She geared up once more to set out.
Last time, they had gone out for a farewell. This time, it was to leave something better behind.
The hurricane wrapped rain in its grip, violently battering the window glass.
Gan Xun gazed at the tree shadows torn by the gale and checked if the clothes drying on the balcony had dried.
She also waited for Zhao Chiyun in the room to change clothes.
When living alone, Gan Xun did not like going out frequently. On days off at home, she would save up her errands and handle them all at once.
Going out involved a lot of hassle.
She had to change clothes, tidy herself up, and sometimes ran into rude or prying neighbors.
It was also all too easy to carelessly spend a chunk of money.
But when Zhao Chiyun said “I want to get a haircut” or “You don’t even understand this,” Gan Xun agreed without a single complaint.
In Gan Xun’s heart, this was no sacrifice or anything special. She had been the same way with Cui Can. In the end, Gan Xun was not a shut-in; she was willing to accompany her friends with anything.
She did not have many friends, and she cherished them.
She cherished getting to know Zhao Chiyun too. Zhao Chiyun only had her now.
The eye of the typhoon was like a robber full of heinous crimes, pillaging city after city.
Zhao Chiyun saw videos of the related disasters, and her expression grew somewhat sorrowful.
Only after seeing the videos did she realize what life was like for the common folk in Mirror Country during disasters.
Even the upper class in feudal times were not all cold-hearted, treating lives like ants.
They held sacrifices every year, praying for favorable weather, peace for the people, and prosperity. In years of abundance, celebrations spread across the land. In times of disaster and hardship for the people, those above and below fretted together, mobilizing all efforts for relief. Even the emperor issued edicts of self-blame.
Gan Xun strongly suspected some beautification in that account but did not interrupt. She listened very patiently.
Zhao Chiyun had never had the chance to review the memorials reporting disasters. By the time the news reached her ears, it was just a few scant lines.
It seemed like nothing serious, and neither her mother nor Father King would let her worry about such things.
Now she finally knew what the true face of a disaster looked like.
And this was already in a place where people had heaven-defying abilities and countless immortal arts.
The rain fell nearly madly. They had just stepped out when the umbrella Gan Xun held nearly got swept away.
Zhao Chiyun observed Gan Xun’s expression. She did not fly into a rage. Even when the umbrella snapped and the wind and rain pelted her face, she only showed a helpless but expected smile.
She even spared a glance at Zhao Chiyun, as if hoping this dishevelment had not been noticed.
A bit foolish, but not stupid.
The brightness in her brows and eyes carried a fragmented sense of shattering.
The usually unreliable property management staff in the neighborhood were hurrying to take countermeasures. When they saw them, they loudly asked what they were doing out now.
Their tone was quite aggressive.
Zhao Chiyun went cold-faced on the spot. Fortunately, when she got close, she remembered Gan Xun’s words and did not shout “Insolent!”
She only replied coldly: “Getting a haircut.”
She considered it entirely natural, with no psychological burden at all.
But she saw Gan Xun show an apologetic look and warmly explain to the others: “We’re just going to the salon at the neighborhood entrance. We’ll head straight back after.”
As if they were troubling someone. Zhao Chiyun did not understand it and did not like it.
Gan Xun said gently: “They just want us to be safe.”
Zhao Chiyun quieted down.
Thinking again of those videos, she also realized her own thoughts had been too simplistic. “Therefore, we shouldn’t have come out on this trip.”
Gan Xun laughed instead. Her laughter rang out refreshingly amid the typhoon’s howl: “We’ve come this far. No point thinking about turning back now.”
The situation was still manageable at the moment. Plenty of people were still at work, and there were still pedestrians and vehicles on the road.
The staff were just doing their duty in asking. Their harsh tone came from heavy workloads and exhaustion that day. Gan Xun understood, so she communicated politely.
But she could understand Zhao Chiyun’s displeasure too, and she did not think Zhao Chiyun was wrong in any way. It had been her decision to go out.
Because once the typhoon truly arrived, who knew what the conditions would be like.
She did not want to help Zhao Chiyun wash her beautiful hair.
Gan Xun had thought that this haircut would leave the pampered little County Princess at least a bit sentimental.
Theory was one thing; seeing one’s beloved hair fall to the ground right before one’s eyes was another. Not to mention the ancient taboos against cutting hair—not even Gan Xun as a child had liked haircuts.
She had loved braiding her hair, but long hair needed care, and her family had no patience for it, so they often cut it boyishly short.
Gan Xun would cry hysterically each time, though no one paid her any mind.
By a certain age, when she was no longer so fragile, she calmly accepted it. And by another age, when she could manage it herself, she gained the freedom to grow it out.
When she saw how well Zhao Chiyun’s hair was kept, she knew how many people had loved her.
But it seemed she was the only one regretting it now.
