Refusal

Bai Qingxue’s eyelashes fluttered in the moonlight for a long time.

Ning Qinghan’s breath was still pressed against her auricle, warm and carrying that extremely faint scent of tea.

The breath was like a thin veil covering Bai Qingxue’s skin, seeping bit by bit into the meridians behind her ears, into the pathways that had just been torn apart by the restriction and were still throbbing with heat.

Bai Qingxue could feel Ning Qinghan’s heartbeat, pulsing through the thin skin and their interlaced fingers, throb by throb.

The heartbeat was rapid, at least much faster than Bai Qingxue’s breathing.

Bai Qingxue’s lips moved slightly.

It wasn't that she hadn't thought about it.

At a certain moment when the restriction flared, when pain welled up from the depths of her meridians like being flayed alive, and when that dark red heat engulfed the ice lotus, shattering its petals one by one—she indeed had thought about it.

What if she had nodded? What if she had withdrawn her hand from Ning Qinghan’s chest and placed it over her own instead?

What if she had let those frog closures loosen one by one, letting the moon-white inner robe slide off her shoulder, exposing that mole like a drop of ink to the moonlight...

But it stopped there, for Bai Qingxue had already suppressed that thought.

“Ning Qinghan.”

Bai Qingxue’s voice was incredibly raspy now.

The previous pain had drained too much of her strength, and the dryness in her throat added another layer to her voice—a layer of deep exhaustion.

Yet, Ning Qinghan still did not back down.

Ning Qinghan’s hand still cupped Bai Qingxue’s, her fingertips slotted between her fingers, her thumb pressing against the web of her hand.

Bai Qingxue felt it.

That warmth was probing the edge of the crack, like a cautious hand trying to reach inside...

“I will help you,” Bai Qingxue said.

“No,” Ning Qinghan said. “I...”

“Don't be in a rush.”

Bai Qingxue’s voice regained its steadiness.

Though the raspiness remained, steadiness had returned to her voice, like water beginning to flow once more beneath a sheet of ice.

She withdrew her hand, which Ning Qinghan had been pressing against her chest. Though her movement was slow, she pulled it away firmly.

Just like that, the space between Ning Qinghan’s fingers became empty, and the hand she had been holding fell back onto her own lap.

Bai Qingxue withdrew her hand and let it hang at her side.

Then she raised her eyes and looked at Ning Qinghan.

The moonlight shone from behind Ning Qinghan, leaving her expression in the shadows, but Bai Qingxue could see her eyes. In those deep blue eyes, something was cracking, shattering, and sinking.

Like a damaged ship, water was pouring in through the cracks, squeezing the air out of the cabin bit by bit.

“You don't have to do this,” Bai Qingxue said.

“After all, I promised you.”

Ning Qinghan’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Ning Qinghan was still kneeling on the bed, her dark outer robe slipping from her shoulders to hang in the crook of her arms. Her moon-white inner robe was open, and that mole was still exposed, looking like a droplet of ink poised to fall in the moonlight.

At this moment, that drop of ink seemed as if it could slide off her collarbone at any second, flowing down the curve of her chest, seeping into the folds of fabric, and vanishing.

“But I also know what I want to do.”

Bai Qingxue looked at Ning Qinghan.

In truth, Bai Qingxue knew exactly what Ning Qinghan was thinking.

Having lived two lives, Bai Qingxue knew what a person would treat a straw as once they grabbed it in a desperate situation. She knew that when someone was trapped in darkness for too long and a hand suddenly reached in—even if it was entirely accidental—they would mistake it for salvation.

What Ning Qinghan wanted right now was not Bai Qingxue.

It was the person who could break the restriction.

It was the person who could hold her hand when the restriction flared up. It was the person who could turn her freedom from an impossibility into a possibility.

If the one who had walked into the ice cave that day hadn't been Bai Qingxue, but someone else—someone else who could break the restriction—Ning Qinghan would have done the exact same thing.

Bai Qingxue knew all of this.

But even so, Bai Qingxue was still unwilling.

“Do not do this kind of thing again,” Bai Qingxue said. “Alright?”

Ning Qinghan’s shoulders shuddered violently.

She lowered her head, her long hair draping down the sides of her face, concealing her expression.

“Was I wrong?”

Ning Qinghan’s voice was tiny, so quiet it was as if she were speaking to herself.

Ning Qinghan opened her mouth.

She raised her head and looked at Bai Qingxue.

The moonlight fell on her face, illuminating her expression completely.

Looking at Bai Qingxue, Ning Qinghan spoke with a trace of heaviness in her expression.

“Hmm?... I mean, perhaps... you are right.”

Ning Qinghan withdrew her hand from Bai Qingxue’s side, letting it fall to her own side.

Then she stood up, pulling the slipped outer robe back onto her shoulders, drawing the open inner robe together, and fastening the frog closures one by one.

Just like that, the closures were fastened one by one, covering the mole. The moon-white inner robe was closed once more, and the dark outer robe draped over her shoulders again.

Everything returned to its original place, as if nothing had ever happened.

Bai Qingxue watched Ning Qinghan’s hands as they fastened the closures—the same hands that had just been pressing against the back of her own hand—watching them pull the lapels together, like closing a door.

At the same time, Ning Qinghan turned and walked toward the door.

Her silhouette stretched long in the moonlight, dragging from the bedside all the way to the threshold, tangling with the silver-white beam of light until it was impossible to tell where the shadow ended and the moonlight began.

Bai Qingxue sat by the edge of the bed.

Moonlight seeped through the crack of the door, casting a thin, silver-white line on the floor.

The line stretched from the threshold all the way to her feet, like a hand reaching out, only to stop.

Bai Qingxue looked at the line.

Her fingers still rested on the edge of the bed, maintaining the same posture as when Ning Qinghan had been holding them.

Bai Qingxue lowered her head and looked at her hand.

At this moment, the warmth of Ning Qinghan’s palm still lingered on the back of her hand, faint and slowly dissipating bit by bit.

Bai Qingxue recalled her thought from earlier: “What would have happened if I accepted?” What if she had nodded? What if she had withdrawn her hand from Ning Qinghan’s chest and placed it over her own instead?

What if she had let that warm skin press against her fingertips, let that warm current flood into her meridians, and let those frog closures loosen one by one?

What would Bai Qingxue have felt?

Bai Qingxue herself did not know.

After all, she would never do such a thing.

But at this moment, Bai Qingxue wondered what everything would have become if she actually had.

Would the restriction truly have disappeared?

Would Ning Qinghan truly have been free?

Would she herself truly have...

Bai Qingxue did not let her thoughts wander any further.

She put that thought back where it belonged, like placing an object she had finished looking at back onto a shelf.

She withdrew her hand from the edge of the bed, folding her hands over her lap, and raised her head to look at the tear in the window paper.

Moonlight leaked through the gap, casting a small patch of light onto the wall.

Bai Qingxue sat there, sitting for a very long time.

Her breathing was steady, her back straight, her hands folded on her lap, just as usual.

Yet in her mind, an image faintly lingered, refusing to fade.

In that image, Ning Qinghan’s eyes held shattered silver fragments, each one reflecting her shadow.

She wondered if she had accepted, would those fragments have gathered together once more, turning back into a whole, complete moon.

But in the end, Bai Qingxue did not let the image continue.

Bai Qingxue closed it like a book, then placed it back in its original spot on the bookshelf.