When the flying boat landed, the night had just blanketed the entire coast of Canglan Island.
The grayish-white stone shimmered with a gentle luster under the moonlight, looking as though its texture had been polished by the sea over countless nights.
It was neither glaring nor cold, but carried a softness steeped in time.
The spirit light lanterns hanging from the upturned eaves cast shadows onto the stone steps, swaying gently in the night wind. The light and shadow moved slowly across the bluestone surface, like someone repeatedly drawing and erasing with an extremely fine brush.
The sea breeze swept in from beyond the island, weaving through the layered, scattered buildings and stirring up a gentle chiming of wind bells. High and low, long and short, it sounded as if the entire island were whispering in different tones.
The stone pillars of the docks were carved with the insignias of the three major sects.
A frost-white lotus, an inverted sword, and a winding star trail each occupied one side, gleaming dully in the moonlight.
As Bai Qingxue walked down the gangway, her gaze swept over the star trail pattern.
Then, her boots stepped onto the bluestone ground. She felt the temperature beneath her feet drop slightly compared to the flying boat's deck, carrying the dampness rising from the sea, as if she were stepping on a stone soaked in night dew.
The welcoming cultivators, dressed in uniform grayish-white long robes, guided the various sect groups in different directions at the exit of the berths.
The Xuantian Sect's residence was located on the eastern side of the island. They followed a path lined with dwarf trees and bypassed a shallow pool illuminated by the moonlight.
The water was very shallow, revealing the smooth pebbles at the bottom. The moonlight laid a thin silver film over the surface; occasionally, a breeze would sweep by, shattering the silver film into fine ripples before it slowly mended itself.
The disciple leading them stopped in front of a wooden door. The door was dark brown, with a few simple runes carved into its corners.
The moment it was pushed open, a small courtyard came into view, paved with bluestones. A cluster of slender bamboo grew in the corner, making a faint rustling sound in the night wind, like fingernails gently scraping the edges of the leaves.
The door to the main room was slightly ajar, and a dim, yellow light filtered through the window paper, looking as though it had been lit in advance, or perhaps left on by the previous occupants.
Bai Qingxue pushed open the door. The room's furnishings were so simple they were almost empty.
There was only a low bed, a table and chairs, and an empty flower vase resting on the desk by the window.
The vase's mouth pointed upward, completely empty, looking rather plain.
Bai Qingxue walked to the window and pushed it open. The sea stretched out within the frame, the moonlight falling on the undulating waves and shattering into a fine, silver-white sheen, as if someone had scattered shredded foil over dark silk, each piece moving slowly.
The sea breeze poured in through the window, bringing a salty, damp scent that stirred the stray hairs at Bai Qingxue's temples and swayed the shadow of the empty vase cast onto the desk.
Bai Qingxue stood by the window for a moment before hearing the footsteps of Lu Xueqing and Ning Qinghan behind her, followed by the soft click of the door closing.
“My room is the one on the east,” Lu Xueqing's voice came from the corridor.
Separated by a wall, Lu Xueqing's voice carried a strangely softened distance.
“Junior Sister Bai, call me if you need anything.”
Hearing this, Bai Qingxue did not respond, but she did not close the window either.
The sea breeze continued to pour in, blowing the shadow of the empty vase on the desk so that it swayed slightly, like a hand hesitating to descend.
Bai Qingxue placed her storage bag by the table, leaned the Frost Moon Chant against the wooden rack in the corner, and sat down.
The rustling of the bamboo leaves drifted in from the courtyard, mingling with the distant, faint sound of waves lapping against the shore. It was like two different frequencies of breathing—one fast and one slow, one light and one heavy, neither disturbing the other.
The notice for the exchange gathering had been delivered at dusk.
A green jade slip had been slipped through the crack of the door, landing just inside the threshold. A thin slip of paper was attached to its edge, noting the time and location.
The gathering was held in the center of the island. The moonlight illuminated the entire plaza, making it look as if it were covered in polished silver powder. Disciples from various sects were scattered about, standing or sitting in groups of three to five, the colors of their robes blending into shifting blocks of color under the glow of the spirit light lanterns.
Some were sparring with spells, their spiritual lights tracing broken arcs across the night sky before quickly dissolving, leaving only the lingering residue of spiritual power in the air.
Others were trading materials, speaking in low voices about the quality and origin of certain ores, their fingers lightly brushing the openings of their storage bags.
Most were simply gathered together chatting, their laughter scattered by the sea breeze into disjointed fragments, like crumpled paper drifting wherever the wind took it.
At this moment, the gathering seemed perfectly harmonious, devoid of any signs of conflict.
