Chapter 42: At the Purest Age, Happiness Always Seems So Simple

Meng Bai hopped onto the bicycle Meng Xingzhong had bought her and sped along the country road under the night sky.

The little stones by the roadside kissed the wheels with enthusiasm, turning the bumpy ride into pure joy.

The familiar field ridges and breeze, the faint chill of encroaching autumn, and the thick osmanthus scent permeating the September air.

Perhaps it was because she loved the birthday gift from Meng Xingzhong and Lin Li so much.

Right now, Meng Bai’s spirits were soaring so high she felt like she could take flight.

The small town wasn’t so bad—at least in this moment, she still loved it here.

After riding a big loop outside, Meng Bai turned back the way she had come at a leisurely pace.

Meng Xingzhong and Lin Li stood in the courtyard by the front door, watching her approach.

“Like it?” Meng Xingzhong asked.

“Love it!” Meng Bai hopped off the bicycle and walked it alongside her with one hand.

Lin Li smiled and complimented her. “You’ve grown taller again. At first glance, you look like a proper young lady now.”

Meng Xingzhong chimed in. “You bet. She’s eighteen already! When I was eighteen, I’d been working at the factory for two years and was already a full-timer.”

What passed for idle chatter always carried an undercurrent of quiet affection.

Afterward, Meng Bai wheeled the bike into the main room, admiring it over and over. She barely touched her soup, her mind entirely on the bicycle.

Lin Li prodded her to go bathe. “Enough looking! Go wash up—you’re covered in sweat from riding.”

Meng Bai snapped out of it, suddenly realizing fifteen minutes had already passed.

Miao Bai was still waiting in the room.

When she dashed inside, Miao Bai was lying on the bed reading a book.

The room was dimly lit, the soft goose-yellow glow casting a warm light over Miao Bai. Her features were sharply defined, her lips and nose especially striking. A cascade of long black hair fell along her cheek to her shoulder, lending her an aloof beauty in the muted light that was hard to put into words.

Meng Bai shut the door behind her and whispered, “Sorry, I went out riding the bicycle!”

Miao Bai lifted her eyelids lazily, her tone casual. “No big deal. We’re in no rush.” She held up the book’s cover for Meng Bai to see—Stray Birds, the one they’d talked about last time.

Meng Bai hurried to the bedside and reached for the box underneath. “Then I’ll go wash up. I’m all sweaty and probably smell.”

Miao Bai glanced sideways at her, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Go ahead. Make sure you’re nice and fragrant—clean is even better for sleeping.”

Meng Bai’s hand shook just a little as she grabbed her T-shirt, a flutter like butterfly wings brushing her heart.

She hurriedly gathered her change of clothes. “Okay, I’m off.”

Her steps were rushed, though she couldn’t say exactly why she felt so nervous.

Bathing on an autumn evening was chilly.

At home, they poured hot water into a bucket and ladled it over themselves with a cup the size of a fist, so on cooler days it was best to hurry—the water lost heat fast.

But tonight, Meng Bai lingered a bit longer than usual.

There was only one reason: Miao Bai had said to be fragrant.

Standing in the cramped space, Meng Bai’s smooth shoulders bared to the air, her shoulder blades straight and even, her skin gleaming white wherever it showed.

That fresh, budding beauty nearly set the night ablaze, though she herself had no idea.

As she poured the hot water over her body, each glance downward revealed the marks of her changing figure.

Pink and tender, like little cherry blossoms amid the snow.

She lathered up with soap three times, determined to be utterly fragrant from head to toe.

Only a fragrant version of herself could match Miao Bai’s fragrance.

It was half an hour later when she finally emerged. Meng Xingzhong and Lin Li had already retired to their room. The bicycle alone remained parked in the main room.

Dressed in a long T-shirt and shorts, Meng Bai padded toward her room, chilled to the bone after just those few steps.

Before going in, she knocked lightly on the door—even though it felt a little strange.

Miao Bai, predictably, didn’t respond.

Two seconds later, Meng Bai pushed the door open.

The light in the room seemed to converge on her at once. Miao Bai set her book aside.

“All done?” Her gaze settled on Meng Bai.

Meng Bai’s shorts drew Miao Bai’s eyes naturally to her legs.

Slender and straight, with beautifully fluid lines. Her gaze traveled upward to a slim waist loosely draped in the oversized T-shirt, making her look even more delicate.

Freshly bathed, she carried a crisp, clean scent. Her features were refined, a few stray locks falling across her forehead, her clear eyes fixed on Miao Bai with a pure, untainted beauty.

Miao Bai couldn’t resist lingering on the sight, thinking to herself: What a little beauty she’s turning into.

“So cold!” Meng Bai shivered as she shuffled toward Miao Bai in her slippers.

Miao Bai lifted the quilt. “Get in here before you freeze.”

Meng Bai burrowed under the covers, trying to snuggle up to Miao Bai for warmth—only to jerk back a second later.

“Hiss—you’re even colder!” Meng Bai retreated. “Like ice.”

Miao Bai: “…”

Meng Bai pulled the quilt tight around herself and grinned. “Forgot you don’t have any body heat.”

“Who says I don’t?” Miao Bai sounded miffed. “I can get as warm as you like.”

She fished Meng Bai’s hand out from under the covers and clasped it gently. “It’ll warm up bit by bit.”

The once-icy palm gradually heated, the warmth spreading from Meng Bai’s own heart outward.

Miao Bai had become the warm Miao Bai.

“You can heat up!”

Just how many secrets did Miao Bai’s body hold?

A smile played at the corners of Miao Bai’s lips. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Emboldened, Meng Bai scooted closer, lightly tugging at her clothes as she whispered, “Can I hug you, then?”

Her voice was soft, quivering just a touch with uncertainty, though the eager light in her eyes was impossible to hide.

