Early the next morning, Bai Qingxue went to the Old Records Room.
This was considered one of the easier tasks on the peak.
A True Disciple only needed to organize the accumulated old scrolls every once in a while to earn a significant amount of contribution points.
This kind of task, which wasn't particularly urgent but yielded plenty of contribution points, naturally became a lucrative assignment.
Bai Qingxue did not care much about the amount of contribution points, but since it was an assigned duty, she had no intention of shirking it.
She pushed open the door, and the scent of years of accumulated dust rushed over her, mixed with the fragrance of ink and the dry, musty odor of aging paper.
The window faced north, keeping the room dimly lit. Several rows of wooden racks extended from the floor to the ceiling, packed with bamboo slips, silk scrolls, and paper records.
She squatted down between the wooden racks and pulled a yellowed directory from the bottom shelf. Written on the cover was “Xueji Peak Disciple Directory: Guihai Volume,” the ink already faded to a light brown.
She opened it, turning the pages one by one. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her. Some had annotations next to them like “Foundation Establishment” or “Completed Apprenticeship,” while others were marked “died in the Demon Beast Rebellion” or “passed away.” There were also a few lines with only names and no annotations, as though the record had been cut off halfway.
When she reached the middle section, her fingers paused.
In the middle of the list on this page, a single line had been crossed out with ink.
It was heavily blotted out with multiple layers of ink. Now dry, the ink had cracked into fine lines, resembling a parched riverbed.
The names above and below the crossed-out line were perfectly intact; only this single line was completely smothered in black ink, leaving no trace of what had originally been written.
It was as if... someone wanted this person to vanish completely, deemed unworthy of even having their name remain on the paper.
Beside the name was a line of annotation, written in a slender, sharp hand.
“This person does not exist in the sect's records.”
Bai Qingxue's fingertips rested on that annotation.
Bai Qingxue felt as though she had seen this handwriting somewhere before.
Where could it have been?
Bai Qingxue stared at the line of writing for a moment, then lowered her head to try and make out the crossed-out name.
The ink was too thick, obscuring almost every stroke. But when the light shone from the side, a tiny sliver of the paper's original color showed through the cracks in the dried ink.
She saw half of a character.
In the upper right corner, there was a horizontal-to-vertical fold, followed by two horizontal strokes.
It was likely half of the character “Xue.”
Bai Qingxue stared at that half-character for a long moment.
Xue.
Suddenly, Bai Qingxue remembered the author of those notes—Suxue.
The ice coffin beneath the Nanhuai ruins. That Northern Region star map. The cultivator who had been missing for hundreds of years.
“I intend to seal myself within the ice coffin; this departure is without a return date.” That name also contained the character “Xue.”
At this thought, Bai Qingxue closed the directory and returned it to its original place.
The Old Records Room was very quiet, with only dust motes slowly drifting in the beams of light.
Bai Qingxue stood up, brushed off her robe, and walked to the doorway, pausing for a moment.
She did not look back, nor did she turn around to pull the directory out again. She simply stood there, watching the stone steps outside gleaming in the sunlight.
Then she stepped out.
Naturally, Bai Qingxue did not intend to go to Liu Ningshuang or True Lord Shuanghua.
It wasn't that she didn't want to know.
It was just that she knew asking would not yield any answers.
The fact that the name had been crossed out meant someone did not want it to be seen.
And that person had blotted it out so heavily, layer upon layer, clearly determined to make it vanish entirely.
Under such circumstances, what could she possibly gain by asking?
“This person does not exist in the sect's records.” The annotation was written very clearly.
A person who did not exist should not be mentioned.
To mention them would be to overstep.
Bai Qingxue did not intend to overstep. At least, not for now...
As for why the sect had assigned her to organize the old records...
Bai Qingxue did not overthink it.
Perhaps it was an unintentional assignment, or perhaps it was a deliberate arrangement.
She could not tell, nor did she want to try.
This was enough.
Bai Qingxue walked back down the stone steps. The late spring wind swept down from the mountains, making her robe flutter slightly.
The blooming season of the old plum tree had already passed. Its silver-white leaves swayed gently in the wind, rustling softly as if whispering something in secret.
Bai Qingxue pushed open the courtyard gate.
Ning Qinghan was sitting under the old plum tree, holding the coarse ceramic cup in her hands. Hearing the gate open, she raised her head and glanced at Bai Qingxue.
“What is it?”
Bai Qingxue sat down by the stone table and poured herself a cup of tea. The tea was cold, but she took a sip anyway.
“Nothing.”
Ning Qinghan did not ask further. She lowered her head and continued drinking her tea. A leaf from the old plum tree fell onto the back of her hand, but she did not brush it away.
Bai Qingxue held her teacup, staring at the tea inside.
The surface of the tea reflected her own face, hazy and indistinct.
She thought of the crossed-out name, of that half-character “Xue,” and of the words: “This person does not exist in the sect's records.”
Did Suxue still exist now?
Bai Qingxue placed this thought on the tip of her tongue and tasted it, but found no flavor.
She set down her teacup, stood up, and walked into the quiet room.
Frost Moon Chant hung on the wall, side by side with the Shuanghua sword. She glanced at them but did not take them down. Walking over to the bed, she sat cross-legged and closed her eyes.
The ice lotus rotated slowly within her dantian.
Bai Qingxue did not circulate her cultivation.
At this moment, she simply sat there with her eyes closed, listening to the rustling leaves of the old plum tree outside the window.
That crossed-out name remained in her mind, lying quietly beneath the blots of ink like a skeleton submerged in a deep pool.
Yet Bai Qingxue did not try to dredge it up.
She merely remembered where it lay.
One day, she would find out who it was. Perhaps soon. Perhaps a long time from now. Perhaps never.
Outside the window, the leaves of the old plum tree continued to fall. One by one, gently and softly rustling.
Bai Qingxue sat in the quiet room, her eyes closed, her breathing steady.
The twilight filtered in through the window lattice paper, falling upon her long silver-white hair like a thin layer of frost.
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