Chapter 86: The Burden
A sense of urgency gripped Lü Qingyan as she pondered how to improve the relationship between the Sword Saint and the Demon Lord.
But no matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn’t come up with a solution. Their opposing stances weren’t a trivial matter, and Luo Nianshang’s masters had been killed by demon cultivators. Changing her perspective involved overcoming deep-seated hatred.
Lü Qingyan, her head spinning, her frustration growing, glanced at Er Ya, who was watering a pot of flowers.
The girl was smaller than other children her age, her wrists and the back of her hands covered in faint scars, the marks suggesting years of abuse.
How had she endured those years of being sold and resold, her childhood filled with pain and fear? She was so quiet and withdrawn. It wasn’t normal for a child.
Fang Xin and Fang Yue Lian had finished their shopping, but the sect had assigned them a new mission, forcing them to remain in the city for a while longer.
Lü Qingyan didn’t mind, but Zhu Er, her hopes of visiting the Ejian Sect dashed, was feeling rather gloomy.
Bai Jingxue was still cultivating. Lü Qingyan didn’t want to disturb her, but her mind was restless, her body filled with a nervous energy. She wandered the hallways, unable to settle down.
Seeing Er Ya, her demeanor calm and focused, Lü Qingyan approached her. The girl seemed to enjoy caring for plants.
Lü Qingyan, in her past life, had also tried to express her affection for Bai Jingxue through flowers. Her first attempt had been during their final year of high school.
Her relationship with her parents had been strained. They had been busy with their careers, their interactions with her infrequent and distant.
She had felt lonely, her rebellious actions an attempt to gain their attention, but it had been futile. Their disapproval had only intensified.
She had sought solace in her friends, but they had simply been companions for drinking and partying, their motives often selfish, their loyalty fleeting.
After all, Lü Qingyan had been wealthy and generous.
Drinking, skipping classes, fighting for her friends… she had been a rebellious teenager, her life a chaotic mess, until she had met Bai Jingxue.
Bai Jingxue had been different from everyone else she had known: beautiful, kind, and accepting. Her smile had been gentle, like a warm breeze.
It had been love at first sight, at least for Lü Qingyan. But the more time they had spent together, the more Lü Qingyan had realized how strong and mature Bai Jingxue was. She had felt like a spoiled, unreasonable child in comparison.
One day, she had caught a cold, her fever spiking, forcing her to stay in bed. Bai Jingxue had set aside her studies to care for her.
She had watched as Bai Jingxue had placed a hand on her forehead, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’re so old, yet you still don’t know how to take care of yourself,” Bai Jingxue had scolded gently.
Seeing Lü Qingyan’s listless form beneath the blankets, her usually cheerful face pale, her breathing shallow, Bai Jingxue’s heart had softened.
She had blown on the cold medicine, then held the spoon to Lü Qingyan’s lips, but Lü Qingyan had simply stared at her.
Bai Jingxue had assumed the medicine was too hot. She had tested it on her own lips, then, satisfied that it was cool enough, she had offered it to Lü Qingyan again.
“It’s not hot anymore,” she had said. “Drink it.”
Lü Qingyan had opened her mouth, swallowing the medicine. Bai Jingxue had fed her, spoonful by spoonful.
Even after finishing the medicine, Lü Qingyan’s gaze had remained fixed on Bai Jingxue.
Bai Jingxue hadn’t understood. Did the spoiled rich girl think she was a bad caretaker? No one had ever spoon-fed her medicine when she had been sick.
She had simply swallowed it all in one gulp.
Now, watching Er Ya, her demeanor calm and focused, Lü Qingyan couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia.
She approached Er Ya, her voice gentle. “What are you doing?”
Er Ya, her movements precise as she watered the plant, her gaze fixed on the delicate leaves, didn’t look up. “Watering the flowers,” she said.
Lü Qingyan settled beside her, her tail wagging. “They’re pretty,” she said. “What kind are they?”
Er Ya glanced at her, her expression blank. “I don’t know,” she said. “Someone gave them to me.”
Lü Qingyan wanted to ask who had given them to her, but she stopped herself. It was probably one of those horrible people who had abused her.
She didn’t want to bring back any painful memories.
She smiled, her voice cheerful. “I like flowers too,” she said. “Especially lilies. They’re so elegant.”
