Her eyes instantly grew incredibly soft. Just as she had done on countless nights in the past, she slowly stepped forward and gently wrapped her arms around the statue's waist, resting her cheek against the pale, cold powder.
No heartbeat.
No body heat.
No breath.
Only the hard, icy chill of compacted ash, as silent as the moonlight itself.
This was only natural; after all, it was a lifeless object to begin with.
Yet Miaoyue had always loved this freezing sensation.
This coldness, this ultimate contrast between life and death that would never waver again, was exactly how she remembered her Teacher.
Perfect, holy, and lofty.
Teacher Hiso was meant to be like another deity beyond the moon, with no need for hunger, sleep, or embraces, and never to be dragged down into the dirt by scents, body heat, skin, and sticky desires like a mortal.
Back then, her Teacher had pushed her away and walked away, only to grow cold bit by bit in her arms later on.
That certainly wasn't abandonment; it was her Teacher testing whether she would let go.
But she had failed.
Her weakness had been laid bare for all to see.
If she hadn't let go of her Teacher's hand that night, none of this would have happened.
Miaoyue had to believe this.
If she didn't believe this, all the cold statues she had held in her arms over the centuries would turn from sacred relics into silent graves.
If she didn't believe this, then every version of her Teacher she had crafted with her own hands would no longer be a divine statue keeping the moon company, but rather the ashes she scooped up time and time again while trapping herself in this dead silence.
Only by thinking this way could she swallow her fear of loneliness and the piercing ache of solitude itself.
And she would never allow such desecration to occur.
In comparison, the warmth of a living person was simply too noisy.
It breathed, it sweated, it drew close, it took an inch and wanted a mile. It held her ankle in the name of love training, and it looked at her with a gaze so direct it bordered on shameless, as if the noble Moon Goddess were merely an ordinary girl to be held, fed, and coveted for her warmth.
What mattered was a pure heart, not temperature.
Miaoyue: “...”
Wait, wait... what was she just thinking?
Why did she suddenly start comparing these things?
She let go of the statue, took two steps back, and patted her body down thoroughly from head to toe, as if to beat every last trace of those sacrilegious thoughts out of her system.
Only then did Miaoyue solemnly step forward and embrace the statue once more.
The cold, rigid statue.
There was nothing wrong with that, right?
Why did it feel so off today?
The statue's chest did not rise or fall, there was no breath by her ear, and the waist she held so tightly was as stiff as frozen earth.
Because a statue was just a statue, and her Teacher was supposed to be such a rational, sacred existence.
Yet, her thoughts today were incredibly cluttered.
Why?
Why was it that the moment she closed her eyes, the only thing that flashed through her mind was Sophie's burning breath when she had been pulled into her embrace?
Why did that warmth belonging to a living person, like an uninvited intruder, aggressively bypass the moonlight, the ashes, the temple, and all the white walls she had built with her own hands, leaving a mark on her skin that had been accustomed to five hundred years of extreme cold?
No, that wasn't right.
This wasn't her heart fluttering.
Absolutely not.
It was just a nuisance.
That foolish disciple simply had no sense of boundaries, was too shameless, too demanding, and too fond of wrapping her secular desires in the guise of love training to cling onto others.
“Teacher would never be like that foolish disciple, with a mind full of secular, stray thoughts,” Miaoyue muttered softly, complaining to the cold statue. “Sophie clearly has a lover already, yet she still acts so improperly. She's a complete fool, craving someone else's warmth and ruled by her desires.”
She raised her chin proudly.
“My heart only has room for Teacher. Physical contact of that level is merely a slight nuisance at best. I am the noble Moon Witch, so how could I possibly fall for the sticky warmth of a living person!”
She solemnly declared her purity to the lifeless, powdery statue.
Yet the moment the words left her mouth, Miaoyue's ankle twitched slightly.
Sophie's hand was clearly no longer there.
Yet the spot that had been held still felt as if it harbored a feverish pulse.
Sophie's fingertips were not rough; on the contrary, they were very soft, carrying a hint of the cool chill characteristic of vampire skin.
Within that living body, blood flowed, a heart quickened, and there was a greed and restraint that could not be hidden when she drew close—it was quite endearing.
A vampire's body temperature was low, but not as low as the statue's.
The Teacher in her arms had no pulse.
No breath.
No heartbeat that would flutter from drawing close.
Only a coldness that would never respond no matter how tightly she held him, and a lofty divinity she had spent five hundred years beautifying with her own hands.
That loftiness was, of course, still perfect.
Her Teacher was, of course, still her sole, inviolable, and irreplaceable faith.
Sophie was merely a nuisance.
Merely a foolish disciple who spouted nonsense, had sticky fingers, and always justified her secular desires with complete confidence.
Merely a living person who made her angry, embarrassed her, and forced her to wrap herself in her blanket just to calm down.
Merely... a living person.
Miaoyue hugged the statue tightly.
The cold powder pressed against her chest through her clothes, a dead silence that was stable, clean, and free of any transgressive desires. It would not demand anything of her, would not embarrass her, would not blow its breath against her neck, and would not whisper misleading words like “I like you so much” in her ear.
Clean, solemn, and free of dust.
Nor would it reach out to pull her close and feed her new pastries.
Miaoyue's voice gradually grew softer.
She lowered her head slightly, resting her forehead against the statue's lifeless chest. In this morbidly beautiful scene of dead silence, the New Moon Witch let out a sigh as faint as a whisper, tinged with a trace of resentment:
“But... if only Teacher back then could have had even a tiny bit of secular attachment to me, just like that foolish disciple Sophie... if only he had clung to me, just a little, little bit... that would have been so nice...”
Why... couldn't Teacher's heart beat like that foolish disciple's?
Even if only once.
Why couldn't it beat that fast for me?
...
Rate on N.U.