“Aren’t you already?” Miao Bai teased.

“I want to hold you tighter. You’re so toasty—like a little furnace.”

“Suit yourself.”

Meng Bai reached out and gently encircled Miao Bai’s waist.

Up close like this, Miao Bai smelled divine. And how was her waist so slim? Holding her felt incredible.

“Miao Bai…”

“Hm?”

“You still haven’t told me that story. About the Old Courtyard—why do they call it the old lady’s story?”

“Oh, that.” Miao Bai’s eyes narrowed slightly, her voice softening. “Your dad wasn’t wrong. There really was a lunatic in that courtyard back then—but it wasn’t me.”

“Not you?”

“She’s a maid from the Miao Family.” Miao Bai paused, then added, “To be precise, she was my maid.”

The maid was named A Yun, and by now she was indeed very old.

Back then, after Miao Bai’s death, the Miao Family underwent earth-shattering changes. First Old Master Miao passed away in grief, then her brother died while conducting business far from home.

It was like a curse: some died, others vanished, and the family’s fortunes withered like a decaying flower, never to bloom again.

The Miao Family was left only with women—that is, Miao Bai’s mother—and at first a handful of servants lingered. Later even Miao Bai’s mother passed away, the servants departed, and the courtyard stood empty save for A Yun.

The reason A Yun became known as the Lunatic was Miao Bai.

She harbored deep feelings for Miao Bai. Setting aside the divide of master and servant, the two had grown up together like sisters.

Naturally, she couldn’t accept the news of Miao Bai’s death. After Miao Bai drowned, her mind unraveled.

The year Miao Bai returned, A Yun was utterly deranged, scavenging scraps to eat and drink from the streets while weeds choked the courtyard in desolation.

The townsfolk mostly despised her, yet pitied her too, and would occasionally toss her food.

“After I came back, I finally sorted out her food and shelter. She was quite mad, prone to lashing out and hitting people. In her old age, her mind wandered terribly, and she’d turn vicious even on me. But whenever she struck, she’d mutter: ‘Let go of Miss Miao, you bad people, all of you bad people—I’ll beat you dead!’”

Meng Bai’s heart twisted. “So you’re not living alone in the courtyard?”

Miao Bai nodded, then shook her head. She frowned, struggling to put the tangled emotions into words, but could only sigh in the end. “It’s even harder than being alone.”

Meng Bai stared at Miao Bai, the sorrow etched in her brows stirring a pang of empathy within her.

What if Zhou An turned into a lunatic, no longer recognizing her, lashing out wildly at everyone, impossible to rein in? It would be utterly exhausting.

“The one silver lining was how long she lived.” Miao Bai paused, then added, “Though for her, a long life hardly seemed a blessing.”

“When did A Yun pass away?”

“Five years ago.”

She died of old age. In her final days, she grew eerily quiet—no rages, no outbursts, no violence. She simply sat in the courtyard all day, lost in a vacant stare.

Sometimes Miao Bai would speak to her, and she’d merely lift her eyes to gaze at Miao Bai.

Saying nothing, perhaps unwilling or unable to speak.

She had grown old. She had grown quiet.

The day she died, a torrential downpour lashed the town in silence; no one knew. Miao Bai handled the funeral arrangements meticulously, though the burial plot proved tricky.

It required proof of the deceased’s identity, but A Yun had none—just like Miao Bai, a wanderer adrift in the world.

Money, however, makes anything possible.

Everything was settled with cash. A Yun became an unnamed old grandmother, Miao Bai her granddaughter. The funeral passed quietly but without a hitch.

“And after that?”

“Afterward, when the Lunatic stopped showing up around town, curiosity drew some folks to the courtyard. They peeked through the door cracks; a few even scaled the walls. I’ve always craved peace, so I leaned into it: donned A Yun’s clothes and pelted every intruder.”

Meng Bai let out a soft chuckle. “With walnuts?”

Miao Bai inclined her head. “Mm, walnuts. A few tosses, and they stopped coming.”

Miao Bai went on to share countless little details, and time slipped away unnoticed.

Stories of Miao Bai, of A Yun—they all rang with tragedy.

Yet Miao Bai’s own tragedy wasn’t absolute, though pinning it down felt impossible.

“Miao Bai.” Meng Bai nestled a little closer into her embrace, shy yet resolute, Miao Bai’s hair tickling her cheek. In a quiet voice, she murmured, “It doesn’t matter that there’s no A Yun left in this world. I’ll stay with you. Just… please don’t vanish from it yourself, all right?”

Meng Bai’s words lingered in the cramped room.

She gazed at Miao Bai, awaiting her answer.

But Miao Bai fell silent for a long stretch, unable to grant her wish. “I can’t answer that.”

In the next instant, stillness enveloped them both.

Meng Bai heard a faint ticking, emanating from Miao Bai’s chest.

“What’s that sound?”

Miao Bai drew a pocket watch from her bosom. It was a flip-cover style in genuine antique bronze, larger than a coin, adorned with intricate carvings of ten interlocking, swirling jasmine blossoms that evoked a profound vintage charm.

Masterfully crafted, it looked immensely valuable—a treasure for any collector.

With a gentle flick of her finger, Miao Bai popped open the cover, and the second hand ticked steadily onward.

She fixed her eyes on the hands, counting down: “10, 9, 8… 2, 1.”

When hour and minute hands converged at twelve, Miao Bai snapped the cover shut and offered it to Meng Bai.

“For you.”

The copper case settled coolly into her palm, sending a shiver through Meng Bai’s heart. A subtle wave of emotion swelled within her, stars igniting in her eyes.

“For me?”

Miao Bai’s lips curved into a smile as she nodded. “Happy birthday, Meng Bai.”