Chapter 117: Heavenly Fragrance

This remark made Chu Susu have to perk up. She bit the tip of her tongue, feeling a faint bloody taste spreading through her mouth.

The corridor ahead was unlit, a patch of darkness like a monster that could swallow someone whole.

People with albinism had very poor vision, and under such lighting, even Chu Susu’s usual 5.0 eyesight couldn’t see clearly. So how had Feng Zhilan seen it?

Moreover, the door had still been tightly shut when she said those words.

Thus, Chu Susu tilted her head curiously and asked, “Where’s the person?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Feng Zhilan shrank back, unable to give a proper explanation. Her body trembled, a bit scared.

Fortunately, up until Chu Susu led her into the house, they saw no suspicious shadows, so she dismissed it as a child babbling nonsense.

Since Feng Zhilan couldn’t be exposed to light, she drew the curtains tight, leaving only a small lamp lit, and led her to confirm the locations of the kitchen and bathroom:

“I’m so sleepy, I need some rest. The food’s right here—you play with Pipi for a bit, okay? Call me if anything comes up.”

Dogs naturally took to kids, and in just a few minutes, the two were playing together.

“Okay.”

The tension had vanished from Feng Zhilan’s face as she nodded obediently.

Chu Susu then returned to her room to sleep.

She slept for who knows how long—dreamless, steady, and deep.

Later, her phone’s ringtone jolted her awake. Picking it up, she saw several messages from Chu Qingyang asking how Feng Zhilan was settling in at home.

“Hold on.”

Chu Susu climbed out of bed, intending to check the living room. She sniffed the air and suddenly caught a familiar fragrance—like pumpkin lily porridge, and…

“Susu-jie, you’re awake?”

Someone outside spoke up, and upon hearing her footsteps, a small head poked in.

Nearly ten hours had passed; night had fallen again. Feng Zhilan looked full of energy as she waved at her.

Chu Susu halted, squinting at the little braid that had appeared on her head out of nowhere. “You tied your hair yourself?”

“Nope.” Feng Zhilan subconsciously touched the braid. “Another sister did it for me.”

Another sister?

Peering out, there was indeed someone by the dining table, neatly arranging plates brought out from the kitchen.

“Han Xuan-jie, Susu-jie is awake!” Feng Zhilan dashed out of the bedroom, excitedly announcing to her. “Let’s eat together!”

Chu Susu leaned against the wall, staring at the figure who had fully recovered—no trace of weakness left. Then she watched as that figure slowly turned her head.

“Susu.” Han Xuan gave a faint smile. “Hungry?”

Pipi and Feng Zhilan clustered around her. In that moment, the atmosphere felt incredibly warm, giving Chu Susu the sense that this was her own cozy little home.

The food’s aroma kept wafting into her nose, and her stomach let out an inevitable “gurgle.”

After a quick wash-up, they all sat down at the table—even Pipi, who perched on a chair, waiting for its dinner of dog food.

Every dish was one of her absolute favorites.

“You…” Chu Susu hesitated. She wanted to ask how Han Xuan was feeling now, but with the kid there, it wasn’t appropriate.

Yet Han Xuan understood.

Even from just that one word.

She smiled and shook her head, mouthing “I’m fine” while picking up a chopstick of stir-fried dried tofu and placing it in Feng Zhilan’s bowl.

“Wow, this smells so good.”

Little Zhilan’s mouth puffed out as she devoured it ravenously, leaving even Pipi looking a bit jealous.

Chu Susu didn’t usually eat dried tofu, but seeing how much Feng Zhilan enjoyed it made her appetite stir too.

Just as she reached for her chopsticks, though, Han Xuan subtly blocked her, then gave another faint shake of her head.

Chu Susu was baffled.

It wasn’t until after dinner, while they washed dishes together in the kitchen, that Han Xuan explained in a low voice, “That dish was meant for her.”

She extended her hand—her fingertip bore a small band-aid concealing a tiny wound.

“My blood’s in it.”

Chu Susu froze for a moment before realization dawned. The living room light had been on earlier.

She stared blankly at Feng Zhilan playing in the living room, finally noticing how her skin showed no reaction despite the prolonged exposure to light.

By rights, she should’ve been red and swollen from the allergy by now.

“Your… really cure her condition?” Chu Susu swallowed the word “blood” so Feng Zhilan wouldn’t overhear. “Rebecca said the same thing before—I thought the Hunter was just deceiving her.”

She hadn’t expected it to actually be true.

Han Xuan smiled and passed her a rinsed plate. “It can’t cure her completely, but it lets her live like a normal person for a while.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want anything to do with her.”

After all, Rebecca had targeted Han Xuan for her daughter’s sake.

That was Chu Susu for you—she wouldn’t vent her anger on an innocent child, but neither could she fully overlook Rebecca’s actions.

So her feelings toward Feng Zhilan were pretty complicated.

“No.” Han Xuan wiped the plate dry with a cloth. “I actually like her quite a bit. Zhilan can sense things others can’t see.”

