Retreat

When Lu Xueqing lifted her head from the hollow of Bai Qingxue’s neck, her fingers were still threaded through that silver-white hair.

The moonlight made Bai Qingxue’s face look somewhat ethereal.

At this moment, the faint blush on that usually cold countenance had yet to fully fade.

Bai Qingxue’s eyelashes were lowered, casting a small patch of shadow beneath her eyes.

The red mark on the side of her neck was imprinted on her fair skin like a red plum blossom petal fallen upon the snow, its edges slightly swollen.

Lu Xueqing stared at that red mark.

She felt a pang of regret, for she seemed to have used too much force.

But she also felt a sliver of joy—after all, it was she who had left it there; it was her doing.

Thinking of this, Lu Xueqing withdrew her fingers from Bai Qingxue’s hair.

The silver-white strands slid through her fingers, cool like water flowing through one's grasp, leaving nothing behind.

Bai Qingxue’s hair had been mussed by her; several strands strayed across the side of her face, and one clung to the corner of her lips, rising and falling gently with her breath.

Lu Xueqing watched the scene, her throat bobbing.

She wanted more.

She wanted to press Bai Qingxue into her embrace, to kiss her lips, and to leave even more marks upon her body.

She wanted to make it impossible for her to ever pretend nothing had happened again. She wanted to make that green cord and that pendant things of the past, and to make herself the deepest imprint on Bai Qingxue.

But Lu Xueqing did not do it.

She retreated.

Bai Qingxue lifted her head and looked at her. Lu Xueqing’s face was reflected in those pale eyes—a distressed face with reddened eyes.

Lu Xueqing retreated to the other side of the stone table and sat down, her hands bracing against the edge of the table. Her knuckles turned white, as if she were afraid she might move forward again.

The leaves of the old plum tree were still falling.

They landed on the stone table between them, in the cold tea cups, and in places where no one would bother to pick them up.

Bai Qingxue watched her.

Looking at the still-indifferent Bai Qingxue, Lu Xueqing didn’t know if she felt relieved or even more pained.

“Senior...” Bai Qingxue began.

Lu Xueqing pressed her finger against Bai Qingxue’s lips, her fingertips still trembling.

“Don’t speak.”

It wasn’t that Lu Xueqing didn’t want to hear her. On the contrary, over the past seven years, she had missed the other’s voice every single moment.

But she was unwilling to let Bai Qingxue ask any further.

If Bai Qingxue asked, she wouldn’t know how to answer.

So she did not let Bai Qingxue speak.

The two remained in silence for a long time.

Long enough for the moonlight to move from one end of the stone table to the other.

“Junior Sister Bai.”

“En.”

“Do you want to know why I stopped?”

Bai Qingxue looked at her but did not answer.

Lu Xueqing lowered her head, looking at her own hands.

Those hands had been buried in Bai Qingxue’s hair just moments ago, but now they were empty, holding nothing.

She turned her hands over and looked at her palms. There were several faint crescent marks left by her fingernails; she didn't even know when she had dug them in.

“Because you won’t refuse me.”

Bai Qingxue’s brow twitched slightly.

“You never refuse those close to you,” Lu Xueqing’s voice was lower than before.

Lu Xueqing lifted her head and looked into Bai Qingxue’s eyes.

Something flickered in those pale eyes, as if a sore spot that she didn't dare touch had been pricked.

“But ‘not refusing’ is not the same as ‘wanting’.”

Lu Xueqing’s voice began to tremble. She had kept these words bottled up in her heart for seven years.

From the day Bai Qingxue took the water skin she handed over without sparing her a second glance, to the day she accepted Ye Qingyao’s green cord but didn't refuse her hug, to the seven years in Nanhuai when she didn't send back a single word.

“What I want isn’t just for you to not refuse me.”

Lu Xueqing paused, her voice dropping so low it was as if she were speaking only to herself.

“What I want is... for you to want me.”

This was the cry of Lu Xueqing’s heart.

Bai Qingxue was simply that kind of person who never took the initiative.

She never initiated anything.

She would let Ye Qingyao hug her, let Lu Xueqing hug her, and let Xiao Nanyuan hug her.

But her own hands always hung at her sides.

Only after the other person was finished hugging would she raise them, place them on their back, give a pat, and say, “It’s okay now.”

That pat on the back was the maximum extent of Bai Qingxue’s affection.

Lu Xueqing didn’t understand it before.

Now she did.

But so what if she understood?

Bai Qingxue’s affection was too light—so light that Lu Xueqing couldn't distinguish whether it was love or a substitute for not loving.

She couldn't let Bai Qingxue spend her whole life relying on “En” and “It’s okay now.”

She wanted Bai Qingxue to reach out her hand and hug her first.

Not to respond after she had pounced, but to walk over before she had even made a move.

Lu Xueqing didn't know if she would ever see that day in this lifetime.

But she was willing to wait...

“So I don’t dare go any further.”

Lu Xueqing’s voice grew calm.

“Because if you don’t want me, no matter how much I do, it’s useless.”

Lu Xueqing stood up.

The stool was pushed back, its legs scraping against the ground with a harsh sound.

That sound was exceptionally clear in the quiet courtyard, as if it were shouting the words she couldn't say aloud.

She walked to the courtyard gate and stopped.

Lu Xueqing did not look back.

The moonlight cast her shadow on the ground, stretching it long until it reached Bai Qingxue’s feet. The shadow was faint, so faint it seemed it might be scattered by the wind at any moment.

“If you want me, you will come find me.”

Her voice was very light, as if she were speaking of something she herself barely believed.

“Junior Sister Bai, I’ve waited seven years.”

She paused.

“One more day won't make a difference.”

Then she left.

The courtyard gate was not closed.

The wind poured in from outside, making the leaves of the old plum tree rustle. A few silver-white leaves were swept inside by the wind, landing on the stone table, in the tea cups, and on Bai Qingxue’s lap.

Bai Qingxue sat on the stone stool and did not move.

Her hands were still resting on her knees, her fingers maintaining that posture of curling and then relaxing—half-curled, as if wanting to grasp something, yet holding nothing.

The red mark on the side of her neck remained.

The warmth slowly receded from her skin, cooled by the night wind.

Bai Qingxue raised a hand to touch the mark, her fingertips brushing against the slightly swollen edges.

Then, Bai Qingxue lowered her head again, looking at the green cord on her wrist and the pendant at her neck.

At this moment, Bai Qingxue truly didn't know what she was doing anymore.

It was as if she didn't know what she wanted.

It was as if she simply accepted everything handed to her, remembered every bit of warmth that approached, and then remained silent when others retreated.

Because she didn't know how to open her mouth and say, “Don't go.”

She also didn't know if she had the right to say, “Don't go.”

Bai Qingxue did not chase after her.

She simply sat there, looking at the empty moonlight at the courtyard gate, watching the leaves of the old plum tree fall one by one, and watching Lu Xueqing’s shadow on the ground slowly fade, fade, and finally be scattered by the wind.

Her hands were still on her knees.

Her fingertips were slightly curled.

As if waiting for something.