Ye Qingyao's Exit

After her own match ended, Bai Qingxue stood in the corridor beside the stage, watching a pale green figure from a distance.

Twilight had not yet arrived, and the sunlight slanted across the stage, casting a long, slender shadow.

Ye Qingyao’s opponent was a male disciple from Qingyun Peak at the sixth level of Qi Refining, two small realms higher than her.

From the very first move, Ye Qingyao was suppressed.

The opponent’s sword was both fast and heavy. Ye Qingyao could only barely manage to parry, retreating step by step.

Bai Qingxue watched the scene in silence.

In the plot she had read in the novel, Ye Qingyao was nothing more than a timid, delicate white flower who followed behind her brother.

But whether it was the previous match where she traded injuries for victory, or this time, facing an opponent two small realms stronger yet still taking the stage...

Ye Qingyao was gradually becoming disconnected from the image in her memory.

For some inexplicable reason, Bai Qingxue wanted to see. She wanted to see what the person who had given her a Cold Iron Stone, a peace knot, lotus seed soup, and osmanthus cakes would look like when facing an invincible opponent on the stage.

How many moves would she last?

After which move would she begin to collapse?

At what moment would she show an expression of wanting to give up?

The thought was very faint, so faint that Bai Qingxue didn't even realize it was there, yet it persisted.

So, Bai Qingxue simply watched quietly.

She watched from the first move all the way to the twelfth.

From the start, Ye Qingyao gritted her teeth, resisting the opponent’s offensive sword by sword. When she couldn't block, she endured the strikes with her body.

By the third move, Ye Qingyao was struck by the wind of a sword on her shoulder, staggering back two steps, but she steadied herself and did not fall.

By the seventh move, Ye Qingyao was forced to the edge of the stage, her back almost pressed against the light barrier, yet she still refused to give up.

Bai Qingxue’s eyelashes fluttered.

In that moment, she already had her answer: this person would never retreat of her own accord.

On the eleventh move, Ye Qingyao’s short sword was knocked flying. Just as Bai Qingxue thought she was going to admit defeat, Ye Qingyao still didn't. She quickly retrieved the short sword and then stared intently at her opponent, as if searching for the next opportunity to strike.

On the twelfth move, the tip of the opponent’s sword stopped three inches in front of Ye Qingyao’s throat.

Ye Qingyao was silent for a moment before she finally spoke. “I lose,” she said, her voice raspy.

Seeing the match decided, Bai Qingxue withdrew her gaze.

She thought of the way Ye Qingyao had stood empty-handed on the stage after her short sword was knocked away, and the way those eyes had remained open even when the sword tip was three inches from her throat.

Bai Qingxue said nothing, but a thought inexplicably surfaced in her mind: This person won't keep losing forever.

Of course, Bai Qingxue would never voice this thought aloud.

After the deacon announced the result, Ye Qingyao bent down to pick up her short sword and walked off the stage.

At this moment, her left arm hung at her side, unable to be lifted. Several new tears had appeared in her robes, and beads of blood dripped from her fingertips, falling one by one onto the greyish-white stone floor.

Below the stage, disciples whispered among themselves. “This Junior Sister looks so soft, I didn't expect her to be so tough.”

Ye Qingyao, however, acted as if she hadn't heard them, walking down step by step.

Bai Qingxue watched her pass by the edge of the stage without speaking or calling out to her.

Bai Qingxue simply turned and walked along the corridor toward the rest area, though her pace was slightly slower than usual.

Not long after she sat down in the rest area, a set of footsteps approached from behind.

“Sister Bai.”

It was Ye Qingyao. Her voice now carried a hint of emotion.

Bai Qingxue turned her head.

Ye Qingyao stood before her, bandages wrapped around her shoulder. At the same time, a large section of her sleeve had been torn open, revealing an arm covered in black and blue bruises. Stray hairs were stuck to her face by sweat, making her look inexplicably like a puppy caught in the rain, looking utterly wretched.

Yet even so, Ye Qingyao stood very straight. There was a shallow mark on her lip, likely bitten out while enduring the pain.

