The leaves of the old plum tree remained as they were.
It was a strange thing to say.
Midwinter had already arrived. Elsewhere, the trees had long since shed their leaves, leaving bare branches poking at the gray, overcast sky.
But this old plum tree was different. Its leaves still clung to the branches. Even though their edges were curled and shriveled into tiny fists, they remained, as if stubbornly guarding something, refusing to fall.
Bai Qingxue sat beneath such a tree.
On the stone table under the tree sat a purple clay teapot and two tea cups.
One was by her hand, and the other was on the opposite side of the table, facing an empty stone stool.
A withered leaf had fallen onto that stone stool, having come from the old plum tree.
After all, there were bound to be leaves that could no longer hold on.
The leaf curled in the center of the stool, its edges slightly upturned, resembling a question mark.
The tea in the pot was freshly brewed. Steam rose lazily from the spout, condensing into a small cloud of white mist in the cold air before dissipating.
It scattered and gathered, gathered and scattered, like someone repeatedly on the verge of speaking but holding back.
Bai Qingxue picked up the cup in front of her and took a sip.
The tea was still very hot, leaving a slight burning sensation as it entered her mouth.
That heat slid from the tip of her tongue all the way down to her throat, finally settling in her chest as a small ball of warmth.
Bai Qingxue did not frown. She simply swallowed slowly and placed the cup back in its original spot.
The cup landed on the stone surface with an extremely soft clink.
Her gaze fell upon the empty cup opposite her.
That cup had been sitting there for a long time.
So long that she could no longer remember which day it was.
Ever since Lu Xueqing’s last visit, she had set out an extra cup. At first, it was subconscious; her hands moved faster than her mind, and by the time she realized it, the cup was already on the table.
Later, it became a habit. Every time she brewed tea, she would set out an extra one, as if the table was always meant to have two cups—one on her side and one on the other.
There was a small ring of dried tea stains at the bottom of the cup, a trace left behind after the previous tea had evaporated.
Bai Qingxue watched it for a while, then reached out to pick up the purple clay teapot and filled the empty cup.
The tea flowed into the cup with a delicate sound, sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet courtyard.
She put the pot down and continued drinking her own tea.
Wind blew in from outside the courtyard, passing through the plum branches and creating a low whistling sound among the leaves.
With this gust of wind, the hair at Bai Qingxue’s temples was lifted, brushing against her cheeks.
Bai Qingxue’s gaze fell upon the cup again.
The color of the tea in the cup was slightly darker than before.
It must have steeped for too long, making the flavor stronger.
The steam at the rim grew fainter, changing from a lazy ascent to a barely visible wisp that hovered for a moment before disappearing completely.
It was as if someone had swallowed the last breath of air.
The tea had gone cold.
Bai Qingxue reached out and picked up the cup.
The temperature of the ceramic reached her fingertips; it was neither hot nor icy. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she poured the cold tea over the roots of the plum tree.
The tea seeped into the soil, leaving dark water marks that soon dried.
The soil at the base of the plum tree rarely saw sunlight, so its color was darker than elsewhere. When the water marks fell upon it, it was like ink dripping into ink—impossible to distinguish between old and new stains.
Bai Qingxue picked up the pot again and refilled the cup once more.
The hot water rushed into the cold porcelain cup, producing a faint hiss.
The sound was very short, so short it seemed as if something had cut it off.
The porcelain cup had been cold for too long. When the hot water entered, a layer of fine water droplets formed on the inner wall, as if the cup itself were sweating.
“Which cup is this?”
Bai Qingxue thought silently to herself.
She couldn't remember. The third? The fourth? Or more? Every movement of pouring the tea was identical.
She had walked through this process many times, each step landing exactly in her previous footprints, until she could no longer tell which step was new and which was old.
However, no one could provide a specific answer to that question.
Suddenly, from not far away, a door hinge let out a soft creak.
A series of footsteps descended onto the threshold.
Ning Qinghan walked out from under the corridor.
Currently, she was draped in a deep-colored outer robe, the collar slightly open to reveal the moon-white inner robe beneath.
Her hair was not tied, cascading over her shoulders. A few strands slid from her shoulder to her chest, only to be blown back by the wind.
She looked as if she had just woken from a light slumber. Perhaps some shadow still lingered in her dreams, such that when she woke, that shadow remained on the inside of her eyelids, and she seemed to still be savoring that hazy vision.
