Chapter 27: “How Can Women Fall in Love with Women!”

Meng Bai almost blurted it out. Actually, she hadn’t wanted to come across as so shocked, but this really struck at a blind spot in her knowledge.

There was no helping it—the environment she’d grown up in had been like that.

In her world, the very idea didn’t exist. Not even a sliver of it.

“I’m asking you,” Miao Bai said, glancing sideways at Meng Bai with a serious look on her face. “Men can fall in love with women, so why can’t women fall in love with women? Has anyone in this world ever decreed that women can’t love other women?”

Miao Bai’s words tapped gently against Meng Bai’s mind, and suddenly something clicked into place.

Come to think of it, she had a point.

Just because Meng Bai had never seen it didn’t mean it couldn’t be real.

“That kinda makes sense,” Meng Bai said, scratching her head. “No one’s out there saying women can’t fall in love with women.”

From another angle, Meng Bai couldn’t picture herself falling for a man, but if she imagined a woman instead… it didn’t feel so off-putting.

Women left a much more comfortable impression on her overall. At least, most of the ones she’d met had been easy to get along with.

Like Miao Bai, for instance.

At that thought, Meng Bai couldn’t resist stealing a glance at her—only for their eyes to lock perfectly.

The moment their gazes met, Meng Bai’s heart gave a heavy thud.

What an odd feeling.

Was something wrong with her head? The more she looked at Miao Bai, the prettier she seemed.

“So if I liked women, would you think I was some kind of monster?”

“No way,” Meng Bai shot back right away. The word “monster” could never fit Miao Bai. “Never. I’d even support you if you fell for a puppy.”

The words were rough around the edges, but the sentiment rang true—and Miao Bai found an unexpected comfort in Meng Bai’s knee-jerk support.

Finally.

There was finally someone in the world who didn’t see her as a freak.

“For real?”

“For real,” Meng Bai said, putting on her most solemn face. “Anyone who lies is a puppy!”

The corners of Miao Bai’s mouth curved up just a touch, as if Meng Bai’s answer had caught her off guard.

Meng Bai noticed the smile. “What’s got you so happy?”

“You’re the first person who’s ever said me loving a woman isn’t a sin.”

Meng Bai thought she was blowing it out of proportion. “A sin? What’s sinful about falling in love?”

Miao Bai went quiet.

She came to a stop, and the two of them stood there in the street. The road stretched on endlessly ahead—who knew how much longer it would take to get home.

“It was a sin,” Miao Bai murmured. “Back then, it was.”

Her mind drifted back years, though many of the details had grown fuzzy.

All she could clearly recall was that day, when crowds had gathered around the Old Courtyard, their eyes burning like they wanted to flay the skin from her bones and rip out her heart.

Meng Bai’s voice pulled her back. “Back then? How long ago?”

Miao Bai looked down at her, her expression softening a little. “A long time ago. Ancient history, really—not worth bringing up.”

“And in the end, you and her—”

“We broke up. She couldn’t handle how everyone stared, so she suggested we go our separate ways.” Miao Bai let out a sigh. It was so far in the past now that even talking about it brought no pain. “That’s when I started wandering.”

“Wandering?”

“It’s not something I can sum up in a sentence or two.” Miao Bai shook her head. “Anyway, it’s late. We should head back.”

Meng Bai glanced up at the sky. The pitch-black night had robbed her of any sense of time.

She’d completely lost track of the hour.

Part of her wanted to pry for more details, but Miao Bai clearly had no interest in dredging up the past.

It felt like a premonition of something unhappy.

So Meng Bai kept her mouth shut.