Bai Qingxue stood beside a stone pillar at the edge of the plaza, holding a cup of hot tea handed to her by someone unknown.
However, Bai Qingxue did not drink it. She merely held it, her finger pad pressed against the outer wall of the cup, feeling the heat slowly recede—from hot to warm, and from warm to a faint tepidness.
Her gaze swept over the shifting figures, never lingering on anyone for too long, as if she were counting the distance between the lanterns, or perhaps looking at nothing at all.
After standing there for a while, Bai Qingxue suddenly noticed someone walking toward her.
It was a female cultivator wearing a star-patterned robe. Her steps were leisurely, her hem trailing a silent path across the bluestone ground.
As she drew closer, the star patterns on her robe lit up and dimmed in turn under the moonlight, as if those stars were breathing to some rhythm Bai Qingxue could not comprehend.
The female cultivator's long hair was loosely pinned up with a silver hairpin, with a few stray strands hanging by her face, gently stirred by the sea breeze.
She appeared to be a few years older than Bai Qingxue, and her cultivation aura was restrained. She was like a pebble polished by a stream for a long time—no sharp edges, but conveying a sense of stability that was greater than expected.
She held a bronze mirror in her hand, about the size of a palm, its edges carved with the same star patterns as her robe, gleaming dully in the moonlight.
The mirror's surface reflected nothing.
She held it with the reflective side facing down, as if she had no intention of letting anyone see what might be mirrored within.
The woman stopped two paces in front of Bai Qingxue, her lips curving into a warm smile. It wasn't a deep smile, but it was just enough to make one lower their guard, as if she had practiced this curve through countless conversations, knowing that a fraction more would seem forced, and a fraction less would seem cold.
“Would this be Xueji Peak's True Disciple Bai? I have long heard of your great name.”
Her voice was neither too high nor too low, carrying the poise of someone well-accustomed to such occasions. It sounded as though she had spoken these words many times before, yet each time she said them, it felt like the first.
She paused, her gaze resting on Bai Qingxue's face for a brief moment, before tilting her head slightly, as if recalling something from a distant past.
“Speaking of which... when I traveled through Yunzhou in the past, I believe I had the fortune of seeing you from afar, Miss Bai.”
Hearing this, Bai Qingxue's hand holding the teacup did not tremble in the slightest.
She raised her eyes, looking at the warm, smiling face before her.
The steam from the tea rose between them, scattered by the sea breeze, and rose again, like an invisible barrier constantly closing and splitting apart.
The moonlight fell into Bai Qingxue's light-colored pupils, reflecting a faint hint of confusion.
It was not wariness or evasion.
At this moment, Bai Qingxue was simply searching through the blanks of her memory.
After all, in her memory, she had never seen the woman before her.
The people and events of Yunzhou—the outlines of those years remained, but the details had been worn smooth by time. They were like paper soaked in water; the ink was there, but the strokes could no longer be clearly discerned.
“Yunzhou was many years ago,” Bai Qingxue said, her voice as flat as usual.
“If you wish to reminisce, Fellow Daoist, I am afraid you have found the wrong person.”
The female cultivator's smile froze slightly.
It was only for a fleeting instant, like a gust of wind wrinkling the water's surface before it quickly smoothed out again.
She had clearly not expected her words to fall into such a flat lake, without even causing a ripple.
She scrutinized Bai Qingxue, trying to find a single crack or hint of hesitation in that calm gaze, but there was nothing.
In those light-colored eyes, there was only a near-empty clarity born from a genuine but fruitless search through her memory.
“Miss Bai is right.”
She smiled again, the curve slightly fainter than before, as if withdrawing her superfluous probing. “I was impolite. I am Han Muchun of the Falling Star Pavilion. Perhaps we will have the opportunity to exchange pointers at the discourse assembly in the coming days.”
Han Muchun nodded slightly, then turned and walked away.
The hem of her star-patterned robe dragged across the bluestone ground, leaving a faint shadow in the moonlight.
The bronze mirror flipped in her hand, its reflective surface facing up. Out of the corner of her eye, Bai Qingxue seemed to see something flash quickly within the mirror. But by the time she tried to look closer, Han Muchun had already walked far away, and that bit of light had been tucked into her draping sleeve.
Lu Xueqing walked over just as Han Muchun turned away.
She held an empty teacup in her hand, with a tiny crack along the rim, as if it had been gripped for too long.
Her steps were not fast, but her direction was clear. She stopped a step slightly ahead of Bai Qingxue's side, perfectly blocking the receding figure of Han Muchun.
