Chapter 71: White Hair
Bai Jingxue felt that Ying was her nemesis. She didn’t dare transform back into a cat, afraid of the dragon girl’s persistent attempts to cuddle her.
She racked her brain, trying to find a way to distract Ying.
There were plenty of furry creatures on land. The servant disciples cared for countless spirit rabbits. Why was Ying so fixated on them?
The fearless Lü Qingyan, every time she left the mansion, would cautiously scan the area, making sure the “perverted dragon” wasn’t lurking nearby.
But today, she wasn’t in a hurry to leave. She was about to break through.
Bai Jingxue, although she wouldn’t admit it, felt a bit bored without the dog.
This was the Sword Saint’s territory. No one would dare to cause trouble here, so Bai Jingxue didn’t have to worry about protecting Lü Qingyan.
As she gazed at the sky, lost in her thoughts, she felt a tug on her sleeve. She turned to see the little blue-haired girl standing beside her.
Calling her a “little girl” wasn’t quite accurate. She possessed the memories of her past life, which meant she was far older than Bai Jingxue, who had only lived for a few decades.
“Are you worried, Benefactor?”
Bai Jingxue, staring at the shy child, shook her head. “No,” she said. “But why are you here alone, An Ran? Where’s Sect Leader Zhu?”
An Ran was the name Zhu Chi had given the whale demon. And to express her gratitude to Bai Jingxue, she had taken Bai as her surname.
Bai An Ran settled beside Bai Jingxue. “She’s busy,” she said. “She asked me to come here and see if there’s anything we can do to help.”
It was interesting. Reincarnation preserved not only memories, but also cultivation levels. The body, however, was new.
Bai Jingxue couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy as she stared at the little girl. She had seen the recording in the pearl. She knew what An Ran had endured.
She reached out, stroking An Ran’s head. The texture was different from Lü Qingyan’s fur. The girl’s hair was incredibly smooth.
She withdrew her hand. “Are you experiencing any unusual symptoms?” she asked.
An Ran looked up at her. Pale blue waves were etched on her forehead. She had round cheeks, almond-shaped eyes, and pale lips. She was adorable.
“No, nothing unusual,” she said. “But it all feels so unreal.”
She hadn’t expected to be resurrected. She had been filled with joy when she had first transformed and ventured onto land, only to be captured and tortured. She hadn’t believed such a cruel fate was possible.
But she had been a whale out of water, her strength diminished. And her enemies had come prepared, their weapons and techniques specifically designed to counter her abilities.
Remembering that pain, she couldn’t help but hug herself, her body trembling.
She reached out, tugging Bai Jingxue’s sleeve. She felt a strange sense of comfort and safety around this benefactor.
“Have you ever loved someone, Benefactor?”
Bai Jingxue’s relationship with Lü Qingyan had never been publicly acknowledged. Luo Nianshang and the Demon Lord might have their suspicions, but they were just guesses.
She thought of Lü Qingyan, who was currently struggling to break through, and a smile curved her lips. “Yes,” she said.
But it wasn’t just “loved.” She still loved Lü Qingyan. She was lucky that her feelings were reciprocated, but life was filled with uncertainties.
Those cheesy romance novels often featured stories about wealthy CEOs falling in love with poor girls, their love opposed by the CEO’s family.
Bai Jingxue had always scoffed at the clichéd line “Here’s five million dollars. Leave my son.” She would have taken the money and run.
But she had never expected to experience it herself. When Lü Qingyan’s parents had confronted her, shoving a bank card at her, she had felt her dignity crumble.
They had accused her of being a gold digger, of corrupting their daughter. And her own parents, instead of defending her, had simply stared at the bank card, their eyes filled with greed.
She had always been a gentle soul, but that day, she had exploded, throwing Lü Qingyan’s parents out. Her outburst, however, had been met with a torrent of abuse from her own parents.
They had called her a burden, a freak, a useless scholar, an unfilial daughter.
The memories were layers of pain, each layer more agonizing than the last. She couldn’t pinpoint the worst moment. She had simply become numb to the pain.
Her gaze drifted towards Lü Qingyan’s room, a sad smile curving her lips. “There’s someone I love very, very much,” she said.
Bai An Ran, sensing the sadness emanating from Bai Jingxue, didn’t dare to ask any more questions.
Since her resurrection, she had noticed something different about Zhu Chi. Her beloved, though still cheerful, seemed strained, her smile a mask.
Zhu Chi must have suffered during those centuries she had been gone. She wanted to help Zhu Chi rediscover her former joy, to ease the pain that had etched itself onto her soul.
But she was clueless. She didn’t know how to help. That was why she had asked Bai Jingxue. Perhaps she had an answer.
