Chapter 128: A Child’s Plea
Pear blossoms fell, blanketing the ground in a fragrant layer of white. It was the season for pear blossoms. Their appearance wasn’t caused by the evil god.
But it was strange. The flowers that bloomed during the evil god’s rampages were never white.
Bai Jingxue, standing beneath a pear tree, caught a falling petal, then blew on it, watching as it drifted back down to the earth.
They were outside the city, waiting for Luo Nianshang and the Demon Lord to return. Beyond the city walls lay a graveyard, the green hillsides dotted with colorful flowers, a morbidly beautiful sight.
The farmers, who should have been working in the fields, were kneeling before small stone statues by the roadside, their bodies weakened by days of fasting. Several had collapsed, their bodies lying motionless on the ground.
Bai Jingxue had tried to help them, but she had been met with fierce resistance, the villagers even resorting to self-harm.
After the third villager had collapsed, she had finally lost her patience, knocking them all unconscious, then forcing them to drink some nourishing soup.
She was helping a small child sit up when she noticed the girl’s eyes moving. She set down the bowl of soup. “Are you awake?” she asked, her voice gentle.
The girl, wary, didn’t respond.
Bai Jingxue, a mischievous glint in her eyes, couldn’t resist teasing her. “Still asleep, huh?” she said. “Such tender flesh. Perfect for a snack.”
She pinched the girl’s cheek, her voice filled with mock appreciation. “Good texture.”
The girl, barely three years old, had heard her parents talking about the demons that had appeared in the city, about the need to pray to the Flower Goddess. Hearing Bai Jingxue’s words, she instantly dropped her act, kicking and punching, her small fists flailing.
Bai Jingxue’s joke had clearly gone too far. The girl burst into tears, her sobs echoing through the air, as she struggled to reach her unconscious parents. “Mommy! Save me!”
Her small feet had left dirt stains on Bai Jingxue’s clothes. Thankfully, she had abandoned her usual white robes for a more practical, less conspicuous outfit. A few dirt stains wouldn’t matter.
Lü Qingyan, tending to the other villagers, hearing the commotion, glanced over to see the child kicking and screaming, and she walked over, picking up the girl as easily as if she were a chick.
“She’s just teasing you,” she said, her voice soothing. “We’re humans.”
They managed to calm the child down, and Bai Jingxue, retrieving a handful of bright red berries from her sleeve, offered them to the girl.
The girl, also weakened by hunger, popped one into her mouth, then immediately spat it out, her face contorted in disgust.
Bai Jingxue felt a pang of embarrassment. The entire city was preoccupied with prayer. They had had to forage for food, digging up wild vegetables, gathering berries, even hunting.
She had eaten these berries before. They had been tart, but not unpleasant. Perhaps her own taste buds were faulty.
She checked her sleeve, but there were no more berries. And they had run out of soup. Perhaps she should hunt for a pheasant or something. It would be easy, with her current strength.
But leaving such a young child alone was dangerous. She decided to take her with them.
She had expected resistance, but the girl readily agreed, her lack of caution alarming.
Bai Jingxue shook her head, watching as Lü Qingyan scooped up the girl.
They climbed the mountain, reaching the graveyard, its tombstones mostly wooden, some so weathered that only their bases remained, others completely gone, only mounds of dirt marking their locations.
These were probably the graves of the nearby villagers. Wealthy families wouldn’t bury their dead here.
Bai Jingxue was about to leave when the little girl’s voice, soft and hesitant, stopped her. “Can we stop for a moment?” she asked. “I want to visit my grandmother.”
Bai Jingxue, surprised by the child’s request, her heart softening, took the girl from Lü Qingyan. “Of course,” she said. “Do you know where her grave is?”
The girl nodded, pointing a small finger towards a nearby grave. Judging by the condition of the earth and the wooden tombstone, it was a relatively recent burial.
Bai Jingxue set the girl down, and she ran towards the grave, her small hands patting the wooden marker, her voice echoing through the quiet graveyard.
“Grandma, Niu Niu is here to see you.”
“Grandma, Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t give me any food. And they hit me.”
She burst into tears.
Bai Jingxue, her heart aching, crouched down, wiping away the girl’s tears.
Weeds had sprouted on the grave, their leaves rustling in the wind.
Niu Niu, her sobs subsiding, tried to pull out the weeds, but their leaves were sharp. She would hurt herself.
Bai Jingxue lifted her up, handing her to Lü Qingyan, then she carefully removed the weeds.
Niu Niu, watching her, her voice filled with a childish certainty, said, “You’re a good person, Big Sister. The Flower Goddess is bad.”
This was the first time they had heard anyone in Cang Xi criticize the Flower Goddess, especially a child.
Lü Qingyan, amused, asked, “Why do you say that?”