Lu Xueqing's posture looked natural, as if she had simply happened to stand there, but the hand gripping the empty cup seemed to betray something.
Lu Xueqing did not turn to look at Bai Qingxue. Her gaze was fixed in the direction Han Muchun had gone, her brow furrowing imperceptibly before smoothing out again.
Bai Qingxue lowered her head and took a sip of tea.
The tea had already gone cold. It tasted slightly astringent, the chill slowly spreading at the back of her tongue.
She could feel Lu Xueqing's protective stance beside her.
Her shoulder was slightly forward, as if trying to block something out.
After a few moments of silence, Lu Xueqing's lips twitched slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but then swallowed it back down.
Lu Xueqing simply stood there, the grip of her fingers on the empty cup slowly loosening, as if pressing something she couldn't explain back into its place.
“What is it?” Bai Qingxue asked.
Lu Xueqing fell silent for a moment. “It is nothing.”
Lu Xueqing said, though her voice was even lower than before.
She paused, then spoke up, “The Yunzhou she mentioned... is it from your past, Junior Sister Bai?”
Bai Qingxue did not answer immediately.
She finished the cold tea, holding the empty cup in her palm, feeling the last traces of warmth recede from the porcelain—from warm to lukewarm, and from lukewarm to a mere thread of warmth that only her finger pads could sense.
Looking at the dregs left in the cup, Bai Qingxue remained silent for a long time before saying, “Perhaps. I cannot remember clearly either.”
Seeing this, Lu Xueqing did not know what to say.
She then took the empty cup from Bai Qingxue's hand. The tiny crack along the rim brushed lightly against her finger pad. She transferred the cup from her right hand to her left, letting her now-empty hand hang at her side.
Bai Qingxue's hand also hung at her side.
The distance between their hands was very close. It was so close that if Bai Qingxue shifted her fingers even slightly, she would touch Lu Xueqing's fingertips. It was so close that when the sea breeze swept between them, the resulting draft felt almost like a touch.
But Lu Xueqing did not reach out, just as Bai Qingxue did not.
Lu Xueqing simply stood there, using that single step of distance to block a door that had already been closed for Bai Qingxue. It was as if some doors did not need to be pushed open, and some words did not need to be fully asked.
In the distance, Ning Qinghan sat on a section of a low wall on the other side of the plaza.
Her gaze bypassed the bustling crowd and the halos of the spirit light lanterns, bypassed the falling arcs of spells and the rising white steam of hot tea, and landed near the two adjacent stone pillars at the edge of the plaza.
She saw Lu Xueqing standing slightly ahead of Bai Qingxue's side. Naturally, she also saw Lu Xueqing's awkwardness as she held the empty cup, and how much the hand hanging at her side was itching to move.
Similarly, in Ning Qinghan's eyes, Lu Xueqing stood there, neither drawing closer nor stepping back. It was as if she were using that boundary line to draw an invisible circle, setting some sort of limit for herself.
Ning Qinghan tilted her head.
The corners of her mouth curved into a very faint arc. The smile wasn't deep, resembling a drop of ink slowly dispersing in clear water.
“Here we go again.”
It was always like this.
Every time, Lu Xueqing used that neither-too-close-nor-too-far distance to embed herself into the air beside Bai Qingxue, as if trying to carve out a space next to her that belonged only to herself.
Yet Bai Qingxue's hand hung right there, not tilting even half an inch toward Lu Xueqing.
Bai Qingxue treated everyone this way—never giving anyone an extra half-inch, nor letting anyone feel they had been shorted by half an inch.
In the end, standing in that position a step ahead was Lu Xueqing's own choice, not something Bai Qingxue had given her...
Ning Qinghan flipped these thoughts over in her mind, like flipping a water-soaked copper coin to inspect both sides, before withdrawing her gaze.
Ning Qinghan jumped down from the low wall, her feet landing firmly on the ground, and turned to walk back toward their residence.
The sea breeze blew from the side, brushing her loose hair against the corner of her mouth. She flicked it away with her fingertips and kept walking.
After taking a dozen steps, she turned her head to look back at the plaza.
The figures of Bai Qingxue and Lu Xueqing were no longer visible. Only a few spirit light lanterns swayed gently in the night wind, lengthening and shortening the shadows of the stone pillars like a door slowly closing.
Ning Qinghan turned back, tucked her hands into her sleeves, and walked along the moonlight-paved path all the way back to the residence.
Yet, she seemed to gradually veer away from the residence, heading toward some unknown place.
The sea breeze swept in from beyond the island, weaving through the layered, scattered buildings and stirring up a gentle chiming of wind bells, high and low, long and short.
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