Khanyi nodded, “Yes, actually my father didn’t want to take a concubine, but my mother always gave birth to daughters and couldn’t have a son, so she took in a maid as a concubine, and she gave birth to my little brother.”
“Yes, perhaps every nation in the world prefers boys,” he smiled, “Please forgive me, I don’t mean to disrespect women by saying this. Nowadays, women can do many jobs, but there are still many things that are more suitable for men to do, like war.” When he said this word, his tone remained gentle, but his lake-blue eyes became much deeper.
“What about your family?” Khanyi asked.
“I have two older brothers. The eldest went insane at a young age, and the second brother enlisted, but got caught up in an internal military struggle, and later… he committed suicide.”
“Ah, I’m sorry…” She regretted asking such a blunt question, not expecting that he seemed somewhat detached, and his background was so unfortunate.
“It’s okay,” he shook his head and smiled at her, “Actually, those things happened when I was little.”
Khanyi didn’t know what to say, lowering her head in silence for a while, until he spoke first, “I see you always looking out the window. It’s pitch black outside; is there any scenery?” He playfully leaned his face against the glass, peering outside. Khanyi gazed at his shadow on the glass; he was so handsome that even his reflection was captivating, with very obvious ethnic features—a high nose, deep-set eyes, but his features were very soft, not the ruggedness of a chiseled face, revealing a kind of elegant charm. One thing that was different was that he had brown hair, longer than his ears, with slightly curled ends, adding a touch of melancholy.
“There’s no scenery, just the black night outside.” Khanyi slightly lowered her eyes and looked again at the bottomless darkness outside the window. Every time she did this, a surge of emotion welled up in her heart.
“Are you missing someone?” he suddenly asked, his tone somewhat serious, “Let me guess, you must be thinking of your beloved.”
Before Khanyi could respond, he quickly asked, “The reason you went to the capital is to find him, right? What does he do? A doctor? A lawyer? Or a businessman? He must be a very outstanding man.”
Khanyi shook her head, her voice lacking confidence, “He… is a farmer.” She lied, because she truly hoped for that.
He paused for a moment, his expression seeming to freeze for an instant, then he smiled, “A farmer? That’s really nice. But no matter who he is, the one loved by you must be very happy. It’s really enviable… because you give off such a good feeling. Being by your side feels like basking in the afternoon sun, very pleasant and warm.”
Khanyi smiled faintly. Being next to him felt like being illuminated by soft moonlight. He was so handsome, like a prince under the moonlight. This man had lake-blue eyes, the pupils resembling a lake in autumn, perfectly described by the ancient poem “Quiet shadows sink into the jade,” his gaze seemed always filled with tenderness. When looking into his eyes, one would unconsciously feel embraced, without any sense of violation or hostility. This was a rare experience for her since arriving in this country. In the past, when men looked at her, they always had a kind of strange, hostile gaze.
“What are you going to do in the capital?” she asked cautiously this time.
“I work there. I’m using my vacation to return home for my cousin’s wedding…” He suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the sky outside the window, “Ah, the moon is out.”
The dark clouds in the night sky dispersed, revealing a crescent moon, its clear light illuminating the sky. A smile appeared on her lips, “Yes, such beautiful moonlight.”
“Those traveling at night, looking at it, always feel less lonely.” “I think I understand why Ludwig II always liked to travel at night…”
Their conversation continued until the early hours of the morning. They hit it off well, and she didn’t ask about his identity again, guessing he might be a composer or a playwright, because his understanding of Wagner’s works went beyond just the admiration of the builder of the Swan Castle. From his first work with a Shakespearean imprint, “Leibald and Adelaida,” to “Tristan” and “The Ring of the Nibelung,” and to the viewpoints in his theoretical work “Art and Revolution.”
He was clearly energetic, getting more and more into the conversation. “Teddy” had already fallen asleep in its nest, snoring softly, and Khanyi was gradually feeling sleepy too.
“Ha—” she covered her mouth and yawned.
“I think you should rest,” he paused, glancing at his watch, “My God! It’s already 2 AM. This train will arrive around 6 AM.” His tone was very sincere, “I’m really sorry to have disturbed you for so long. If I could, I would prefer it to break down and take two days and nights, so I could spend more time with you.”
