As twilight crept down from the mountain ridge, Bai Qingxue was in the courtyard packing her belongings.
She set the Shuanghua sword on the stone table, the frost patterns on its scabbard gleaming with an eerie blue light in the setting sun. Then, she packed several medicine bottles into her storage bag, placing each one in a designated spot. Each bottle was labeled with clean, slender handwriting that she had taken the time to write a few days ago.
They were neatly categorized, ranging from Snow Spirit Powder for healing to Recovery Pills for restoring spiritual power.
A few tiny, rice-sized buds had sprouted on the withered branches of the old plum tree, so small that they would easily go unnoticed unless one looked closely.
Yet, Bai Qingxue's gaze lingered on those tiny bumps for a brief moment.
She could no longer remember when the tree had last bloomed, but the presence of those buds seemed to remind her that another spring was fast approaching.
When a knock sounded at the courtyard door, Bai Qingxue was just picking up the Frost Moon Chant from the stone table.
The flute felt cool to the touch. She slowly traced her finger pad around the edge of the finger holes before putting it into her bag and tying the opening shut.
“Come in.”
The door was pushed open, and Ye Qingyao stood at the entrance.
She wore the Qingyun Peak disciple uniform. The pale green fabric was washed out to a faded white, her cuffs were neatly tied back, and the short sword with its dark green scabbard hung at her waist.
Her hair was still tied with that same plain cloth ribbon, though the ends had grown a bit longer than before, draping down to her shoulder blades and swaying gently in the evening wind.
Ye Qingyao gripped a token tightly in her hand, her knuckles white from the force of her grip.
Bai Qingxue stood up straight and looked at Ye Qingyao.
However, Ye Qingyao remained standing outside the threshold, not entering immediately.
After a moment, she stepped over the threshold, walked to the stone table, and placed the token upon it.
The token landed on the bluestone surface with a clear, crisp clink.
“Sister Bai, look. I am going to the Canglan Dao Discourse as well.”
Hearing this, Bai Qingxue looked down at the token.
The token was green, its edges carved with the peak pattern of Qingyun Peak. On the back was a line of small characters: Foundation Establishment Selection: Grade A.
Bai Qingxue recognized the handwriting as belonging to a certain deacon, and she knew exactly what “Grade A” signified.
She had heard a bit about Qingyun Peak's selection tournament. The participants were all disciples in the early Foundation Establishment stage, and securing a Grade A meant she had defeated at least one opponent of the same realm.
“The opponent I drew was in the mid-stage of Foundation Establishment,” Ye Qingyao said, a trace of lingering relief in her tone.
“I fought him for a very long time. But with his final strike, his momentum carried him too far. I stepped to the side and took the opportunity to strike his wrist.”
Ye Qingyao paused slightly when she said “took the opportunity,” as if reminiscing, or perhaps confirming that her memory of the event was correct.
Then she looked up at Bai Qingxue, the corners of her mouth curving into a slight smile. “Sister Bai, I won.”
Bai Qingxue looked at her.
The twilight shone from behind her, casting a warm glow along the edges of her pale green robe. The short sword hung at her waist, the wear and tear on its scabbard visibly deeper than before. The cloth wrapping around the hilt had also been replaced with a new one, its color slightly darker than the old one—likely a stain from being repeatedly gripped, soaked with sweat, and dried again.
“Congratulations,” Bai Qingxue said.
Ye Qingyao's eyelashes fluttered. She nodded, remaining by the stone table without leaving immediately.
Twilight spilled over the courtyard walls, settling on the stone table between them, on the green token, and on the coarse ceramic cup that Bai Qingxue had turned upright.
Bai Qingxue sat down on the stone stool, making no move to pick up the teapot or touch the cup.
Ye Qingyao still stood by the table.
Withdrawing her fingers from the token, she let her hand fall to her side, her fingertips lightly brushing against the edge of her sleeve as if rubbing something.
“Sister Bai.”
“Yes?”
