…
She remembered Annabel saying that to understand a person, it wasn’t necessary to meet in person. True understanding is not superficial; it’s a spiritual exchange. One observes a person’s essence through the books they read, the music they listen to, gradually understanding their thoughts and delving into their soul. She didn’t think as complicatedly as Annabel ; she just wanted to read books to pass the time.
In the large cabinet in the middle of the study, there were some books he often flipped through. She took down a large brown leather-bound book and opened it, surprised to find that he had a habit of making annotations in the corners of the pages.
So she began to pay attention to these books and gradually discovered a pattern: the books with the most annotations were clearly the ones he read most seriously, evidently those thick, obscure philosophical works.
Philosophy was indeed a headache-inducing subject. As she read, she yawned repeatedly, recalling her childhood when she followed her father and the private tutor to read the hundred schools of thought, her academic performance was not very good.
Her father was helpless about it, but her mother always advised, “A woman’s lack of talent is virtue.” Yet she was quite nimble, having loved to play with her father’s musical equipment since she was little, so her father sent her to the United States to study music. Moreover, he even read some theories on drama and literary works. Behind the classic literary passages, he had written a series of letters in dark ink, flowing and coherent:
“—French-style romance without illness.”
“—Self-righteous British.”
“—Stubborn, resilient, radical, and extreme Slavs.”
……
Khanyi was both amused and exasperated by the content of those annotations, especially when she saw a mathematical problem mentioned in a novel. He had seriously worked out a calculation below it. Khanyi covered her mouth and laughed, flipping through a few more pages. After a somewhat exaggerated artistic description, he wrote in blue ink, “How is this possible?” Upon seeing this, she could no longer hold back and burst out laughing, causing the maid outside the study to peek in curiously. This guy’s thinking was adorably rigid and persistent. She took a pencil from the pen holder beside the desk and carefully added a line of small text beneath his annotation:
“—A nitpicker.”
In these Western classics, Khanyi made a surprising discovery: there was actually an English translation of “Dream of the Red Chamber.” She opened this large book with excitement, but his evaluation was evidently lacking in romance. On the title page, he had hastily written a line:
“—The frivolous affairs of idle men and women in the Grand View Garden.”
How could this guy so casually dismiss the immortal work left by their ancestors? She gripped the pencil, feeling indignant, wanting to argue with him on the pages, but couldn’t think of any words to refute him. After flipping through the entire book, she found only that one comment.
Suddenly, she noticed a small bookmark on the table that hadn’t been there before, perhaps it had fallen out from one of the books when she was flipping through them. The bookmark was neatly written with, “April 24, 1904, Birthday.”
He seemed to dislike others inquiring about his age, keeping the secret like a lady. She secretly delighted in discovering this little secret, calculated in her mind, and realized that in a few days, it would be his 35th birthday. In her hometown, men of this age were expected to settle down, yet he was still single. Khanyi suddenly remembered that her great-uncle, who worked in the government, was born in the 27th year of the Edwardian era, just three years older than him. Her great-uncle’s eldest son had gotten married the year before and had gone to capital to celebrate, but she had just started studying in the United States at that time and had only sent a congratulatory letter.
Not knowing from which book the bookmark had fallen, Khanyi had to tuck it back into “Dream of the Red Chamber.”
She suddenly remembered something, looked up at the window, and realized it was already spring. She had also become “not seeing the sun every day, not knowing spring year after year.” She couldn’t spend her days idly like this. She decided to clean out her seasonal clothes, so she put the book back on the shelf and went to the storage room.
This house had a large room set up on the shady side, filled with floor-to-ceiling wardrobes and cabinets. She had cleaned this place more than once, organizing these cabinets. Now, looking at these clothes, her feelings were somewhat different from when she was serving. Even the black leather long coat no longer made her feel cold and fearful.
She took out the clothes one by one. These clothes were well-preserved, each sleeve having a small label that read “Regular Duty Uniform, Armored Trooper Jacket, Camouflage Uniform, Summer Uniform, Honor Guard Uniform, Evening Dress…” Not only were there various types, but the colors also differed. Just the outerwear included black, dark gray, green, cream, and white… Besides the clothes, there were various swords and daggers, long boots, and shoes in the cabinets… Khanyi was dazzled; these could build a clothing and accessories museum. Some had shoulder insignia clearly indicating ranks and even positions, showing that those clothes were not made for him, as those insignia were not quite the same as the one he usually wore, which was surrounded by gold and silver threads and adorned with stars.