Ning Qinghan walked to the stone table and stopped.
Ning Qinghan’s gaze swept over the tabletop.
Her eyes lingered on the withered leaf for a moment.
Then she reached out, using two fingers to pick up the leaf and gently place it on the edge of the stone table.
Ning Qinghan then withdrew her gaze and sat down opposite Bai Qingxue.
Right on the stone stool where the empty cup sat.
Ning Qinghan first pushed the cup aside to make room for herself.
Then she picked up the purple clay teapot and poured herself a cup of tea.
She cradled the cup in her palms, both hands covering the sides as if seeking warmth.
The steam from the rim rose between her fingers, blurring her fingertips.
Then Ning Qinghan spoke.
“Are you waiting for her to come, or are you waiting for yourself to go find her?”
Ning Qinghan’s tone was very light as she said this, as if it were just a casual question.
There was no prelude or buildup; she simply said it out of the blue.
It seemed Ning Qinghan’s words were always like this.
Bai Qingxue’s hand holding the tea cup paused for a second.
However, Bai Qingxue did not turn her head to look at Ning Qinghan.
Her gaze remained on the branches of the plum tree, watching the withered brown leaves tremble in the wind like a cluster of butterflies refusing to leave the branch.
“What do you mean?”
Bai Qingxue asked.
However, Ning Qinghan did not answer her question.
She held her tea cup, her gaze looking over the rim at Bai Qingxue’s profile.
“What are you trying to say?”
Bai Qingxue pressed.
This time, she turned her head and looked at Ning Qinghan.
Their gazes met in the air, and neither looked away.
Ning Qinghan tilted her head.
The corners of her mouth curved slightly, neither too deep nor too shallow.
It wasn't deep because she truly wasn't laughing joyfully.
It wasn't shallow because the smile wasn't entirely fake either.
It existed somewhere between truth and lies, between testing and frankness, like a mirror that hadn't been wiped clean—it reflected a person’s shadow, but with several blurred streaks.
“I’m saying...”
Ning Qinghan placed the tea cup on the stone table. The cup clinked against the stone surface, cutting her sentence short.
That soft sound bounced around the quiet courtyard, hitting the trunk of the old plum tree, the blue bricks of the courtyard wall, and the pillars of the corridor before finally crumbling into dust.
Then Ning Qinghan’s finger moved on the stone table.
She began to draw circles.
Her finger pad pressed against the cold stone surface, slowly drawing circle after circle.
The circles weren't perfect; they were crooked and wobbly, like those drawn by a child just learning to hold a pen.
But Ning Qinghan was very focused. She didn't look at her finger, but at Bai Qingxue. Her finger moved on its own, as if the action didn't require her permission at all.
“If you want to go, then go. Why wait here?”
She said this with a very casual tone.
Bai Qingxue looked into Ning Qinghan’s eyes.
Her gaze shifted from Ning Qinghan’s eyes to the finger drawing circles on the stone table, then back to her eyes.
She looked into those light-colored eyes for a long time, as if looking into a transparent container.
The container held many things—some floating on top, some settled at the bottom, and some suspended in the middle, neither rising nor sinking.
“What do you know?”
Bai Qingxue said indifferently.
Upon hearing this, the curve of Ning Qinghan’s lips deepened slightly.
She raised her hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. The movement was very slow, as if she were intentionally letting Bai Qingxue see every motion of her fingers.
“I know quite a lot,”
Ning Qinghan said.
She dragged out the last word slightly, adding a rising lilt.
That word landed in the air, weightless, like a feather dropped onto a calm water surface.
“For example, you feel that you owe your Senior Sister?”
Ning Qinghan picked up the tea cup and took another sip.
By now, the tea was no longer scalding; it was lukewarm and just right for drinking.
She drank quickly, as if moistening her throat, finishing the entire cup in two or three gulps.
When the cup was empty, her throat bobbed. When she set the cup down, her hand was steady, and not a single drop was spilled.
Ning Qinghan put the cup down and slowly traced the rim with her finger.
Her nails were neatly trimmed, making no sound as they slid across the porcelain surface.
Her nails were a pale pink, looking like a small petal against the dark porcelain cup.
She traced a perfect circle along the rim, her movements so slow that Bai Qingxue could see the curve of her nails.
“You can’t give her what she wants. You know this.”
Ning Qinghan didn't wait for Bai Qingxue to respond.
