After discovering that stone chamber, Bai Qingxue’s life appeared unchanged on the surface.
She still visited the altar in the early morning, leafed through old archives in the afternoon, and brewed tea in the evening. But Bai Qingxue knew that something was different.
Whenever she looked through those old archives now, she couldn't help but wonder if other clues were hidden within them.
When she inspected the altar, she would stand at the edge of the fissure and look down, imagining the ice coffin still resting below.
Bai Qingxue found the feeling difficult to describe.
In truth, she did not blame Liu Ningshuang, nor did she blame the sect.
She knew that no one in this world was obligated to tell her the whole truth.
She simply felt as though she were like that ice coffin—transparent, cold, and easy to see through at a glance.
Everyone could see her, but no one told her why she was here.
Bai Qingxue suddenly felt a profound sense of quiet—not the quiet of the courtyard, but the quiet within her heart.
It was like standing alone on a vast, empty snowy plain with nothing around. No one told her where to go, and no one told her why she was standing there.
This was not the first time Bai Qingxue had felt this way, but this time was different.
This time, she knew that someone had the answers, yet no one chose to inform her.
Another morning came, and Bai Qingxue was practicing her sword in the courtyard.
The Shuanghua sword cut through the morning mist, kicking up delicate flakes of frost.
She practiced slowly, holding each form a beat longer than usual. Bai Qingxue was somewhat distracted. When she finally sheathed her sword, she caught a glimpse of a robe out of the corner of her eye, tucked behind a corridor pillar.
It was pale green, with the hem dragging on the ground and the cuffs rolled up twice.
Xiao Nanyuan stood behind the pillar, half her body hidden, with only one eye peeking out.
She didn't know how long the girl had been standing there.
Once discovered, Xiao Nanyuan did not hide or run. She simply stepped out from behind the pillar and lowered her head.
Her hands hung in front of her, fingers twisting her sleeves. She twisted them twice, then stopped.
Bai Qingxue looked at her.
Xiao Nanyuan stood there like someone who had accidentally wandered into a place they shouldn't be. She didn't flee or plead; she simply waited quietly for whatever judgment might come.
Bai Qingxue did not drive her away. She simply sheathed her sword and turned to walk into the study.
The sound of following footsteps did not come from behind her.
A few days later, Xiao Nanyuan came back to return the books.
She placed the two books she had borrowed last time on the low table and went to the bookshelf to pick out two new ones.
As she reached the door, she stopped and looked down at the stack of books on the low table.
Following her gaze, atop the stack sat a thin, new manual.
The cover was yellowed with curled edges, and a few characters were written on it: 《Basic Breathing Method》.
Xiao Nanyuan stared at the manual without reaching for it.
She stood there with her head bowed, as if trying to recognize the characters on the cover, or perhaps trying to discern what it truly was.
Bai Qingxue offered no explanation.
She leafed through the bamboo slips in her hand without looking up.
She didn't quite know why she had placed that manual there.
Before coming to Nanhuai, she had stuffed some miscellaneous items into her storage bag, and this breathing method was one of them.
It was entry-level reading for the Xuantian Sect, something even outer sect disciples looked down upon. It was a waste to throw away, but it took up space to carry.
She had never thought of giving it to anyone. But that morning, when she saw Xiao Nanyuan’s eyes behind the pillar, she had suddenly remembered this book.
Bai Qingxue didn't know if Xiao Nanyuan would be grateful.
But even if she wasn't, it didn't matter; Bai Qingxue didn't care.
She simply felt it was just a book—if she gave it, she gave it.
She didn't need Xiao Nanyuan to remember her, nor did she need Xiao Nanyuan to repay her.
Indeed, while neither Xiao Chengyuan nor Xiao Nanyuan possessed a spiritual root, Xiao Nanyuan could still practice.
During their first meeting, Bai Qingxue had sensed a natural qi seed within Xiao Nanyuan’s body.
Those with a qi seed but no spiritual root could not follow the orthodox path of immortal cultivation. They could only become qi practitioners, barely touching the threshold of cultivation, and would never be able to reach Foundation Establishment in their lifetime.
That path did not lead far, but it was a path nonetheless.
It was better than having no path at all.
Bai Qingxue wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing. Perhaps Xiao Nanyuan would take the breathing method, practice for a few years, and then feel even worse when she realized she still couldn't achieve anything.
Perhaps she wouldn't understand it at all, stuffing the manual under her pillow and letting it gather dust and be forgotten.
Perhaps she would be discovered by her father or brother, questioned, and stopped. Perhaps she would succeed and become a low-level qi practitioner, yet remain an ignored princess in the royal palace, with nothing truly changing.
But none of that had anything to do with Bai Qingxue. She had simply given a book.
How Xiao Nanyuan used it was Xiao Nanyuan’s business.
And yet, Bai Qingxue had given it anyway.
Perhaps she wanted to make a decision for herself, outside of all the things that had been arranged, hidden, and kept from her.
Perhaps it was just one person in the dark encountering another, unable to bear seeing them remain blind to the light?
Furthermore, what Bai Qingxue did was only a very small thing. In the end, this was just a tattered manual that no one wanted in the Xuantian Sect. What great value did it hold for her?
However, Xiao Nanyuan looked at the little manual for a long time before finally reaching out. She picked up the breathing method from the stack and held it to her chest.
Her fingers gripped the edges of the manual, and her eyes turned slightly red, as if she were holding something very, very heavy.
“Exalted Immortal, thank you.”
It was the first time Xiao Nanyuan had spoken to Bai Qingxue. Her voice was unexpectedly loud—not a forced loudness, but the kind that came from saying something after holding it in for a very long time.
It was as if someone who had walked in the darkness for a long time had suddenly seen a lamp.
Bai Qingxue said nothing.
Xiao Nanyuan held the manual, walked to the door, and stopped without looking back.
She stood for a moment before walking out of the courtyard gate.
Bai Qingxue set down the bamboo slips and looked at the empty doorway.
Even if her cultivation were successful, Xiao Nanyuan would only ever be a qi practitioner, and nothing more.
She would not become a cultivator, she would not reach Foundation Establishment, and she would not leave Nanhuai.
She could only remain in this remote little state, a princess who was slightly stronger than a mortal and knew a few spells.
She might not even be a good princess.
Bai Qingxue withdrew her gaze and continued leafing through the bamboo slips.
She turned a few pages, only to find that she couldn't absorb a single word.
It wasn't a problem with the book; it was a problem with her.
That stone chamber, that ice coffin, and those two characters were still in her mind.
Unsure of what to do, she returned to the courtyard, where the leaves of the old locust tree were still falling.
Bai Qingxue stood beneath the tree, watching the fragmented gold covering the ground.
For some reason, she inexplicably felt like returning to Xueji Peak.
There ought to be two people there who would not hide things from her like this.
Bai Qingxue withdrew her gaze, went inside, and sat cross-legged on the bed, closing her eyes.
Spiritual power flowed slowly through her meridians, and the ice lotus within her dantian rotated silently.
The moonlight outside the window was very quiet.
The shadow of the old locust tree was cast upon the window paper, motionless, like someone standing outside the window who had been watching for a long time, unsure if they should knock.
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