Though the mark wasn't deep, it was fresh, with a trace of wet blood still on the edges.

Bai Qingxue’s gaze lingered on that lip mark for a moment.

“I lost the second round,” Ye Qingyao said, sounding a bit dejected.

Bai Qingxue looked at her.

She thought again of those eyes that hadn't closed on the stage.

“Well played,” Bai Qingxue said.

Even though Bai Qingxue’s tone was as flat as usual, those two words fell into Ye Qingyao’s ears like stones dropped into a deep pond, stirring up ripple after ripple.

The ripples surged from her eardrums to her heart, and from her heart to her entire body, leaving her feeling slightly numb from head to toe.

Ye Qingyao had imagined Bai Qingxue might say “Mm,” or say nothing at all, or even turn away and ignore her.

She had gone through every possibility in her mind and felt she could accept them all. The only thing she hadn't expected was “Well played.”

This wasn't in any of her projections.

Ye Qingyao froze there, the corners of her mouth stiff at first, as if she hadn't heard clearly or didn't dare believe it.

Then those words circled twice in her mind, confirming it—it really was “Well played.”

Upon hearing this, the corners of Ye Qingyao’s mouth slowly began to curve upward.

Suddenly, the bloodstain on her lip seemed to be pulled by the smile, sending a slight sting through her and causing her to flinch, but the curve of her mouth could not be suppressed.

Ye Qingyao wanted to say thank you, she wanted to ask if Sister Bai had seen everything, she wanted to tell Bai Qingxue how hard it had been to persist.

But too many words rushed to her throat at once, crowding together so that she couldn't say a single one.

Ye Qingyao’s eyes suddenly felt a bit hot, but she held it back.

‘I can't cry in front of Sister Bai. I didn't come here to cry.’

But the moment she opened her mouth, a memory suddenly flashed through Ye Qingyao’s mind.

A long time ago, Bai Qingxue would look at her like this too, occasionally saying “good” or “decent.” She would be as happy as if she had received some precious treasure, skipping and spinning around on the way back.

Back then, she felt she was special, that Bai Qingxue was different toward her than toward others.

But how had she treated Sister Bai? She had abandoned her. During those days when Sister Bai became colder and more silent, she had done nothing. Just like everyone else, she had watched from a distance, and then slowly drifted away too.

Now Sister Bai had said “Well played” again, just like before.

But she was no longer the person who could be happy with a clear conscience.

What right did someone who chose silence during another’s hardest times have to be as happy as before? What right did she have to stand there and accept this praise so complacently?

Ye Qingyao’s smile didn't fade—she was reluctant to pull it back in the face of Bai Qingxue’s rare praise—but the sparkling light in her almond eyes dimmed considerably.

“Sister Bai, next time,” Ye Qingyao spoke up, “I won't lose.”

“Mm,” Bai Qingxue responded simply.

The corner of Ye Qingyao’s mouth curved slightly, very gently.

Then Ye Qingyao turned to head back and treat her injuries. Her pace was neither fast nor slow, and her back was held very straight.

As she reached the edge of the rest area, Ye Qingyao’s steps slowed down unconsciously, slowing until she almost stopped.

She wanted to look back. She wanted to look at Bai Qingxue one more time. She wanted to see if Bai Qingxue was looking at her, and what kind of expression was on her face.

When she had said “Mm” just now, had Sister Bai’s eyes been on her?

She didn't know; she hadn't dared to look up.

But Ye Qingyao bit her lip and did not look back.

She was afraid that if she looked, she wouldn't want to leave.

In the past, she had no right to ask “What’s wrong?” and now, she had no right to stay.

Sister Bai had praised her today; that was enough.

She couldn't be too greedy.

Ye Qingyao, stop here. This is far enough...

Ye Qingyao took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her chest. Then she quickened her pace and walked out of Qingyun Terrace.

The sunlight fell on her shoulders, stretching the shadow of her bandaged form very, very long.

Ye Qingyao did not look back, not even once.