Zhao Chiyun remained unperturbed, still reading a brief history of modern hairdressing on the bookshelf while admiring the neighbor’s freshly dyed hair.
The lady next door was no simple character either. She looked around forty, heading out early on a typhoon day just to spend hours on her hair here.
Zhao Chiyun raised her hand and effortlessly beckoned Gan Xun over.
Seeing her hesitate to speak, Gan Xun bent down. She leaned to Gan Xun’s ear, her warm breath mingling with the scent of shampoo, like a butterfly deliberately burrowing into Gan Xun’s body.
She asked: “If I dyed it this color, would it look strange?”
Zhao Chiyun’s expression was utterly innocent. Before Gan Xun even heard what she said, she inexplicably felt a spark of joy—Zhao Chiyun only ever talked to her at length.
Once she made out the words, she sighed inwardly. She had not even learned to walk yet, and here she was asking how to jump farther.
She could hardly imagine Zhao Chiyun with yellow hair and shook her head firmly: “Way too abrupt. It wouldn’t suit Your Highness’s noble status at all.”
Zhao Chiyun did not catch any issue with the flattery and was quite pleased.
Her eyes still held envy, though. She flipped through the colorful pages in her hand. The modern world was truly wonderful—women could dress themselves however they liked.
Gan Xun appealed to reason: “You have to consider one thing. What if one day the chance comes and you wake up back there? How would you explain this hair?”
“Don’t get burned as a demon.”
“Alarmist talk.”
It made sense, so Zhao Chiyun adopted the advice.
The hairdresser cut off fully half the length of Zhao Chiyun’s hair. In Mirror Country, that would have been a capital offense of great disrespect, even if Zhao Chiyun permitted it.
Her hair now barely reached her shoulders, falling around her butterfly bones.
The striking dark locks rustled to the floor, while that stunning yet not bewitching countenance gained a light, ethereal beauty amid its classical charm.
When she stood, Zhao Chiyun paused unaccustomedly for a moment.
Her shoulders felt so much lighter that she did not know how to balance herself to walk in her usual stride.
She looked at herself in the mirror—unfamiliar clothes and hairstyle.
She recalled the day of her coming-of-age rite, when her mother had combed her hair. The girl in the bronze mirror had been bright and youthful, and her mother’s temples still held no white strands.
When the first lock fell to the ground, her fingers clenched fiercely inside her shirt sleeve, feeling as if her heart bled. Gan Xun was right—her hair was precious beyond measure to her.
She had considered calling a halt, but Gan Xun was not at her side.
She glanced at Gan Xun by the door, fixing the umbrella against the endless wind and rain, and held her tongue.
In such weather, she did not want Gan Xun to have accompanied her for nothing.
Zhao Chiyun was the last customer in the shop. The staff had all clocked out.
The owner tidied up to head home, smiling as he said: “If it weren’t for you two, I definitely wouldn’t have cut today. I’d have told you to come back in a couple days.”
Hearing this, Zhao Chiyun showed an expression like she very much wanted to tip silver but realized she had no money and had to hold back.
Puddles were nearly overflowing. Gan Xun was prepared; she wore outdoor slippers, and she had gotten sandals ready for Zhao Chiyun.
The intention was that stepping in water would be fine, but Zhao Chiyun insisted on wearing a pair of pink cushioned socks inside the sandals.
No need to dwell on the sight—Gan Xun could not bear to look.
Now Gan Xun splashed into the water and turned back to ask if she was coming.
Zhao Chiyun cherished her shoes and socks, her expression utterly wrecked: “This filthy water is too dirty. I can’t step in it.”
Gan Xun soothed her: “Easy now. It’s just a few steps. Get wet, change when we get back. Rinse off the grime in a bath, and it’ll be clean.”
Zhao Chiyun’s County Princess temperament flared; she absolutely refused to wade through.
In the end, with no other choice, Gan Xun said: “I’ll carry you on my back. You hold the umbrella.”
“Alright.”
Zhao Chiyun agreed without a second’s hesitation.
It made Gan Xun feel she had intended this from the start, and she herself had been too dense not to realize.
The terrain inside the Garden Neighborhood was slightly higher, so the flooding was only on this stretch of road.
Zhao Chiyun’s body was very soft and light, but carrying such a long person was no easy task for Gan Xun. She could only grit through it with willpower, trudging onward with difficulty.
Winds and rains dark as dusk, the County Princess heavy as a mountain.
“Watch the road. Don’t drop me.”
Zhao Chiyun was quite concerned for her.
Some people were just born to exploit others.
Gan Xun’s arms, propping up two legs, were soaked with rain, sleeves included.
Meanwhile, Zhao Chiyun, afraid of her back getting wet, tilted the umbrella straight backward, drenching Gan Xun’s front as well.
Gan Xun was just about to say “Hold the umbrella straight” when she clearly felt the other’s rapid heartbeat against her back.