Niu Niu’s cheeks puffed out, her voice filled with indignation. “Mommy and Daddy pray to her all the time,” she said. “They make me pray too. Even when I’m hungry, they don’t care.”
Her voice trembled, her eyes filling with tears again. “They said the goddess would save us.”
Lü Qingyan, patting her head, surprised by the child’s clear thinking, her own resentment towards the evil god, who had made her a pariah in this kingdom, bubbling to the surface, said, “You’re right! She’s a bad goddess! We have to defeat her!”
Bai Jingxue, having finished weeding the grave, her hands stained with dirt, stared at her palms, a strange sadness filling her heart.
It wasn’t that she was squeamish. She simply hadn’t been this dirty in a long time.
In her past life, Lü Qingyan had visited her family during the summer. Her parents, knowing Lü Qingyan came from a wealthy family, had been polite, but they had still expected Bai Jingxue to work in the fields.
Bai Jingxue hadn’t minded. She had picked up a hoe, joining her father, but her health had always been frail. She had quickly become exhausted.
Her father, seeing this, his face contorted with disgust, had sneered. “You can’t even do this much work?” he had said. “Other girls aren’t this weak.”
Every summer had been the same: the scorching sun, the endless work, her father’s harsh words echoing in her ears, her own body aching, her spirit numb.
Her protests had only earned her more beatings, so she had learned to remain silent, her only solace the thought of escaping, of leaving this life behind after graduation.
But that summer had been different. Someone had snatched the hoe from her hand, pulling her away.
She had looked up, the summer breeze a welcome coolness against her skin, to see Lü Qingyan’s angry face, and she had realized that this girl was the same rebellious student who had made the school administrators tremble.
She had panicked, afraid of Lü Qingyan’s impulsiveness, her hand grasping Lü Qingyan’s wrist, her usual calm facade cracking, her voice filled with a desperate plea. “Qingyan, don’t,” she had whispered.
Lü Qingyan, seeing her fear, her anger subsiding, her usual playful grin returning, had said, “Don’t worry, Jingxue. I don’t want to get hurt. You would be sad.”
Bai Jingxue had relaxed, and her father, perhaps because of Lü Qingyan’s presence, hadn’t intervened.
Lü Qingyan had pulled her along, their laughter echoing through the fields, startling grasshoppers and birds.
Bai Jingxue, exhausted, hadn’t protested. With each step, she had felt herself moving further away from her home, a sense of freedom growing within her heart.
But her body had finally given out. “Qingyan,” she had gasped, “I can’t run anymore.”
Lü Qingyan had stopped, turning to see Bai Jingxue’s flushed face, her chest heaving, and she had crouched down, her voice gentle. “Hop on,” she had said. “I’ll carry you.”
But they were in her village. If Lü Qingyan carried her, the news would spread like wildfire.
Bai Jingxue had taken a step back, shaking her head. “No, let’s just walk.”
Lü Qingyan hadn’t insisted. She had stood up, reaching for Bai Jingxue’s hand, then she had noticed the dirt staining Bai Jingxue’s palms. There was a rice paddy nearby, its water clear.
She had retrieved a tissue from her pocket, about to wet it in the paddy, when Bai Jingxue, her voice sharp, had shouted, “Don’t!”
Lü Qingyan had frozen.
Bai Jingxue had pulled her away, pointing at a small, dark creature clinging to a rice stalk. “Leeches,” she had said. “There’s a well over there. Let’s go there.”
Lü Qingyan had stared at the leech, its body long and thin, its movements slow and deliberate. She hadn’t even noticed it. She had almost touched it. She shuddered.
But her disgust was overshadowed by concern. She followed Bai Jingxue to the well, her silence heavy.
She wet the tissue, carefully wiping the dirt from Bai Jingxue’s hands, her voice soft. “Don’t come back here again,” she said.
Bai Jingxue had stared at her, her heart aching. This was the first time anyone had shown such concern for her, for something she had always considered a normal part of her life. This unexpected tenderness had made her feel strangely vulnerable, and she had wanted to run, to hide.
Do I deserve this? she had wondered. What can I even offer her?
Her upbringing had taught her that kindness came at a price, that every favor had to be repaid. Otherwise, she would feel a constant, gnawing sense of unease, of indebtedness.
She had struggled to find the right words, but Lü Qingyan had spoken first, her voice firm, her smile brighter than the summer sun. “I won’t let this happen again,” she had said.
Bai Jingxue had looked away, her voice a soft whisper. “You’re such a fool.”
“Hey! Don’t call me a fool! Even if it’s true, don’t say it too often. It makes you look bad for being with a fool.”
Lü Qingyan, having spent so much time with Bai Jingxue, had learned a thing or two about witty banter. Her words had made Bai Jingxue smile.
She had opened her arms, and in that crowded, noisy village, she had embraced her beloved.
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