Er Ya didn’t respond.
Lü Qingyan, realizing she had made the atmosphere awkward, tried to think of a new topic of conversation. She noticed a small scar on Er Ya’s wrist.
“What happened to your wrist?” she asked, her voice gentle.
Er Ya glanced at the scar, then quickly hid her hand beneath her sleeve. “Nothing,” she said.
Lü Qingyan knew it wasn’t nothing. But she also knew that pushing Er Ya wouldn’t help.
She changed the subject. “Do you like animals?”
Er Ya’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of interest in her usually blank expression. “Yes,” she said. “Especially cats.”
Lü Qingyan grinned. “Me too! I used to be a cat.”
Er Ya stared at her, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You were a cat?”
“Yes,” Lü Qingyan said, her voice filled with a playful pride. “A very powerful cat.”
She then proceeded to regale Er Ya with tales of her adventures as a cat, exaggerating her feats, making herself sound like a legendary hero.
Er Ya, listening intently, her lips curving into a small smile, seemed to enjoy the stories.
Lü Qingyan, seeing that she had finally managed to connect with the child, her heart filled with a warmth she hadn’t expected, continued her tales, her voice animated, her gestures dramatic.
She had never been good with children, but she was determined to make Er Ya smile.
After all, she had been that lonely, neglected child once.
Holding onto this playful banter, Bai Jingxue chuckled. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked.
Lü Qingyan’s voice, hoarse from her fever, was unusually soft, her usual arrogance replaced by a vulnerability that tugged at Bai Jingxue’s heart. “No one has ever taken care of me like this,” she whispered.
Bai Jingxue was surprised. She had accepted this job for the money. Her family was poor, her parents favoring her brothers. They had been eager to marry her off, to use the dowry to support their sons.
If she hadn’t resisted, she might have already been married, her life consumed by childbirth and domestic duties, like the other girls in her village.
She had assumed that someone like Lü Qingyan, with her confident personality, had everything.
Her voice softened. “Your parents are just busy,” she said, tucking the blanket around Lü Qingyan. “It doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
Lü Qingyan shook her head vehemently. “They don’t love me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m the fifth child. They have six more children after me. They don’t even see me.”
Eleven children?! Her own family, with only three children, was already struggling.
Bai Jingxue was stunned. She had never known this. Eleven children…
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. Bai Jingxue stared at Lü Qingyan, her eyes red-rimmed, her heart aching.
Lü Qingyan coughed, sniffing back tears, her voice even weaker. “Once, on my birthday, they wrote the wrong name on my cake,” she whispered. “And it was my brother’s birthday.”
This was a new level of unhappiness. Bai Jingxue had never encountered such a situation.
Lü Qingyan continued, her voice filled with a childish petulance that had vanished. Bai Jingxue listened patiently, knowing she simply needed to vent.
She suddenly stopped, her eyes filled with a hesitant uncertainty. “Am I talking too much?” she asked.
She was a popular figure at their school. On her first day, she had gotten into a fight with a boy from another class, earning a reprimand from the principal.
But that hadn’t stopped her. She had continued to cause trouble, her reputation as a rebellious troublemaker spreading throughout the school.
But now, this fearless girl lay in bed, her usual arrogance replaced by a heartbreaking vulnerability, her voice filled with a fear of being a burden. It was a stark contrast.
Bai Jingxue realized that Lü Qingyan’s actions, though often impulsive, had always stemmed from good intentions. But as a student, her methods had been flawed.
She had gotten into that first fight because a boy from another class had found her confidence annoying. He had tried to attack her.
There had been no cameras, no witnesses. And Lü Qingyan, with her history of troublemaking, had been unable to defend herself against his accusations.
Her homeroom teacher had summoned her mother, and Lü Qingyan, standing outside the office, had been slapped the moment her mother had arrived.
It had been a loud slap, silencing the entire classroom.
Then, Lü Qingyan’s cries of pain and anger had mingled with her mother’s scolding.
But it had been during class. The lesson had continued, the teacher’s voice drowning out the sounds of their argument.
When Lü Qingyan had returned to her seat, the entire class had stared at her, their expressions a mix of amusement and pity.