But it seemed she had accidentally touched a sensitive subject. She tugged Bai Jingxue’s sleeve, her head bowed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Bai Jingxue was confused. She didn’t feel like An Ran had wronged her. Was she apologizing for those two months of unconsciousness?
Those two months trapped in a nightmare had been unpleasant, but they were just dreams.
She was about to offer words of comfort when An Ran spoke, her voice quiet. “I didn’t know your beloved had passed away.”
But then she remembered her own resurrection. “You can plant her now,” she suggested.
Bai Jingxue, confused, then realized what An Ran was implying. She chuckled. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “She’s still alive.”
Bai An Ran, realizing her mistake, apologized again. “I’m sorry.”
Bai Jingxue didn’t blame her. It had been an honest mistake. She had never realized how clueless Zhu Chi’s beloved was.
But An Ran’s love was pure and intense. She had willingly given up her own rib to create a guqin for Zhu Chi.
Well, that thought was rather disturbing.
But she was a demon now. She wouldn’t resort to such a gruesome display of affection.
She sighed, knowing that An Ran had something she wanted to ask. “What is it?” she asked.
An Ran nodded, her brow furrowing with worry. “Zhu Chi… she’s not herself,” she said. “I want to help her.”
Bai Jingxue listened, her unease growing as she realized the depth of An Ran’s concern.
The Spring Snow Sect wasn’t particularly tolerant of demons. Although the disciples were polite on the surface, they privately looked down upon An Ran. Some elders had even suggested extracting her demon core.
These rumors had somehow reached Zhu Chi’s ears. The elder who had made that suggestion had been stripped of his cultivation and expelled from the sect.
Although Zhu Chi had cleansed herself of the blood, An Ran could still smell the faint metallic scent clinging to her clothes.
She had smiled, her expression unchanged, tucking An Ran’s hair behind her ear, her voice gentle. “Are you hungry?”
An Ran had been stunned. She hadn’t been disgusted by Zhu Chi’s actions. She had simply felt a surge of heartache.
Bai Jingxue, listening to this, felt a headache forming. She hadn’t expected the kind and compassionate Zhu Chi to turn into a yandere.
But it made sense. She had endured so much, searched for so long, and now that her beloved had finally returned, she couldn’t tolerate any criticism or negativity directed towards An Ran.
Bai Jingxue rubbed her temples. Well, being a yandere wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was simply a different kind of love.
She looked at An Ran, her voice gentle. “Do you want her to go back to the way she was?” she asked. “Or do you dislike who she is now?”
An Ran nodded, then shook her head, her voice filled with guilt. “I want her to be happy again,” she said. “But I don’t dislike her. It’s just…”
“You feel sorry for her?”
An Ran nodded.
Bai Jingxue twitched her tail, scratching her ear. She couldn’t even manage her own emotions. And now she was offering advice to others?
But Zhu Chi’s behavior stemmed from fear, fear of losing An Ran again.
She couldn’t offer any concrete solutions. “She’s just afraid of losing you,” she said. “Spend more time with her.”
“As for wanting her to go back to the way she was… that’s difficult. Just like you, you can’t go back to being that innocent little demon, can you?”
An Ran sat in silence, her brow furrowed in thought, then she stood up. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you, Benefactor. I’ll go back now.”
“Be safe.”
An Ran nodded, then vanished.
Bai Jingxue was alone again. She shook her head, sighing. “Love is so complicated,” she murmured.
It had been an entire night. Why hadn’t Lü Qingyan transformed yet? Her own transformation had been instantaneous.
Wait, had she forgotten to prepare clothes for Lü Qingyan?
She rummaged through her spatial ring, then groaned. She only had white clothes.
She resigned herself to her fate, choosing a robe and folding it neatly on the stone table. She then resumed her wait.
Suddenly, someone covered her eyes with their hands, a familiar voice, sweet and playful, reaching her ears. “Guess who?”
Bai Jingxue wasn’t in the mood for games. She pulled the hands away, turning to face the speaker.
She was sitting, while Lü Qingyan was standing, her face close to Bai Jingxue’s. As Bai Jingxue turned, their lips brushed.
She froze, then pretended nothing had happened.
As she had expected, Lü Qingyan resembled her past self. The only difference was her hair, which was now white, giving her an ethereal aura.
It seemed Luo Nianshang had prepared everything. Lü Qingyan was already dressed, but why were her ears and tail still visible?
Lü Qingyan, seeing Bai Jingxue staring at her tail, chuckled. “It’s cute, right?”
It was cute, but having a tail meant she would have to cut a hole in her robe.
Well… maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Bai Jingxue glanced at her own tail, then discreetly hid it.
She suddenly remembered something important and stood up.
Then, realizing she could see Lü Qingyan’s destiny, she sat back down, a satisfied smile curving her lips.
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