“Alright, let’s go home.”

~~~

She rarely experienced the world in the dead of night.

The whole world was asleep—not even a whisper of wind.

On the way home, Meng Bai grew drowsy. She’d planned to push through, but exhaustion won out, and her eyelids soon drooped…

“Miao Bai, I’m so sleepy.”

“It’s okay. Come here—rest in my arms. Go ahead and sleep.”

“Okay.” Meng Bai reached out, wrapping her arms around Miao Bai’s waist as she nestled fully into her embrace.

The rush of the wind faded into her dreams.

Before long, Meng Bai’s eyes drifted shut.

Twenty minutes later, they reached their destination.

Miao Bai helped Meng Bai back to the room and lifted her onto the bed.

Steady breaths brushed past her ears.

There on the narrow bed, Meng Bai lay curled on her side, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow. Her soft form pressed into the bedding, arms wrapped around herself in a slight hunch.

She must have been utterly worn out that day; she’d fallen asleep fast and was sleeping soundly.

Ever thoughtful, Miao Bai slipped off Meng Bai’s shoes.

Meng Bai’s feet were soft and petite, her toes pale and delicately boned. Miao Bai held them gently before tucking them under the quilt.

With everything in place, Miao Bai stood by the bedside, gazing down at her.

There was a youthful fragility to her beauty.

How old was she again? Seventeen, on the verge of turning eighteen—Miao Bai thought that’s what she’d said.

She didn’t quite seem like a little kid, though.

There was a vibrant energy about her, the fresh tenderness of a girl in her late teens, lacking a mature woman’s poise but brimming with a pure, exquisite charm.

Her beauty was so straightforward, all thanks to that face. Her features were exceptional, her skin a flawless, translucent white.

Miao Bai watched her for a moment and decided what she liked best were Meng Bai’s lips and her nose.

“Sweet dreams,” Miao Bai murmured, reaching out to brush her fingertip against Meng Bai’s forehead. Just as she gave two light taps, Meng Bai’s eyes fluttered open.

Hazy with sleep, her thick lashes parted to reveal irises like moonlight over water, pupils clear as a serene lake.

“Miao Bai,” Meng Bai mumbled softly, still half-dazed. “Are we home?”

“Mm.” Miao Bai’s finger settled on her forehead at last. “Sweet dreams?”

“What about you?” Meng Bai reached out, giving Miao Bai’s sleeve a gentle tug. “Like yesterday—stay with me for a bit, okay?”

Okay.

Not okay.

But how do you tell her that?

Miao Bai couldn’t say the words.

Seeing Meng Bai in that bleary, not-quite-awake state softened her resolve, and she found herself agreeing once more.

It was a long night, after all. Nothing else to do.

The moment Miao Bai lay down on the little bed, she realized she’d somehow taken on a new role: sleep aid.

“You’ve gotta have tons of stories to tell me, Miao Bai,” Meng Bai said, draping one hand over Miao Bai’s shoulder and giving it a light scratch. “So tell me one.”

“What kind of stories could I possibly—”

“I want to hear.”

“Nothing much to tell.” Miao Bai sighed. “Sigh, fine, I’ll ramble a bit then.”

Once upon a time, there was an old courtyard—that was how Miao Bai began.

Meng Bai closed her eyes, clearly pleased with this soothing, hypnotic opening.

Miao Bai went on: In that courtyard lived a family, headed by the master of the house and his wife.

In those days, the master came from a wealthy household, but his family line wasn’t exactly thriving. It took years before they had a son, and another five years after that for a second child—a girl.

The day the daughter was born, servants from top to bottom in the household were thrilled beyond measure.

They knew that with a daughter in the family, the master would be delighted, and when the master was happy, peace reigned over the entire courtyard.

At this point, Miao Bai paused and softly asked if Meng Bai had fallen asleep.

The response came: “And then?”

“And then—”

The girl, of course, grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her father doted on her education, making sure she mastered music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. She developed a proud, aristocratic temperament.

In time, the girl grew up.

It happened to coincide with the craze for studying abroad. Well-to-do families couldn’t get enough of it, sending their children off to places like France, Germany, and Japan—everyone was clamoring to join in.

When the girl turned sixteen, her father pulled some strings to arrange for her to study overseas.

“Study abroad, huh.” Meng Bai perked up. “That’s not our era, is it—”

She remembered reading about it in history books, back in the late Qing or early Republic days.

Miao Bai nodded. “It’s just a story. Pretend it is.” She smiled again. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Oh, and then?”

“And then, in the summer right before the girl was due to leave, an opera troupe came to town.” Miao Bai spoke in a gentle, measured tone and asked Meng Bai, “Ever heard of the opera Hundred Flowers Pavilion? It’s about Yang Guifei. Though I doubt your generation would have.”

“Nope, never.” Meng Bai swallowed hard. She was exhausted, but Miao Bai’s story had her hooked—she was dying to know what came next. “And then? And then?”

“One night, a woman from Beijing performed Hundred Flowers Pavilion. Her voice and poise were flawless, utterly captivating. That evening, the girl was completely enchanted by her.”

Hearing this, a sudden tightness gripped Meng Bai’s chest.

The story felt so real. Was Miao Bai just that good a storyteller, or was there truth to it?

“And then?”

“And then, through some inexplicable twist of fate, they crossed paths a few times, and the girl fell in love with that dan-role actress.”

“Ah…” Meng Bai clutched the blanket tighter. “So you’re telling me a story about a girl falling in love with a woman.”

“It wasn’t love.” Miao Bai swallowed, her voice dropping low. “One of them never loved at all. She was the one who first cast flirtatious glances, but she was also the one who chose to walk away.”

“So, did the girl end up going abroad?” For some reason, that was what Meng Bai cared about most.

Pursuing her studies would have been the smart choice, surely. Love could wait.

“No.”

In the pitch-black little room, Meng Bai heard a sigh that draped the night in melancholy.

“Why? Wasn’t she all set to go?”

“She was meant to. But then she died.”

It left Meng Bai feeling low. “What about the woman from Beijing, the opera singer?”

“She married a wealthy merchant.”

“That’s way too tragic.” Meng Bai rubbed her toes together under the covers, a sour feeling in her heart. She pressed on: “The girl didn’t do anything wrong. Why did she have to die? The story’s just drenched in sorrow—it’s hard to swallow.”

“But she did die.” Miao Bai said simply.

“How? Lovers’ suicide?”

“No, she drowned.” With that, Miao Bai gave Meng Bai’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Wasn’t I supposed to lull you to sleep? How are you getting more awake?”

Meng Bai let out a chuckle. “Your story’s too gripping.”

“Sleep now, or dawn will be here before you know it.”

Meng Bai yawned. It had to be two or three in the morning.

She had school tomorrow.

“Alright, I really need to crash.” Meng Bai patted Miao Bai’s hand lightly. “You sleep too. This bed’s plenty big for both of us—no need to head home. Even immortals have to rest sometimes.”

Miao Bai let out a soft laugh.

Sometimes Meng Bai said things that just made her smile, though she couldn’t say why.

The charm of youth, maybe. Words tumbling out freely, full of life, laced with that quirky, offbeat humor.

Miao Bai rather liked people like that.

“Did you hear me? Keep this up, and I’ll start thinking you really are an immortal.”

Miao Bai didn’t argue. “Mm, I heard.”

Meng Bai rolled onto her back, flat on the bed, eyes shut, and exhaled a long breath.

“Oh, Miao Bai—before I drift off, one more thing—”

“Mm?”

“Next time you tell me a story about two women, can it have a happy ending? Or make one up—give the girl a reliable partner or something?”

“Can’t come up with one.” Miao Bai fell silent for a couple of seconds. “If you want it that badly, you’ll have to make it up yourself.”