Just Missing a Corner

When Li Nanzhu swallowed the third spoonful of porridge, her tongue tasted undissolved grains of salt. She guessed they must have mixed up the sugar and salt while cooking.

Looking up, she was met with Duan Xianxing's expectant gaze.

"Is it good?" he asked nervously.

"...It's good," she replied softly.

Duan Xianxing's eyes lit up instantly. He rubbed his hands together excitedly, stammering, "Really? Then... then we'll cook it for you again tomorrow! I can add some lotus seeds, or dried longans..."

Watching him gesticulate with joy, Li Nanzhu suddenly felt a stinging heat in her eyes.

—This bowl of porridge was terrible.

—It wasn't even as good as the random snacks Xiao Yan used to make for her, yet it was the warmest porridge she had ever eaten.

She lowered her head and ate every last bit, one spoonful at a time. Every bite of that bitter, burnt flavor seemed to gradually wash away the gloom that had accumulated in the depths of her heart.

"Seventh Senior Brother," she spoke suddenly, her voice as light as a bamboo leaf falling onto the water's surface.

Duan Xianxing, who was tidying the food box, jerked his head up. His sleeve knocked over the tea cup on the table. The tea spread across the surface, reflecting the young man's panicked expression.

"I'm here!" He scrambled to right the cup, soaking a large portion of his cuff in the process.

Li Nanzhu gently set down the empty bowl, her fingertips lingering on the edge of the coarse ceramic for a moment. The room fell quiet, leaving only the rustle of bamboo leaves outside the window.

She spoke again, her voice soft yet clear. "I will get better."

Duan Xianxing's hand froze mid-air. The lid of the food box fell to the floor with a clatter. He looked up, his eyes wide as if he had heard something unbelievable.

"I..." Li Nanzhu took a deep breath, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the ribs of the green jade fan. Surprisingly, she felt a trace of warmth there as well. "I know I've made you all worry during this time."

Duan Xianxing's lips trembled slightly. He opened his mouth but couldn't make a sound. Suisui crawled across the table, its bone claws gently resting on the back of Li Nanzhu's hand.

"Those nightmares... that pain..." Li Nanzhu's voice was light but firm. "I know they won't disappear overnight. But..." She looked up, gazing directly into Duan Xianxing's eyes. "I will learn to live with them. Just like that broken sword... even if it can't be fixed, it can still be kept."

Duan Xianxing's eyes turned red instantly.

He abruptly turned his head away, wiping his eyes harshly with his sleeve. When he turned back, a wide grin was plastered on his face. "I knew it! I knew Little Junior Sister was the best!"

His voice shook, yet it was filled with uncontrollable joy. The young man frantically tried to hide his excitement, but ended up knocking over the teapot and nearly tripping over his own hem.

"Seventh Senior Brother," Li Nanzhu couldn't help but chuckle. "The way you're acting, one would think I said something world-shattering."

"But it is world-shattering!" Duan Xianxing shouted through red eyes, his voice carrying an irrepressible sob. "You have no idea... how much we..."

He couldn't finish his sentence because Li Nanzhu suddenly reached out and gently grasped his wrist. This simple action silenced Duan Xianxing instantly. He stared blankly at Li Nanzhu, as if afraid of disturbing a precious moment.

"Thank you," Li Nanzhu said softly. "Thank you... for always being here."

Duan Xianxing finally couldn't hold back his tears. Large droplets rolled down his face as he wiped them away clumsily, laughing and crying at the same time. "Idiot! Why are you saying thank you! Aren't we fellow disciples!"

Looking at the boy crying like a mess, Li Nanzhu felt the heavy knot in her chest loosen slightly. Yes, the pain wouldn't vanish overnight, but at least in this moment, she could finally say the words "I will get better."

Beside them, Suisui rattled its head, its soul fire leaping cheerfully.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

In this moment, Li Nanzhu finally understood that healing wasn't about forgetting, but about being able to continue moving forward while still remembering.

And on this path, she was no longer alone.

In the following days, Li Nanzhu began to resume her previous life.

Duan Xianxing and Zhu Yinxi never mentioned the word 'master'.

But Li Nanzhu knew they had guessed something.

One day, while she was wiping her green jade fan in the courtyard, Duan Xianxing suddenly thrust a bag of candied fruit into her hands. "...I heard sweet things can make one feel better."

Zhu Yinxi tried to change his melodies to something gentler, though it didn't have much effect.

Suisui somehow dug up a snow lotus from somewhere and carefully planted it in a flowerpot on the windowsill.

They didn't know who Xiao Yan was, nor did they know how he had finally dissipated, but they knew Li Nanzhu's sorrow was related to him.

And that was enough.

Li Nanzhu's sword no longer shattered the morning dew.

Now, she would always appear just as Duan Xianxing finished his forms, watching the fallen leaves kicked up by his sword qi swirl and land near her toes.

One day, she suddenly raised her hand, the tip of her wooden sword catching a spinning leaf. In Duan Xianxing's wide eyes, her blade's steady trajectory was reflected—no longer hacking through memories, but supporting them and gently setting them down.

Zhu Yinxi's flute was still ear-piercing. Every time that discordant melody rang out, Duan Xianxing would immediately block his hearing.

But Li Nanzhu had learned to sit on the stone steps and listen quietly. Sometimes she would close her eyes, imagining what stories those fragmented notes were trying to tell.

Strangely, no matter how grating Zhu Yinxi's flute was, even if he forgot to activate the soundproofing array, he was never blown away by Feng Yi again.

Occasionally, Li Nanzhu would look up and see Feng Yi's silhouette flash by in the distant corridor, his sapphire-blue sleeves fluttering in the wind before quickly disappearing into the twilight. Once, she even caught him secretly placing a food box by her courtyard gate.

Suisui became the liveliest of all.

The little skeleton seemed determined to make her happy, often appearing in various forms—sometimes in its familiar wheel form, sometimes as strange little beasts. After losing Xiao Yan's guidance, it was trying hard to develop new forms on its own, though it often fell apart after a few steps because its bone joints weren't stable.

Li Nanzhu would also smile and shake her head.

It wasn't the practiced smile from before, but a genuine one that welled up from her eyes.

When she helped Suisui reassemble its bones, she would intentionally put its skull on backward and watch it spin around in a daze.

The nightmares still came at night, but less frequently.

Sometimes when she woke up startled, she would find a figure standing quietly outside her window—sometimes it was Duan Xianxing dozing off while hugging his sword, sometimes it was Zhu Yinxi's jade flute shimmering under the moonlight.

They never disturbed her, merely keeping a quiet watch like two silent guardians.

In her spare time, Li Nanzhu also tended to the medicine garden in the courtyard. As she crouched among the soil tending to spirit grass, she would occasionally remember the days when Xiao Yan taught her to identify medicinal properties.

Memories still brought pain, but it was no longer so sharp. Like a healing wound, though it still throbbed occasionally, it could now be touched.

Li Nanzhu gradually realized that healing wasn't forgetting, but being able to continue living while remembering. And on this path, she was finally no longer alone.

Suisui transformed into a bone bird and flew onto her shoulder, its soul fire gently nuzzling her cheek.

Li Nanzhu stroked the little skeleton's skull and looked toward the courtyard gate. In the breeze, Duan Xianxing was gesticulating wildly as he talked to Zhu Yinxi. The second senior brother still had a cold face, yet he reached out to straighten the young man's crooked hair ribbon.

—The sky truly hadn't fallen.

—It was just missing a corner.

—But for the remaining part, there were still people working hard to hold it up for her.