Chu Susu fell silent, recalling what Feng Zhilan had said in the elevator on the way home. “Don’t tell me it was…”

Han Xuan kept her head lowered, her expression hidden. “Mm. Back then, the presence in the corridor was me.”

“…” Chu Susu shot her a glare. “You were trying to scare me?”

Han Xuan’s faint smile lingered. “I wouldn’t dare.”

…

Feng Zhilan tired out early, while Chu Susu had slept the whole day away. So at nine that evening, she magnanimously offered up her own bed.

Once the child was tucked under the covers, she suddenly opened her eyes, anxious. “Then what about you sisters? Won’t you have nowhere to sleep?”

“Don’t worry.” Chu Susu patted her head. “Han Xuan’s taking the sofa. I don’t need to sleep.”

She loosely shut the bedroom door and saw Han Xuan seated on the sofa, cradling a book from who-knows-where.

“You’re really all better now?” Chu Susu gave her an up-and-down look. “Shouldn’t you rest early?”

Han Xuan looked no different—lips red, teeth white, eyes clear—but to Chu Susu, she still exuded a weakness from the inside out.

At least that’s how it seemed to her.

Han Xuan gave no clear answer, merely gathering her hair. The stray strands framing her cheeks looked utterly gentle.

“Qiao Qian left today,” she said.

Chu Susu let out an “Ah,” then sat stunned for a long moment, realizing how fast time had flown.

Thirteen days had slipped by unnoticed.

No wonder Qiao Qian had seemed hesitant to speak at the mourning hall entrance—like she wanted to say goodbye.

“She chose to try again.”

The weight on Chu Susu’s heart lifted.

“That’s good,” she said slowly, then repeated it. “That’s good.”

They both leaned back on the sofa in silence.

Chu Susu glanced out the window at the moonless night, then turned to the person within arm’s reach and hooked her pinky finger.

Han Xuan gave her a questioning look.

“What I said at the mourning hall door wasn’t entirely fake.” She hooked their fingers tighter.

“Even now, you still won’t explain?”

Her fingertip rubbed back and forth over the thin callus from years of holding pens and brushes—slightly warm, slightly itchy.

Chu Susu paused, her eyes like ink melting in water, turning even darker and deeper under the night.

“I seemed to be asleep, but not fully unconscious. I heard you say… you’d tell me everything, just not right then.”

“Why exactly? You know I just want to find out as soon as possible what happened in those lost memories of mine.”

“Even if it was my own choice to forget.”

“So tell me it all.”

She spilled it all in one breath, only for Han Xuan to blink, her eyes still like gently flowing water—no ripples at all.

Instead, she leaned in, using her other hand to tuck a stray lock of Chu Susu’s hair behind her ear, then said something completely unrelated.

“Let’s go on a trip.”

Her lips pursed, and in an instant, her eyes burst with brilliant spring light. “To Yeyu. No magic, no Hunters—just like ordinary people, fly there and have fun.”

Chu Susu’s entire hand was suddenly clasped.

“I’ve been planning this for ages,” Han Xuan said, even breaking into a somewhat innocent smile. “The scenery’s beautiful. I can take tons of pretty photos for you, do some BBQ at the guesthouse. You won’t have to lift a finger—leave it all to me…”

“Han Xuan.”

Touched though she was, Chu Susu cut her off coldly:

“Can we save that for later? I can’t accept having amnesia, so until I figure it out, I’m not going anywhere.”

The spring in those purple eyes withered in a flash—fading, mottling, until nothing remained.

She heard Han Xuan murmur softly, “I see.”

A moment later, the now-cool palm settled back on Chu Susu’s hand, gradually warming again.

“Come with me,” Han Xuan said, a plea in her voice, brows furrowed and lashes fluttering.

“Come to Yeyu with me. I’ll tell you everything, bit by bit.”

“After it’s over, you’ll know everything.”

Chu Susu’s gaze shifted, only then realizing that what lay on Han Xuan’s lap wasn’t a book, but a neatly bound notebook.

Two small letters were written in the corner of the cover—”HX”.

It was clear Han Xuan usually took excellent care of it, yet even so, it couldn’t conceal the pages’ slight yellowing.

Clearly, this was another old diary.

Before Chu Susu could speak, Han Xuan seemed to know exactly what was on her mind. Her fingers flipped open the notebook to the first page, filled with neat handwriting.

She half-supported and half-pushed Chu Susu’s shoulders, letting her rest her head on her own thigh.

“If you want, I’ll read it to you.”

Han Xuan’s left hand held the notebook, her body trembling ever so slightly with reluctance.

Chu Susu had never seen her like this—it could even be called…

Afraid of something.

She suddenly sensed something off and hesitated to ask, but Han Xuan had already spoken.

The instant she opened her mouth, it felt like an invisible hand dragged her into a formless vortex.

One sentence after another lost its literal meaning, transforming into the scenes described in the diary, swirling around Chu Susu.

Everything felt so real, as if she had lived through it herself.

“March 5th, Rain.”