She thought Zhao Chiyun must be uncomfortable too, maybe even scared.
She also thought with such fierce wind, the umbrella would let in rain no matter how it was held.
So she said nothing.
When she set Zhao Chiyun down, Gan Xun felt a vague surge of heroism.
She recalled how Zhao Chiyun had once teasingly called her a living Bodhisattva.
The stairwell carried a damp musty smell. Gan Xun left a wet footprint with every step. Even then, she felt a bit self-conscious and did not let herself gasp wildly.
Once home, Gan Xun’s first move was to rinse her feet in the bathroom, dry them, and change into slippers.
Though cautious, Zhao Chiyun’s shoes and socks were still soaked.
She took off the pink socks and looked at her toes, slightly pale from the rain, a misty sorrow rising in her heart.
How utterly disheveled.
These days, she had not dared let her thoughts wander too far. Without her, how heartbroken must her family be.
Did they still have the elegance for night outings this summer?
Zhao Chiyun longed to send a dream back, to tell them she was fine, to take care of themselves, and that they would meet again someday.
And her—had she come to no harm? If unharmed, did she grieve too?
Having been led back today, Zhao Chiyun suddenly harbored a extravagant hope: perhaps the abnormal weather was heaven’s will, and it would send her back again.
It had rained heavily the day she arrived here too.
She had insisted on going out that afternoon with that in mind.
But after the outing, there was no sign at all.
She had been abandoned here.
She held back her tears, burying the grief of losing her family and her hair together. She looked up and saw Gan Xun, nearly soaked through, holding a bath towel and clothes ready for her.
“Want to wash up?”
“What’s wrong?”
Gan Xun saw Zhao Chiyun sitting there, listless as if feverish, her movements all slowed.
She had already rinsed her feet and arms, dried off, found clean clothes to change into, yet Zhao Chiyun had only just finished taking off her socks and had not even put on her house slippers.
When Gan Xun called her, she looked up, her eyes shifting from gray to bright. Gan Xun thought she had imagined it.
Zhao Chiyun smiled and said she was a bit hungry. Gan Xun breathed a sigh of relief.
The two took turns showering. As Gan Xun prepared to make dinner, the lights in the house went out, and the air conditioner stopped running.
Zhao Chiyun flicked the light switch twice and frowned at Gan Xun: “Why?”
“Power outage.”
Only then did Gan Xun see the message forwarded by the landlord: Garden Neighborhood was out of power due to a fault. It might not be fixed until tomorrow afternoon.
With the wind and rain raging, far off in the lower areas, flooding was already starting to take hold.
This year was too strange. July had not even arrived, and such a typhoon would never have hit in past years.
On second thought, with an ancient person living in her home, what was strange about a bit of natural phenomenon?
Fortunately, Gan Xun had the foresight. She had a rechargeable desk lamp at home. She turned it on and placed it on the coffee table.
Zhao Chiyun sat under the light in her pajamas, her smooth calves exposed, a mole on the side of one knee.
Gan Xun admired her own eyesight—it was even sharper than usual in this light.
She was about to speak to Zhao Chiyun when she suddenly noticed something off.
She seemed to have forgotten to get her underwear.
She did not wear any under pajamas.
Zhao Chiyun usually did, but with how rushed they had been coming back today, she had forgotten to grab it for her.
Somehow, Zhao Chiyun had not mentioned it either and just came out like that.
Gan Xun awkwardly shifted her gaze away.
With the air conditioner stopped, the room quickly grew stuffy and hot.
She felt a bit short of breath but said nothing.
Zhao Chiyun showed no irritation about it. She came from an era of natural coolness from a calm heart. She enjoyed having an air conditioner but did not complain to heaven and earth without one.
She sat cross-legged on the sofa in meditation, her posture unclear if learned from the abbot of Grand Pacifying Nation Temple.
Gan Xun’s mind felt invaded by the typhoon too, a total mush. Suddenly, belatedly, she remembered she had a countermeasure.
She pulled out the rechargeable little fan and cranked it to maximum, blowing it on herself before turning it toward Zhao Chiyun.
In the dim glow, Zhao Chiyun’s face—eyes closed as she rested—hid a bewitching beauty beneath its serious expression.
Gan Xun wasn’t sure how long she watched.
The Creator was so unfair. A typhoon, a space-time tunnel, and on top of that, It had sculpted Zhao Chiyun so stunningly, radiating an overwhelming charm at any moment, in any place.
Gan Xun hesitated over and over, but she still didn’t want Zhao Chiyun to misunderstand that she had deliberately skipped preparing underwear.
Nor did she want Zhao Chiyun—clearly uncomfortable—to assume it was some kind of rule of hers, so she held back without saying anything.
The last time she leaned in to check the mole on the side of her knee, Zhao Chiyun heard the thunder and opened her eyes.
She finally spoke up. “I forgot to get you some underwear. Do you want to put some on?”
