Another deep night.
Bai Qingxue sat cross-legged on the bed, no lamp lit.
Moonlight filtered through the window lattice, shattering into silver-white pieces on the floor, on Xiao Nanyuan's quilt, and on the half of her face exposed.
That half of her face was very small, and her eyelashes cast faint, motionless shadows on her cheeks.
Xiao Nanyuan was not asleep.
She lay on the pallet on the floor, the quilt pulled to her chest, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
She had held this posture for a long time, neither turning over nor closing her eyes.
Her breathing was light, like a feather landing on the ground, but Bai Qingxue knew she was awake.
“Immortal Sister.”
The voice drifted through the darkness, so soft it seemed afraid of startling the moonlight outside the window.
Bai Qingxue didn't open her eyes. “Yes.”
“Why did you come to Nanhuai?”
“A mission from the sect.”
Xiao Nanyuan waited for a moment.
In the darkness, she seemed to press her lips together slightly.
Bai Qingxue didn't elaborate.
Xiao Nanyuan pulled the quilt up further, to her chin, then to her lips, as if swallowing back some words.
“Then... will you leave?”
This time, Bai Qingxue was silent for even longer.
The moonlight shifted from the window, falling onto her silver-white hair and casting a thin, cold glow.
“Yes.”
One word.
Though Bai Qingxue’s voice wasn't loud—even softer than her previous answer—that word fell into the darkness, into Xiao Nanyuan’s ears, and onto the moonlit floor between them with immense weight.
Xiao Nanyuan didn't speak.
She pulled the quilt up to the bridge of her nose, leaving only her eyes exposed.
Those eyes were in the shadows where the moonlight couldn't reach, their expression unreadable.
But she didn't blink; she just stared at the frost-white silhouette on the bed.
A long time passed.
Long enough for the moonlight to move from the quilt to the corner of the wall.
Long enough for Bai Qingxue to think she had fallen asleep.
“If I don't sleep... would you stay a little longer?”
Xiao Nanyuan's voice was tiny. It seemed she had turned this thought over in her head many times before finding the courage to say it.
Bai Qingxue opened her eyes.
She looked down at the small figure on the floor.
The moonlight didn't reach Xiao Nanyuan's face; she could only see the outline of the quilt and a few stray strands of hair peeking out from the edge.
Those strands were thin and soft, pressed against the pillow.
Bai Qingxue didn't answer.
She didn't know how to answer.
To say “No” would be lying to Xiao Nanyuan. To say “Yes” would be lying to herself.
Silence spread through the darkness like water rising over their ankles.
Xiao Nanyuan didn't press further.
She pulled the quilt over her head and curled inside.
The quilt bulged into a small mound, then slowly, slowly collapsed, shrinking into an even smaller bundle.
Like a snail closing its shell, she retracted her antennae and hid her soft body away.
There was no sound from under the quilt.
Xiao Nanyuan just lay there quietly, unmoving.
Bai Qingxue withdrew her gaze and closed her eyes.
After an unknown amount of time, long and even breathing came from under the quilt.
It was light and steady, as if she had finally succumbed to exhaustion and been taken by sleep.
Bai Qingxue opened her eyes and glanced down.
The quilt was still over Xiao Nanyuan's head. She was curled into a tiny ball, like a cat in a corner.
The moonlight didn't reach her; the darkness wrapped around her.
But her fingers had slipped out from under the quilt, resting near the pillow. Her fingertips were close to the breathing method book, as if it were the last thing she had touched before sleeping.
Bai Qingxue watched for a long time.
She didn't resume her cultivation; she just sat there, looking at the moon outside.
The moon was very round, hanging cold and clear in the branches of the old locust tree.
The moonlight stained the entire room a pale silver, as if everything were resting peacefully within the light.
The next morning, when Xiao Nanyuan woke up, she smelled something.
It wasn't the scent of tea. It was the scent of cotton—the clean, sun-dried smell of cotton fabric.
Then she realized she wasn't lying on the old pallet on the floor anymore.
She was lying on a low bed.
The low bed was against the wall, made of wood and painted dark brown, perfectly sized for her.
The bedding was new. The cotton was thick; her palm sank into it slightly when she pressed down and slowly sprang back when she let go.
She pressed it once, then again.
It was very soft.
The breathing method book lay beside her pillow, cover facing up, as if waiting for her to wake.
Xiao Nanyuan sat up and slowly looked around.
A small low cabinet had been added next to the bed. On its surface sat a water cup, an oil lamp, and a wooden comb.
They were all the things she had brought from the side room.
The water cup was placed where she usually reached with her right hand. The wooden comb leaned against the oil lamp, exactly as she used to arrange them in the side room.
This wasn't a temporary pallet on the floor.
This was a permanent place that belonged to her. A place she didn't have to wait for someone to spread out every night or pack away herself every morning.
A place that would be there tomorrow, and the day after.
Xiao Nanyuan sat on the low bed, looking down at the mattress beneath her, then looking around.
This was indeed where she had fallen asleep last night, but why did she feel like she was dreaming?
Xiao Nanyuan's fingers lightly brushed the surface of the bedding, her fingertips tracing the fine texture of the cotton.
Then she buried her face in the pillow for a short moment.
When she lifted her head, the corners of her mouth slowly curved upward.
She sat on the low bed for a while.
Sunlight filtered through the window lattice, falling warmly on her bare feet.
She clutched the breathing method book to her chest, got off the bed, and put on her shoes.
They were her old shoes, but the feeling of stepping on the floor seemed different now.
Walking out of the main room, she saw Bai Qingxue sitting at the stone table drinking tea.
The tea in the white porcelain cup was clear, with thin wisps of steam rising. On the corner of the table sat the coarse ceramic cup, turned upside down and empty.
Bai Qingxue sat at the table, watching the leaves of the old locust tree fall one by one. She didn't look back when she heard footsteps.
Xiao Nanyuan sat down opposite her.
She didn't speak. Bai Qingxue didn't speak either.
Sunlight fell between them, onto the stone table, and onto the two upside-down cups. One white porcelain, one coarse ceramic, one large and one small, sitting side-by-side.
Xiao Nanyuan opened the breathing method book in her arms. Bai Qingxue picked up her cup and took a sip. The tea had grown cold, but she didn't refill it.
In the main room, the low bed sat quietly in the corner.
Except the breathing method book wasn't on it.
Right now, the book was in Xiao Nanyuan's arms, being flipped through page by page.
Though the edges were a bit curled, Xiao Nanyuan still turned the pages very slowly and carefully.
And when night came, it would return to the bedside.
Back to the place where it belonged.
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