Let Me Help You

When the morning light shone through the eastern window, Bai Qingxue opened her eyes.

She woke from a half-asleep, half-awake daze, feeling as if she were being slowly pulled to the surface from deep water.

She sat on the bed, her back resting against the cold wall, an outer robe draped over her shoulders at some unknown point.

Bai Qingxue looked down at the outer robe, then slipped it off her shoulders, folded it neatly, and placed it by the side of the bed.

The quiet room was dead silent.

The thin frost on the window lattice paper had completely melted, and the crackling ice crystals from last night had left behind only a few dry water marks.

Bai Qingxue sat there for a while.

She recalled the events of the previous night.

The lingering aftereffects of the restriction were still present, and a dull, aching soreness remained in her meridians, as if to remind her of everything that had transpired.

“Do you want to dual cultivate with me?” Ning Qinghan's voice seemed to echo in her ears even now.

Last night, after Ning Qinghan said those words, the quiet room had fallen silent for a very long time.

So long that the moonlight drifted back behind the clouds, and so long that the water droplets on the window lattice paper condensed and dripped down several times.

In the end, Bai Qingxue had only turned her head away to avoid Ning Qinghan's gaze, saying quietly, “Go back to sleep.”

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Bai Qingxue stood up and walked outside.

The morning light washed over her, but before she could take in the view, Ning Qinghan came into sight.

Ning Qinghan was standing in the courtyard, her back to the door of the quiet room.

She was still barefoot, standing on the damp bluestone slabs, her ankles slender and the arches of her feet curving in a soft slope.

Her grayish-blue sleeping clothes appeared even lighter in the morning sun, fluttering gently in the breeze to trace the delicate contours of her graceful figure.

Ning Qinghan's long hair was still loose, the ends drifting slightly in the morning breeze.

But Bai Qingxue's gaze was not on any of this.

Her eyes were fixed on Ning Qinghan's hands.

Ning Qinghan was holding a set of sleeping clothes.

They were white, with an extremely fine, subtle pattern at the collar and the cuffs slightly rolled up.

It was Bai Qingxue's sleeping clothes.

The very set that had been soaked in sweat when the restriction flared up last night.

When the restriction had been at its most violent, she had been drenched in cold sweat from head to toe, her sleeping clothes clinging to her body like a layer of ice.

After Ning Qinghan left, she had gritted her teeth, stripped off the wet sleeping clothes, changed into a clean set, and then rolled the soaked ones into a bundle and stuffed them into a corner of the quiet room.

She had planned to wash them after waking up today.

Yet those sleeping clothes were now in Ning Qinghan's hands.

Right then, Ning Qinghan turned her head.

The morning sun fell upon her face, illuminating one half while leaving the other in shadow.

Her long eyelashes shone with a light brown sheen as the morning sun filtered through them.

Seeing Bai Qingxue standing at the door, she paused for a brief second before her lips curved upward.

“Morning,” Ning Qinghan said, her voice carrying the slight rasp characteristic of early morning, sounding lazy and casual, as if she were speaking of the most ordinary thing.

Bai Qingxue stared at her.

She looked at Ning Qinghan's water-soaked, reddened fingers, the damp patches on the cuffs of her sleeping clothes, and the nonchalant, slightly smiling expression on her face.

“There is no need for you to do this,” Bai Qingxue said flatly.

Ning Qinghan tilted her head.

She gave the hem of the sleeping clothes one final tug, smoothing them out so they hung more evenly on the clothesline.

Then, she brushed off some nonexistent dust from her hands, turned around, and faced Bai Qingxue.

“Well, you didn't say I couldn't.”

Bai Qingxue said nothing.

After all, Ning Qinghan was right.

Bai Qingxue indeed had never forbidden it.

Seen this way, Ning Qinghan had touched them with absolute justification.

Bai Qingxue stood at the doorway of the quiet room, still holding the folded gray outer robe in her hands.

She glanced at the white sleeping clothes on the clothesline, then at Ning Qinghan. Ultimately, she said nothing, simply walking into the courtyard and sitting down by the stone table.

A pot of tea and two cups sat on the stone table.

Steam was still rising from the tea, which had been freshly brewed.

The cups were made of coarse celadon, pale green and plain.

Bai Qingxue reached out to take the teapot and poured herself a cup, ignoring Ning Qinghan.

Ning Qinghan did not mind.

She walked over, sat down across from Bai Qingxue, and picked up the teapot to pour her own cup.

Her movements were casual; a few drops of tea splashed onto the stone table, but she did not bother to wipe them away. She simply raised the cup to take a sip, then knit her brows.

“It's a bit bitter,” Ning Qinghan remarked.

Bai Qingxue did not respond.

She held her teacup and sipped slowly, mouthful by mouthful. The rising steam blurred her expression.

Once she finished her tea, she placed the cup back onto the stone table.

The celadon cup clinked softly against the stone surface.

“There is no need for this in the future.”

Ning Qinghan looked at Bai Qingxue.

The morning light flowed between them, illuminating the tiny dust motes dancing in the air.

Ning Qinghan propped her elbows on the stone table, resting her chin in her hands as she tilted her head to look at Bai Qingxue.

Her gaze was direct, shifting from the space between Bai Qingxue's brows to her eyes, and then down to her lips.

The wound she had bitten open last night had already scabbed over, leaving a tiny, dark red mark that stood out prominently against her pale lips.

At the sight, the corners of Ning Qinghan's lips curled upward, her eyes narrowing into two crescent curves as she asked, “Are you feeling embarrassed?”

Bai Qingxue's fingers paused on the rim of her teacup for a brief moment.

“No,” Bai Qingxue replied, her voice remaining flat.

But the curve of Ning Qinghan's lips deepened.

Ning Qinghan reached out her hand.

The same hand that had held Bai Qingxue's wrist last night and washed her sleeping clothes this morning.

Now, that hand slowly slid across the stone table, approaching Bai Qingxue's.

Her index finger extended while her other four fingers curled slightly, her fingertip carrying the cool chill of early morning as it tapped gently against the back of Bai Qingxue's hand.

A faint red mark lay there.

It was left behind by the flare-up of the restriction last night.

The pattern wound its way from the inside of her wrist, leaving a light red trail on the back of her hand like a fading ray of twilight, or a wound that had not fully healed.

Ning Qinghan's fingertip rested precisely on that mark.

Her finger was cold, but her touch was so light—like a butterfly landing on a flower petal—that if Bai Qingxue had not looked down, she would have barely felt it.

“What is this?” Ning Qinghan asked.

Bai Qingxue lowered her head to look at Ning Qinghan's fingertip. “The restriction,” she said.

“It must have been hard to bear last night, wasn't it?”

Ning Qinghan lowered her voice slightly, then said, “Let me help you in the future, Bai Qingxue.”

Bai Qingxue looked at her.

The wind blew through the courtyard, fluttering the white sleeping clothes on the clothesline, stirring the long hair draped by Ning Qinghan's face, and dispersing the last wisp of steam from the teacup.

The courtyard was so quiet that the cry of an unknown bird in the distance could be heard before falling silent again.

Bai Qingxue did not pull her hand back.

She simply sat there, allowing Ning Qinghan's fingertip to rest on the back of her hand, feeling that small patch of cool skin pressed against her pulse.