Returning from the main hall, Bai Qingxue descended the stone steps.
The jade slip was tucked into her sleeve, pressing against the green cord on her wrist, sending shivers of cold through her.
The morning mist had completely dispersed by now, and sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves, falling warmly upon the stone steps.
Yet, Bai Qingxue felt no warmth at all.
Bai Qingxue paused at the courtyard gate.
A person stood beneath the old plum tree.
That person wore a pale green robe and a dark green scabbard, their hair tied into a ponytail with a plain cloth strip, hanging down the back of their head.
Their back was perfectly straight, and their hands hung at their sides.
But they simply stood outside the courtyard gate for a long time, not entering.
Bai Qingxue looked at that back, and her steps faltered.
Ye Qingyao heard the footsteps and turned around.
The morning light fell upon her face; Ye Qingyao’s eyes now held less of her former timidity and more steadiness.
But her eyes had not changed.
Those eyes that always first reflected Bai Qingxue’s face had not changed…
“Sister Bai,” Ye Qingyao called out.
Bai Qingxue nodded, pushed open the door, and stepped aside to let her in.
Ye Qingyao stepped over the threshold, entered, and sat down by the stone table.
Bai Qingxue picked up the teapot and poured two cups of tea.
Ye Qingyao lowered her gaze to the teacup Bai Qingxue offered.
Then, her gaze moved from the rim of the cup to Bai Qingxue herself.
It rested on her silver-white hair, on her cool, clear eyes, on the face she had seen every time she closed her eyes for the past seven years.
Then she saw the pendant at Bai Qingxue’s neck.
That ice-blue pendant, resting just above Bai Qingxue’s collarbone, was particularly conspicuous.
It wasn’t something from Xueji Peak, nor could it be an ancestral heirloom of the Bai family or a magic tool rewarded by the sect.
Someone had given it to her.
And it was likely someone who had personally placed it on Sister Bai.
During these seven years she had been away.
Ye Qingyao’s gaze lingered on the pendant, not moving for a long time.
The pendant shimmered faintly in the morning light, its surface smooth, polished into a teardrop shape.
How long would it take to polish a stone into this shape? Ye Qingyao didn’t know.
But she could mostly guess that the person must have spent a very long time.
Long enough to stay by Sister Bai’s side throughout the seven years she was absent.
Seven years.
In these seven years she was gone, someone else had stayed by Sister Bai’s side.
Ye Qingyao’s fingers rested on the rim of the cup, unmoving.
Just as she stared at the pendant, a faint red mark suddenly caught her attention.
The red mark was very faint.
So faint that it was impossible to see without a careful look.
But it peeked out from the edge of her collar, appearing strikingly vivid against Bai Qingxue’s exceptionally fair skin.
Clearly, the mark hadn't been there long; someone had left it recently.
Ye Qingyao’s fingers pressed against the rim of the cup, against the chip, pressing until her fingertips turned white.
A scene suddenly flashed into her mind.
Someone standing in front of Sister Bai, very close, so close their breaths mingled.
Someone lowering their head, pressing their lips to Bai Qingxue’s neck, lingering for a long time.
Ye Qingyao squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the image.
But the image stubbornly stayed, like a thorn, piercing into Ye Qingyao’s consciousness, impossible to pull out.
Ye Qingyao lowered her head, looking at the tea infusion in the cup.
The tea infusion was a light golden color, unable to reflect her face.
The ripples on the surface were too fragmented now, as fragmented as her heart.
In the past seven years, Ye Qingyao had asked herself many times.
If she had pursued her back then, if she hadn’t walked away during those years when Bai Qingxue became silent, if she hadn’t watched from afar like everyone else, but instead had tugged Bai Qingxue’s sleeve and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Would things be different between her and Sister Bai now?
Ye Qingyao didn’t know the answer.
She only knew that she hadn’t.
She had done nothing.
She had merely watched from afar, then slowly walked away.