Remembering that incident, Bai Jingxue glanced at Lü Qingyan’s left cheek. It had been swollen, the imprint of her mother’s hand clearly visible.
She reached out, her fingers tracing the faint scar, then quickly withdrew her hand, startled by the heat radiating from Lü Qingyan’s skin.
She wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Perhaps she simply wanted Lü Qingyan to be happy, not burdened by this pain.
She masked her emotions, forcing a smile. “No, you’re not talking too much,” she said. “It’s normal to want to talk about things that are bothering you.”
Lü Qingyan, finding her words too formal, regretted her emotional outburst. She burrowed deeper into the blankets, only her eyes visible.
She knew about Bai Jingxue’s family, about her struggles. She shouldn’t have burdened Bai Jingxue with her own problems.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said all that.”
Bai Jingxue had never seen Lü Qingyan so subdued. She couldn’t help but tease her. “You’re apologizing?” she asked, her voice laced with amusement. “That’s not like you. It’s strange.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze meeting Lü Qingyan’s. “If I were staring at you like this,” she said, “you would probably say, ‘What are you looking at?!’”
After that slap, when everyone had been staring at her, Bai Jingxue had glanced back, and Lü Qingyan, her eyes narrowed, had snapped, “What are you looking at?!”
Bai Jingxue, not wanting to cause trouble, had simply looked away, but now, she stared at Lü Qingyan, her gaze lingering on her face. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice soft.
Lü Qingyan’s face, hidden beneath the blankets, burned even brighter. Bai Jingxue gently pulled the blankets down, ensuring she could breathe, then said, “Get some rest.”
She took the empty medicine cup and left the room.
The door closed softly, and Lü Qingyan felt her cheeks burning even hotter.
She tossed and turned, her mind restless, but sleep eventually claimed her.
When she woke up, the sky was dark. She had slept for a long time. Her head throbbed. A bottle of pills and a small note lay on the bedside table, illuminated by the lamp.
She picked up the note, recognizing Bai Jingxue’s elegant handwriting.
I went to study. There are pills on the table and porridge in the kitchen. If it’s cold, heat it up. Don’t be lazy and eat it cold. I know you.
I understand what you said. But you’re still you. Some things, like your parents’ love, are beyond our control. Let it go.
But you have to love yourself. Didn’t you promise to get into the same university as me? Everyone said it was impossible, but you’re Lü Qingyan! You can do anything!
Prove them wrong!
Lü Qingyan stared at the note, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
She traced the words with her finger, imagining Bai Jingxue’s expression as she had written them, then carefully tucked the note away in her drawer.
She swallowed the pills, then went to the kitchen. A bowl of congee, with preserved egg and pork, sat on the counter. It was cold.
She lifted the lid, about to eat it, then remembered Bai Jingxue’s instructions.
She set down the spoon, placing the bowl in the microwave.
Beside the refrigerator hung a small calendar, and Lü Qingyan stared at the prominent heart marking Valentine’s Day, lost in thought.
There was a flower shop nearby. She finished her porridge in a hurry, then, still in her pajamas, rushed downstairs.
The flower shop was busy. The owner was clearly swamped, but seeing a potential customer, she set aside her scissors and approached Lü Qingyan. “Are you buying flowers for your boyfriend, little miss?” she asked, her voice cheerful.
Lü Qingyan shook her head. “I’m choosing a bouquet for my friend,” she said. “What kind of flowers do girls like?”
The owner, though confused, remained enthusiastic. “Roses are the best choice for Valentine’s Day,” she said.
Lü Qingyan didn’t think roses were appropriate. Their meaning was too direct. She wasn’t ready for that.
She coughed, then spotted a display of lilies. The owner, seeing her interest, quickly said, “Lilies are also a good choice. They symbolize a harmonious and lasting relationship.”
The phrase “harmonious and lasting” resonated with Lü Qingyan. She purchased ninety-nine lilies, asking the owner to arrange them into a bouquet.
When Bai Jingxue returned from her study session, she saw the bouquet of lilies in the corner. A pang of sadness struck her, but she quickly suppressed it, her voice teasing. “Who gave you these?” she asked. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know.”
Lü Qingyan blushed, then lied, her voice a nervous stammer. “I saw them downstairs and thought they were pretty, so I bought them.”
