After Xiao Nanyuan settled in, Bai Qingxue noticed an extra tea cup on the stone table.
It wasn't her usual white porcelain cup, but a coarse ceramic cup. The body was dark brown with an uneven glaze that felt slightly rough to the touch.
There was a tiny chip on the rim, like it had been bumped, though it was hard to notice without looking closely.
The cup sat on the east side of the stone table, side-by-side with her white porcelain cup. One large and one small, one white and one brown, they looked like two mismatched people sitting together.
Bai Qingxue did not ask where the cup had come from.
She had seen it before on the table in the side room. On her first day, Xiao Nanyuan had neatly arranged her wooden comb, bronze mirror, and water cup, and this cup had been among them.
Xiao Nanyuan had brought the cup to the main room and placed it on the stone table at her own spot, as if announcing that she was a part of this courtyard.
In the end, Bai Qingxue did not push it back.
In the early morning, Bai Qingxue went to the altar for inspection.
When she left, Xiao Nanyuan stood at the door of the main room, clutching that book on the breathing method and watching her.
When she returned, steam was rising from the teapot on the stone table.
Xiao Nanyuan was sitting on a stone stool with her hands on her knees. She wasn't reading; she was just sitting there.
Seeing Bai Qingxue walk in, she stood up and pushed the tea cup forward.
However, it wasn't Bai Qingxue's white porcelain cup, but the newly appeared coarse ceramic cup.
The tea was already poured. The color was a bit darker than usual, likely because it had steeped for a bit longer.
Bai Qingxue sat down, picked up the coarse ceramic cup, and took a sip.
The tea wasn't scalding; it was at the perfect temperature to drink.
But the taste wasn't quite right. Too many tea leaves had been used, making it bitter with a weak aftertaste.
Even so, Bai Qingxue finished the cup of tea and set the empty cup back on the table.
Xiao Nanyuan's eyes brightened as she looked at the empty cup.
She took the cup, went to wash it, and put it back in its place.
On the second day, when Bai Qingxue returned, the tea was warm again.
This time, the color of the tea was lighter and the bitterness was milder, but it still wasn't as good as the tea Lu Xueqing brewed.
The third day, the fourth day, the fifth day.
Every day when Bai Qingxue returned from the altar, the tea on the stone table was warm.
The pot was empty when she left, and full when she returned.
Sometimes there were more tea leaves, sometimes fewer; the water temperature varied, and the steeping time fluctuated.
But every single time, the tea was warm.
Not mouth-searing, not cold, but just right for drinking.
Bai Qingxue knew why.
Xiao Nanyuan didn't know when she would return.
The inspections at the altar had no fixed schedule. Sometimes they took an hour, sometimes two, sometimes longer.
Since Xiao Nanyuan couldn't predict her return, she could only wait.
When the tea grew cold, she would pour it out and brew it again.
When it grew cold again, she poured it out and brewed it once more.
Over and over, until the courtyard gate was pushed open, until that frost-white figure walked in, and until she picked up the cup and took a sip.
It wasn't that Bai Qingxue hadn't thought about saying, “You don't need to do this.” But seeing the light in Xiao Nanyuan's eyes every time she pushed the cup forward, Bai Qingxue decided against it.
She would let the girl be.
And so, Bai Qingxue would pick up that coarse ceramic cup and drink tea every day upon her return.
In reality, Xiao Nanyuan didn't understand how to brew tea, how many leaves to use, or how to control the water temperature.
She simply remembered Bai Qingxue's expression every time she drank.
Whether her brow furrowed, whether she drank quickly or slowly, and where she placed the cup when she was done. All Xiao Nanyuan could do was commit these details to heart and adjust, then adjust again, for the next time.
That evening, Bai Qingxue returned later than usual.
The spiritual power surging from the cracks in the altar was more turbulent than usual today, so she stayed longer to investigate the flow of the earth veins with her spiritual sense.
Twilight had already crept in by the time she left the altar. The sky had turned a bluish-purple, and the weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse.
When she pushed open the courtyard gate, steam was still rising from the teapot on the stone table.
