The Side Room

“Let’s go.”

Two short words, as indifferent as they had been over the past few days.

Ning Qinghan looked at the person before her. She said nothing, simply nodding and following obediently.

Her bare feet stepped onto the bluestone slabs, one by one, without a sound.

The morning mist surged from both sides, shrouding her figure in a hazy veil. She lowered her head to look at her feet, watching herself step onto Bai Qingxue’s shadow.

The stone steps were cold.

Bai Qingxue walked ahead, her pace neither fast nor slow.

During this time, Bai Qingxue did not look back or speak.

Her frost-white robe flickered in and out of view through the morning mist, and her silver-white hair hung down her back, swaying gently with her steps.

Ning Qinghan followed behind, maintaining a distance of a few paces—not too far, yet not too close.

She did not know why she kept this specific distance.

But it was likely a habit.

In the ice cave, she had grown accustomed to keeping her distance from everything, for being too close often meant danger.

Of course, it might also have been simply because Ning Qinghan did not know if she should walk any closer.

A courtyard gate appeared at the end of the stone steps.

The courtyard walls were low, and the branches of an old plum tree peeked over the top. Its silver-white leaves swayed gently in the morning breeze, making a faint rustling sound as if saying, “You’re back.”

Bai Qingxue pushed open the courtyard gate.

The stone table and stools were still in their old positions. In the center of the stone tabletop was a long, thin crack extending from the edge to the middle.

Two overturned cups sat on the stone table.

One was white porcelain and the other coarse ceramic; one large and one small, one white and one brown, resting side by side. A teapot was placed next to them, its spout facing outward.

Silver-white leaves from the old plum tree drifted down, landing on the stone table, the stone stools, and the overturned white porcelain cup.

Bai Qingxue stood in the courtyard for a moment.

She looked at the two cups. Her gaze lingered on the white porcelain cup for an instant, then on the coarse ceramic cup for another.

Then she looked away and entered the main room.

Ning Qinghan stood at the courtyard gate, not entering.

She looked at the old plum tree, the silver-white leaves, and the two cups sitting side by side on the stone table.

The two cups were very close, their rims almost touching, as if someone had specifically placed them there, or as if they simply belonged that way.

A moment later, Bai Qingxue emerged from the main room, carrying a set of bedding from who knew when.

Bai Qingxue glanced at Ning Qinghan, who was waiting outside the courtyard, and then walked toward the side room.

Ning Qinghan followed behind her.

The side room was not large.

A wooden bed was set against the eastern wall, a set of table and chairs sat by the southern window, and a wooden rack stood in the corner.

The window faced south, and the morning light filtered through the window lattice paper, spreading a layer of pale gold light across the floor.

Bai Qingxue placed the bedding on the wooden bed and spoke to Ning Qinghan, who was by the wooden door:

“You stay here for now.”

Pausing, as if remembering something, Bai Qingxue added: “If you lack anything, go to the Management Hall halfway down the mountain to collect it. Just give my name.”

Ning Qinghan nodded.

Seeing this, Bai Qingxue said no more. She simply walked past her and left the side room.

Everything in the main room remained as it was.

The bronze mirror lay face down on the table, the Shuanghua sword hung on the wall, and the lamp on the low cabinet remained exactly as it had been when she left.

Bai Qingxue sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled up her sleeve to take a look.

The dark red pattern on her wrist was deeper than it had been this morning. The color had shifted from dark red to a more profound ochre, as if it had been retraced. It was currently radiating a slight heat.

She lowered her sleeve and thought no more of it.

There was no sound from the side room.

No cabinet doors opening, no chairs being pulled, no rustling of bedding from someone lying down.

It was as if Ning Qinghan had vanished into that room, even her breathing perfectly restrained.

Bai Qingxue stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.

At the same time, in the side room, Ning Qinghan was still standing by the door.

She did not know how long she had been standing there. Perhaps just a few breaths, perhaps longer.

Her gaze moved from the bedding to the window lattice paper. The morning light filtered through, thin and pale gold, spreading a shallow layer across the floor.

Ning Qinghan reached out, spreading her palm to let the light fall into it.

The light passed through the gaps between her fingers, casting several pale gold patterns on the back of her hand.

Her hands were very thin, her joints well-defined, and there were several small scars on her skin—likely left from her time in the ice cave—but at this moment, they seemed more like old memories that refused to heal.

Ning Qinghan lowered her hand to her side.

Then she walked to the wooden bed and sat down.

The pallet was softer than she had imagined, thick like a cloud. When she sat on it, it sank slightly, as if something were gently cradling her.

Ning Qinghan lowered her eyes, looking at her knees. The fabric at the knees of her robe was worn white, and a few loose threads had popped up. She reached out to twist them; the threads didn't break, but instead tangled around her fingertip for a moment.

She stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.

Outside, Bai Qingxue was standing in front of the main room's window.

Two windows, separated by an old plum tree, had been pushed open at the same time.

When Bai Qingxue looked up, she saw Ning Qinghan at the side room's window. Ning Qinghan saw her as well.

Their gazes met briefly through the overlapping branches and leaves of the old plum tree, a momentary contact like two leaves brushing past each other in the wind.

Bai Qingxue nodded.

Ning Qinghan nodded as well.

Then Bai Qingxue withdrew her gaze and looked down at the silver-white leaf on the windowsill.

She did not brush it away, she simply watched it. The branches of the old plum tree reached toward the window, its silver-white leaves gleaming softly in the afternoon sun.

A few leaves were blown off by the wind, twirling in the air before landing on the windowsill and on the back of her hand.

This old plum tree had been planted by True Lord Shuanghua herself in the year she achieved Foundation Establishment.

Liu Ningshuang had said it hadn't bloomed for many years, until Bai Qingxue arrived.

Bai Qingxue did not know if that was true.

She only knew that every winter, it would bloom.

The silver-white petals would become invisible once they fell onto the snowy ground, but the fragrance remained.

Cold and clear, it was as if the chill from the summit of Xueji Peak had been gathered, crushed, and sprinkled throughout the courtyard.

It had seen many people come and many people go.

On the first day she moved in, it was standing there.

When Lu Xueqing came to drink tea every evening, it was also standing there.

When Ye Qingyao occasionally visited, sitting by the stone table and stiffly holding her teacup, it was still standing there.

It saw everything and said nothing.

Bai Qingxue reached out, her fingertip touching the nearest leaf.

The surface of the leaf was slightly cool, thin, and soft, with clear veins.

She pressed it gently; the leaf bent down and then snapped back.

She withdrew her hand and closed the window.

At the side room's window, Ning Qinghan remained standing.

She watched Bai Qingxue close the window, watched that frost-white figure disappear behind the window lattice paper.

Then her gaze fell upon the old plum tree. For some reason, she also reached out, her fingertip touching the nearest leaf.

The leaf trembled slightly under her finger pad, like a person instinctively flinching when touched, yet it did not pull away.

She watched the old plum tree for a while longer.

This old plum tree had stood here for many years.

It had seen the owners of this courtyard come and go, seen people sitting by the stone table drinking tea, seen people leaning against its trunk lost in thought, seen people push open the courtyard gate to enter, and seen people close the gate to leave.

It had seen Bai Qingxue.

Ning Qinghan did not know how many times Bai Qingxue had sat under this tree.

But there were two stone stools by the stone table: one near the main room and one near the side room. The surface of the stool near the main room was worn smooth and shiny, while the one near the side room was clearly used much less.

Ning Qinghan did not know.

She closed the window, leaving only a small crack.

She walked back to the wooden bed, took off her outer robe, folded it, and placed it in the corner.

She lay down, pulling the blanket up to her chest.

The temperature of the blanket was the same as when she had sat down earlier—warm, neither hot nor cold.

A cold fragrance lingered at the tip of her nose—clean, faint, somewhat like the indefinable fresh scent in the air after rain.

She turned onto her side, facing the window.

The shadow of the old plum tree was reflected on the window lattice paper.

The silver-white leaves swayed gently in the wind, and the shadows swayed with them.

Sometimes several leaves overlapped, making the shadow darker.

Sometimes the wind stopped, and the shadow faded, becoming so faint it was almost invisible.

Ning Qinghan thought silently to herself as she watched the shadow.

Ning Qinghan did not know, but it likely wouldn't.

To an old tree that had lived for an unknown number of years, a person who only stayed for a few days was probably no different from a snowflake landing on a branch—leaving no trace once it melted away.

But what if she stayed a bit longer?

Long enough for it to remember her?

Ning Qinghan pulled the blanket up a bit higher, covering half of her face.

Sunlight leaked through the crack in the window, falling onto her fingers.

She reached her hand out from under the blanket, spreading it to let the light fall into her palm.

The light was thin, passing through the gaps between her fingers and casting several pale gold patterns on the back of her hand.

The scars seemed to fade slightly in the light, becoming almost invisible.

Perhaps one day, these scars really would disappear.

Ning Qinghan withdrew her hand, tucked it back into the blanket, and closed her eyes.

In the main room, Bai Qingxue sat cross-legged on the bed.

The ice lotus rotated slowly within her dantian, and spiritual power flowed through her meridians.

Under the wash of spiritual power, the temperature of the pattern on her wrist slowly dropped, changing from burning to warm, and from warm to slightly cool.