Ye Qingyao finally raised her head, looking directly at Bai Qingxue.
“Do you think I... compared to back in Yunzhou... have changed in any way?”
Hearing this, Bai Qingxue was slightly taken aback and did not answer immediately.
Bai Qingxue's gaze swept over Ye Qingyao, moving from the stray strands of hair framing her face to her fingers gripping the hilt of her sword.
Those fingers had more thin calluses than before, and there was a thin, faint scar on her knuckle—likely left behind after being chafed by the sword guard during practice.
The cloth was wrapped more neatly than before, the end pressed flat. She had tied it herself, and it was tied much more securely than in the past.
The twilight shone from behind Ye Qingyao, making the fabric on her shoulders glow softly.
That Qingyun Peak disciple uniform had been washed so many times that the edges of the collar were slightly frayed, yet it remained pristine.
Her hair was the same, bound with a plain cloth ribbon without any extra adornments, but every strand was neatly tucked away, as if she had carefully styled it before stepping out.
Bai Qingxue remembered the Ye Qingyao of the past. Back then, when she stood in a crowd, her shoulders would hunch slightly, as if she were afraid of blocking someone else's light.
Whenever she spoke, her gaze would drop first before looking up, like a deer stepping onto thin ice, testing with every step whether the surface was thick enough to hold her.
Back then, her hands would tremble when she sheathed her sword, and she would suppress her breathing, as if terrified that others might hear her drawing breath.
But the current Ye Qingyao did not tremble.
She stood there with poise and grace. When she spoke, her gaze was level, no longer needing to drop and rise again. It was as though she had grown accustomed to looking people in the eye, no longer finding it an effort to do so.
Bai Qingxue's silence lasted longer than Ye Qingyao had anticipated, causing a sudden wave of nervousness to rise in Ye Qingyao's heart.
“If you don't want to say, you don't have to—”
“You have changed.”
Bai Qingxue suddenly spoke.
Ye Qingyao's breath hitched.
“You are freer than you used to be.”
As Bai Qingxue spoke, her eyes met Ye Qingyao's.
Ye Qingyao's throat moved.
“And?” Ye Qingyao asked, her voice slightly softer than before. “What else is different?”
Bai Qingxue looked at her.
Her pale eyes reflected Ye Qingyao's figure, the pale green silhouette enveloped in the gentle embrace of the twilight.
“In the past, you wouldn't have asked a second time.”
Ye Qingyao froze.
Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.
She lowered her head again, as if trying to hide her expression from Bai Qingxue, yet the corners of her mouth still curved slightly.
The smile was faint, like the last sliver of daylight fading into the night sky, easily missed if one did not look closely.
Bai Qingxue reached out, her fingertip resting on the rim of the coarse ceramic cup. She rotated it slightly, turning the chipped edge to face herself.
Ye Qingyao stared at the cup and the turned chip, falling silent for a moment. Then, she picked up the token from the stone table and tucked it into her sleeve.
“Sister Bai.”
“Yes?”
“The next time I come, will I be able to have some tea?”
Bai Qingxue did not answer.
Her finger still rested on the rim of the cup, her finger pad pressing against the tiny chip.
Ye Qingyao waited for a breath before turning to walk toward the courtyard door.
She did not pause as she passed the stone table, her hem brushing against the edge of the stone stool with a soft rustle.
When she reached the doorway, Ye Qingyao paused. She did not look back, only turning her head slightly.
“Next time, I will bring new tea cakes.”
With that, Ye Qingyao stepped over the threshold, her footsteps landing on the stone steps.
Her footsteps gradually faded into the distance, carried away by the mountain wind toward the end of the stone steps until they vanished completely.
Bai Qingxue remained seated on the stone stool, her finger still resting on the rim of the cup. She looked down at the cup, then raised her eyes to look at the old plum tree.
The buds on the branches seemed to have blurred in the deepening twilight.
...
“What a deeply sinful woman you are... Immortal Master Bai.”
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