Xiao Nanyuan was sitting on the stone stool, holding the book in both hands and reading intently.
Hearing the creak of the gate, her entire being seemed to light up. She looked up abruptly, her eyes curving into two crescents.
She put down the book and stood up. Her movements were a bit hurried, her hem creating a small gust of wind.
Then Xiao Nanyuan reached out with both hands and carefully pushed the coarse ceramic cup toward Bai Qingxue, the small chip on the rim facing her.
The tea was clear and emitted a thin layer of steam, and the smile on Xiao Nanyuan's face seemed even softer than that steam.
Bai Qingxue sat down, picked up the cup, and took a sip. It wasn't hot. The amount of tea leaves was just right, balancing the bitterness and the sweet aftertaste. She finished it and set the cup down.
Xiao Nanyuan's lips curled slightly as she looked at the empty cup.
She gathered the cup, intending to wash it.
Bai Qingxue sat at the stone table, watching the leaves of the old locust tree fall one by one.
The faint sound of water came from near the side room.
Bai Qingxue suddenly thought of how she used to sit at a stone table on Xueji Peak, waiting for a pot of tea.
Except the person brewing the tea wasn't her; it was Lu Xueqing.
Lu Xueqing had been the same way, adding hot water when the tea grew cold, again and again, until she returned.
Now the person sitting here brewing tea had changed to Xiao Nanyuan, but she was still sitting in the same position. It was almost as if she were back on Xueji Peak.
Xiao Nanyuan returned after washing the cup and placed it upside down on the stone table, side-by-side with Bai Qingxue's white porcelain cup.
One large and one small, one white and one brown, like two people sitting side-by-side.
Bai Qingxue stood up and walked into the main room.
Faint footsteps followed behind her. She didn't need to look back to know who it was.
Xiao Nanyuan followed her inside, clutching the breathing method book to her chest with the corner of the book resting against her chin. She stood by the door and didn't immediately step further inside, as if waiting for permission.
“Tonight... can I sleep here too?”
Her voice was very soft, almost inaudible by the second half of the sentence.
Bai Qingxue did not answer. She walked to the cabinet and opened the door.
The old pallet was still folded in its original place. She pulled it out, leaned over to spread it on the floor beside the bed, and smoothed out the wrinkles at the corners with her palm.
Xiao Nanyuan watched that silhouette, watched those hands smoothing the pallet, and her smile slowly widened.
She walked over and placed the breathing method book next to the pillow, positioning it very neatly so the edge of the book was perfectly aligned with the edge of the pillow. Then she slipped into the quilt, her movements very light as if afraid of making a sound.
Bai Qingxue sat cross-legged on the bed and closed her eyes to begin her cultivation.
The room grew quiet.
“Immortal Sister.”
Xiao Nanyuan's voice drifted up from the floor, soft and slightly muffled by the quilt over her mouth.
Bai Qingxue did not open her eyes.
“Was the tea... good today?”
Bai Qingxue's eyelashes fluttered. There was a moment of silence.
“Yes.”
A very soft giggle came from under the quilt, sounding like a sigh of relief, or as if she had tucked some precious treasure into her bosom.
Xiao Nanyuan pulled the quilt up a bit higher, covering half her face. The eyes left exposed were already closed, but they were curved like the thin crescent moon outside the window.
In the side room, that book remained open to a certain page.
No one went to look at it.
But tomorrow morning, Xiao Nanyuan would continue reading. When she encountered parts she didn't understand, she would stand before Bai Qingxue's table, lower her eyes, and call out “Immortal Sister.” Bai Qingxue would explain it to her, or perhaps she wouldn't, simply offering a “Yes” in response.
That was how their days passed.
Drinking tea, flipping through books, sleeping. Day after day.
Bai Qingxue drank many cups of tea brewed by Xiao Nanyuan, finishing every single one. Xiao Nanyuan brewed many pots of tea for Bai Qingxue, repeatedly heating them until the courtyard gate was pushed open.
Between them, no one said “thank you,” and no one said “you're welcome.”
But that coarse ceramic cup appeared on the stone table every day.
This was the language that belonged to them.
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