So now she had no right to ask, “Who is she?” She had no right to ask, “What makes her so special?”
Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder.
When did that person appear? Was it in Bai Qingxue’s first year in Nanhuai, or later? What did that person look like? Were they gentle or lively? Did they approach her openly like Senior Sister Lu, or cautiously like she herself once did?
Was the look in Sister Bai’s eyes when she gazed at that person different from how she looked at her?
When Sister Bai said “Mm” to that person, was her tone a little something more than when she said it to her?
Ye Qingyao dared not think further; she felt like she was going mad.
Ye Qingyao’s throat moved.
She swallowed something that wasn’t there, swallowing until her throat tightened, as if someone was choking her.
She suddenly felt ridiculous.
She thought that as long as she waited, as long as she was patient enough, as long as she didn't make any mistakes, everything would remain unchanged when Sister Bai returned.
But in reality, everything changes, even Ye Qingyao herself.
In the past, Ye Qingyao had always believed she just wanted to be accepted by Sister Bai, to stand by her side.
She truly believed that.
But the moment she saw that pendant, she knew she couldn’t do it.
The moment she saw that red mark, she knew she couldn’t do it.
She couldn't not care, couldn't not be jealous, couldn't watch someone else leave a mark on Bai Qingxue while she herself could only cower in the corner of “not being rejected.”
Why didn't she dare to speak? Why didn't she dare to ask more? Why did she wait seven years, only for someone else to be closer than her? But what could she ask?
She couldn’t bring herself to ask.
She was afraid that if she asked, even that small position would be gone.
So she dared not ask.
So she suppressed all her “can’t-do-its,” compressing them into the one question she was qualified to ask.
“Sister Bai,” Ye Qingyao began, her voice as soft as before.
But something was different. It was like a string that had been taut for too long had finally loosened a little.
Bai Qingxue looked at her.
Ye Qingyao didn’t look up.
Her gaze fell on the chip on the cup’s rim, on the mark she had left seven years ago.
The chip was very small, barely noticeable if one didn't look closely.
But it was there. For seven years, it had always been there.
Bai Qingxue hadn’t replaced the cup, hadn’t smoothed the chip, hadn’t hidden it deep in a cabinet.
It was right here, cup facing up, waiting for her to come.
However, as Ye Qingyao looked at the chip, she suddenly felt it was so small.
So small, like the mark she herself had left in Bai Qingxue’s life.
A green cord, a chipped cup.
Not as conspicuous as the pendant, not as profound as the red mark.
The things she left behind were too light, light enough to be blown away by a gust of wind.
Light enough to be replaced at any time during the seven years she was absent.
But she still had to ask. Ask the only question she could.
“That rope on your wrist,” she said, her voice very soft, as if asking about something insignificant, “is it still there?”
Bai Qingxue looked at her.
Ye Qingyao finally looked up.
There was a sheen of water in her small eyes, but it wasn't tears; it was something heavier than tears.
It was something that had been suppressed for too long, finally unable to be held back, but had not yet fallen.
It was what Ye Qingyao had asked in her heart for seven years, each time softer than the last, each time more afraid of not getting an answer, and now, as it finally squeezed out of her throat, it brought this with it.
Ye Qingyao looked at Bai Qingxue, and at this moment, she did not flinch, did not retreat.
In the past, she had hidden outside the mountain gate, at the edge of the crowd, in the shell of “not daring to ask.”
She thought that as long as she didn't cross the line, she wouldn’t lose anything.
But she had never possessed anything, so what was there to lose? That rope was the only thing she had left on Bai Qingxue.
If even that rope was gone, she would have nothing.
No pendant, no red mark, no name, no position.
She would just become someone she used to know a long time ago.
“That rope on your wrist,” Ye Qingyao asked again, her voice even softer than before, as if she were talking to herself, as if she feared it would be scattered by the wind.
“Is it still there?”
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