“You feel you’ve failed her.”
“But you don’t know what to do.”
“So you stay here, brew a cup of tea, and wait.”
Ning Qinghan stopped her movements. Her finger moved from the rim to the stone table, stopping beside the crooked circle.
Then she looked up, staring directly at Bai Qingxue. This time, her gaze was not obscured by anything.
Not by the steam from the cup, not by the finger drawing circles, and not by the tilt of her head.
She just stared straight at her.
“Waiting for what? If she comes, can you feel a bit more at ease? ‘Look, I didn’t push her away, I left a place for her.’?”
“Or are you waiting for the tea to go cold so you can tell yourself, ‘I waited, but she didn’t come’?”
Ning Qinghan didn't move after finishing her sentence.
Her lips were slightly pursed, forming a very, very thin line, as if she were holding back something about to escape her mouth.
Bai Qingxue’s breath condensed into a small cloud of white mist in the air.
A very small cloud that quickly vanished.
The mist disappeared so fast there was no time to see its shape.
Bai Qingxue looked at Ning Qinghan. They were separated by the width of the stone table. The table was narrow—so narrow that if they both reached out at the same time, their fingertips would touch. But neither of them reached out.
“Ning Qinghan.”
Bai Qingxue called her name.
Not “Qinghan,” but “Ning Qinghan.” Three syllables, perfectly articulated, without omitting any part.
Ning Qinghan blinked.
When Bai Qingxue called her name, her voice was a bit lower than usual.
It wasn't a deliberate lowering, but the result of her breath naturally sinking, as if the air pressure of winter had dropped, forcing even her voice to stay low.
And compared to her usual indifference, there seemed to be a bit more coldness in that voice.
Ning Qinghan did not dodge her gaze.
She straightened her head, no longer tilting it, and sat there perfectly upright like a student being called upon by a teacher.
“Am I wrong?”
Ning Qinghan replied.
Ning Qinghan bit the end of the word “wrong” very lightly.
Yet this lightness was so light it felt unnatural, as if she were afraid of something, but if it were true fear, the apprehension was far too affected.
It was like an actor on stage using an exaggerated vibrato to sing a sorrowful lyric—the sorrow was there, but every vibrato landed perfectly on the beat, making one wonder how much of the sadness was real and how much was a performance.
It was a clear posture of acting.
Bai Qingxue placed her tea cup on the stone table. The base clinked against the stone with a sound even lighter than when Ning Qinghan had put hers down.
Then Bai Qingxue spoke.
“What are you so anxious about?”
Ning Qinghan was stunned for a moment.
“Or rather, what exactly are you trying to do?”
Bai Qingxue’s tone returned to its usual calm.
Ning Qinghan’s smile froze on her lips, the curve exactly the same as before. It didn't deepen or fade, but the substance within it had been drained away, leaving only an empty shell hanging on her face.
“I’m anxious?”
Ning Qinghan asked in return.
She tilted her head. The movement was still like a cat, yet different from before.
If the previous Ning Qinghan was an observant cat—pupils slightly contracted, ears turned toward the target, all attention focused on a single point.
Now she was a defensive cat.
Her ears were flattened back, her claws retracted into her pads; on the outside, she still looked round and soft, but inside, she was sharp and hard.
Ready to strike at any moment in defense.
Ning Qinghan’s hand on the stone table had clenched into a fist at some point.
Unlike the kind of clenching where the knuckles bulged, Ning Qinghan was only holding it lightly and loosely, her nails just touching her palm.
Then, Ning Qinghan relaxed her hand.
Her fingers opened one by one, leaving four faint nail marks in her palm.
Ning Qinghan turned her hand over, back facing up, and lightly tapped the stone table with her fingertips.
Once, twice, thrice.
Then Ning Qinghan laughed.
She looked at Bai Qingxue and said:
“You’re right, I am anxious.”
Ning Qinghan said.
Her voice was neither high nor low, her speed neither fast nor slow. She articulated every word clearly, no longer swallowing or softening any endings. She let every word stand there naked, without cover or retreat.
“I’m anxious to dual cultivate with you.”
She paused. The pause was brief, yet it caused the air to fall silent for a beat.
“Are you satisfied now?”
Immediately after, Ning Qinghan withdrew her hand from the stone table, folded her hands over her knees, and sat upright once more.
She looked at Bai Qingxue, quietly waiting for an answer.
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