Bai Jingxue sensed something was amiss, but it was a personal matter. She didn’t pry. “You’re so impulsive,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.
She then went to take a shower.
Lü Qingyan, hearing the sound of running water, relaxed. She slumped onto the sofa, staring at the lilies, her heart filled with regret.
“What are you looking at, Sister Qingyan?”
Er Ya’s voice brought her back to the present.
She smiled, her gaze fixed on the white flowers in the pot, their shape similar to lilies. “Nothing,” she said, patting Er Ya’s head. “Come on, didn’t you say you wanted to tell me a story?”
Er Ya, her hand grasped firmly, couldn’t escape. But she needed time to prepare.
“Can we do it tomorrow, Sister Qingyan?”
“No, I want to hear it now.”
They bickered as they left the hallway, entering Lü Qingyan’s room.
Once they were gone, the white flowers in the pot slowly changed color, their petals turning a deep purple. A sweet, cloying scent filled the air.
Lü Qingyan provided Er Ya with paper and a brush, then sat back, watching as the girl struggled to write.
She loved teasing people, even if picking on a child wasn’t exactly a noble act.
“Write it down,” she said. “That way, I can reread it when I’m bored.”
Er Ya, seeing that the door was closed, no escape possible, resigned herself to her fate. She picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, then froze, her mind blank. She was about to tell Lü Qingyan that she couldn’t do it when she noticed Lü Qingyan’s expression: a mixture of shock and envy.
“You can write?!”
Er Ya, startled, her hand trembling, a drop of ink staining the paper, realized what had surprised Lü Qingyan. “One of my previous owners was a scholar,” she explained. “He taught me how to read and write.”
Lü Qingyan felt a surge of frustration. She felt like an illiterate fool. She had learned a lot since arriving in this world, but it seemed she was still less educated than a ten-year-old child.
But a scholar who taught a child how to read and write? Er Ya’s life with him must have been relatively pleasant.
Er Ya stared at the single line she had written, then lowered her head.
The scholar had only taught her out of boredom. He had bought her for a ritual. He had failed his imperial examinations multiple times and had resorted to a desperate measure.
There was a rumor in his village that offering a child under the age of five to the gods would grant one’s wishes.
But it hadn’t worked. The gods seemed to have been angered by his actions. He had been buried in a landslide.
The door opened, and Bai Jingxue, her expression neutral, entered the room. She had heard Lü Qingyan teasing Er Ya from the next room and had come to investigate. She wasn’t here to play the role of a mediator. She was simply curious.
She glanced at the paper, seeing the incomplete sentence, then her attention was drawn to the commotion outside.
Fang Xin, her face contorted with rage, her sword drawn, was about to storm downstairs, but Fang Yue Lian was holding her back.
“Sister, calm down!” Fang Yue Lian pleaded. “He’s from the Xuan Tian Sect! We can’t afford to offend them!”
Fang Xin, however, was furious. “I don’t care if he’s from the Xuan Tian Sect!” she shouted. “How dare he slander us! He claims we brought a cursed object into the city! I’ll show him what a curse really feels like!”
The commotion at the doorway had attracted Bai Jingxue and Lü Qingyan’s attention. They exchanged a look, then followed Fang Xin.
Bai Jingxue placed a hand on Fang Xin’s shoulder. “What happened?” she asked.
Fang Yue Lian, sighing, explained, “We just received an eviction notice from the city lord’s manor. A Xuan Tian Sect elder divined that we brought a cursed object into the city.”
Lü Qingyan, her temper flaring, was also outraged. They had entered the city peacefully, hadn’t done anything wrong. How could they be accused of carrying a cursed object?
She was about to join the fight, her guqin in hand, but Fang Yue Lian, already struggling to restrain Fang Xin, quickly grabbed her arm.
Bai Jingxue, closing her eyes, then opening them, her vision enhanced, scanned the people around them. There was no sign of a curse.
She closed her eyes again, then asked, “Is the Xuan Tian Sect known for divination?”
Fang Yue Lian, having finally managed to restrain both Fang Xin and Lü Qingyan, nodded. “Yes.”
Bai Jingxue thought for a moment. So they were like the Heavenly Secrets Pavilion in the future.
She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked down to see Er Ya staring at her.
“What is it?” she asked.
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