Nanhuai

After several days on the flying boat, the capital of Nanhuai State appeared in her line of sight.

Bai Qingxue stood by the window, looking down at the city below.

The city walls were low, the streets were narrow, and the houses were mostly grey-white stone structures, completely different from the grandeur of Tianshu City.

Nanhuai was situated on the edge of the Eastern Region, where the spiritual energy was so thin it was almost imperceptible. Even the mountains appeared low and docile, like an old beast crouching on the ground and dozing off.

The flying boat landed on the plaza outside the royal palace.

When Bai Qingxue stepped out of the cabin, she saw a group of people waiting there.

The King of Nanhuai stood at the very front.

He wore a dark red royal robe and a crown inlaid with jade. He was around fifty years old, with a kind face and fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Behind him stood dozens of civil and military officials, all dressed neatly with solemn expressions. Guards holding halberds stood on both sides of the plaza, their armor gleaming dully under the sunlight.

Bai Qingxue walked down the gangway.

The King of Nanhuai took a step forward and bowed in greeting. He bent very low, his hands folded in front of him in an extremely respectful posture.

“The Immortal Master of the Great Sect has come from afar. This King has failed to greet you properly; I beg for your forgiveness.”

The hundred officials behind him all bowed in unison. Bai Qingxue swept her gaze over them; most had no cultivation, and the few who did had only faint ripples of spiritual energy, no higher than the first or second level of the Qi Refining stage.

To them, a Foundation Establishment cultivator who was a True Disciple of the Xuantian Sect was practically a god from the heavens.

“There is no need for such formalities,” Bai Qingxue said. Her tone was as indifferent as usual, but upon hearing her speak, the King of Nanhuai bowed even lower.

Bai Qingxue frowned slightly but said no more.

She wasn't used to being treated this way, but she also knew that the King of Nanhuai wasn't bowing to her personally; he was bowing to her status as a “True Disciple of the Xuantian Sect.”

Ultimately, she had only come here because of that identity.

The King of Nanhuai straightened up and cautiously led her toward the palace, introducing the situation of the ruins as they walked.

His wording was very careful, every sentence seemingly weighed repeatedly in his mind, fearing he might say too much and displease the Immortal Master, yet also fearing he might say too little and make her feel neglected.

Bai Qingxue listened for a few moments before she stopped paying attention.

It wasn't out of rudeness, but simply because she had already read all of this in the state letter.

An ancient altar, disturbances in the earth veins, and the mortal army being unable to approach. The King of Nanhuai was merely repeating these points over and over, adding some polite phrases like “imploring the Immortal Master for protection.”

Bai Qingxue was arranged to stay in a guest courtyard within the royal restricted area.

The guest courtyard was adjacent to the entrance of the ruins. It was an independent compound—not large, but quiet.

The courtyard walls were blue-grey with moss growing at the base. In the corner stood an old locust tree with dense foliage that shaded most of the yard.

There were stone tables and stone benches in the courtyard, their style unexpectedly similar to the one on Xueji Peak, though it lacked that old plum tree.

Standing at the courtyard gate, the King of Nanhuai glanced cautiously at Bai Qingxue and asked, “Does the Immortal Master require anyone to serve her? This King can arrange for several nimble-handed maidservants.”

“No need,” Bai Qingxue said.

The King of Nanhuai immediately nodded and did not mention it again.

When he withdrew, his steps were very light, as if afraid of disturbing something.

The courtyard gate closed from the outside, leaving Bai Qingxue standing alone in the yard.

It was quiet.

Just as quiet as Xueji Peak.

But the difference was that here, no one came to knock on her door every day at the hour of the Monkey, no one waited for her under the old plum tree, and no one brewed a pot of warm tea to push toward her hand.

Bai Qingxue sat down at the stone table and took a teapot and cup from her storage bag.

The pot was a common ceramic one, and the cup was also a common ceramic cup, both purchased casually before she came to Nanhuai.

