhao Juren stupefied, staring at the lying figure barely blinking.

"The royal physician had preserved him well at the request of His Majesty Empress Yi and even advised him to bury him on the 12th day alone before sending the body of the queen mother to the Zhao family to be buried." Li Jin said without being asked, he knew many questions raging within his master's head.

The preservation of the corpse in Yanzhie only applies to the royal family who are respected and loved by the people, but with the permission of His Majesty Yan Yue, The former queen mother who was stamped traitor of this country can get the privilege to be preserved even though it can not be buried in the tomb of the Palace. Xiao Yi was a wise woman, he knew Zhao Juren would see his mother last time therefore he gave the general the chance to save the best memories when he saw his mother's face last time.

"I don't have a word for you, mom. Seeing you like this makes me lose my words." Zhao Juren bent down and tidied up her mother's hair. His clothes were simple, only a pure white silk robe. Batok his bald head, wrapped in a color cloth. Eyes closed. When looked at closely then the fine wrinkles at the end of his eyes were sticking out, the faint smile lines and under his eyes were slightly blue in color.

"Come out, Li Jin, I just want to be alone with my mom right now." Said heavy. Li Jin bowed and came out. Zhao Juren sat beside the vault, on the cold floor. The aroma of sandalwood and coffee poured out from the chest, the famous Yanzhie preservative powder was actually given to Zhao Li Sui's body. At least this woman's dream to remain beautiful until the end of her age can be realized.

"Mother, I'd really like to take you out for a drink of fruit wine when I return from the last battle." Whisper Zhao Juren while taking the wine cup from the stone table beside him, the rice wine tray was always prepared in the mourning room but not for drinking, only to accompany the small lanterns that lined up seven on it. But Zhao Julren obviously didn't care.

"I was buried a few weeks ago too, Mother. Aren't we both ghosts now?"

Zhao Juren grimaced before a spicy hard wine slid down her throat, like a burning hot charcoal, a streak of heavy wind blew into the vast hall, the heavy curtains slowly swaying, the, like the broad sleeves of a female dancer in the palace hall, rhythmic and heart touching.

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