She broke off a small piece of the tea cakes Ye Qingyao had made and placed it into the pot.

The water had been prepared in the guest courtyard. She used her spiritual power to boil it and poured it into the pot.

The tea leaves slowly unfurled in the water, sinking to the bottom before floating back up.

The color of the tea infusion shifted from light to deep, and a faint fragrance wafted from the spout, mingling with the steam and drifting through the air of the courtyard.

Bai Qingxue poured a cup, picked it up, and took a sip.

It was a bit hot. The taste was different from the previous batch Ye Qingyao had made—it was more mellow, with less bitterness and a longer-lasting sweet aftertaste.

Ye Qingyao had said this batch was better than the last; she hadn't lied.

Bai Qingxue held the teacup but did not take a second sip.

She looked at the tea infusion in the cup. That shade of pale green reminded her of certain things—not specific events, but certain images.

The shadow of the old plum tree, the water marks on the stone table, the expression on Lu Xueqing’s face when she poured away the old tea.

Those images rose one after another in her consciousness, without sound or color, only silhouettes.

She took another sip. The tea infusion slid down her throat, warm.

...

In the days that followed, Bai Qingxue went to inspect the ruins daily.

The altar was north of the guest courtyard, less than a fifteen-minute walk away. It was a collapsed stone platform with giant stones lying scattered about, their surfaces carved with long-faded runes. A crack had opened in the center of the altar, appearing as if something had torn it open from the inside.

Every day, turbulent spiritual energy surged from the crack in pulses, irregular and inconsistent, like a person’s breathing shifting between rapid and slow.

Bai Qingxue stood at the edge of the altar, her spiritual sense probing into the crack to track the flow of spiritual energy.

She didn't know what she was looking for—perhaps the source of the disturbance, or perhaps she was just doing something to fill the time. Was filling the time enough? She didn't think about it.

The days were monotonous and quiet.

In the morning, she went to the altar; in the afternoon, she meditated in the guest courtyard; in the evening, she brewed a pot of tea.

However, Bai Qingxue discovered something strange. Every time she brewed tea, she would stare at the way the tea leaves unfurled in the water for a little longer.

Because every time she saw the tea leaves floating, she would always think of something.

It wasn't a specific person or a specific event, but an indescribable, faint feeling.

Like a breeze blowing across the surface of a lake—it clearly changed nothing, yet it always seemed to stir something within.

Bai Qingxue didn't know if this counted as longing.

Perhaps it didn't; after all, longing had warmth, and after reaching Foundation Establishment, Bai Qingxue wasn't sure if she still possessed such a thing.

Then again, perhaps it did. Every time she brewed tea, she would wait a little longer—waiting for the tea leaves to fully unfurl, waiting for the color of the tea infusion to deepen.

Just as it had been on Xueji Peak, when Lu Xueqing brewed tea, she was never in a hurry to drink, waiting until the tea had cooled just enough to sip.

Those moments of waiting were the shortest distance between her and the past.

Bai Qingxue set the teacup down, the bottom hitting the stone table with a soft click. She looked down at her hand. Her fingers rested on the rim of the cup, unmoving.

Nanhuai was very quiet, quieter than Xueji Peak.

Because here, there was no gurgling of the kettle when Lu Xueqing brewed tea, no three soft knocks when Ye Qingyao came to the door, and no rustling of the old plum tree’s leaves in the wind. But Bai Qingxue felt those sounds were still there.

They weren't in her ears, but somewhere else. She couldn't say where, but she knew they were still there. Because every time she brewed tea, she would remember them.

Bai Qingxue withdrew her hand and tucked it into her sleeve.

Inside her sleeve was that communication jade talisman, smooth and cold, just like the one on Xueji Peak.

There were no messages, nor were any needed.

Bai Qingxue stood up and walked into the house.

Tomorrow would likely be just like today...