Chapter 3: The Believer

Gan Xun was not ready to give up and turned the house upside down.

The balcony was sealed tight, and the door lock was intact.

No hidden clothes or shoes, and no signs of disturbance.

Zhao Chiyun was exactly as she had said—she had fallen from the sky.

Gan Xun looked up at the ceiling.

The guitar music cut off abruptly, and her phone screen lit up right on cue.

Cui Can: [You okay?]

Gan Xun: [Alive.]

Cui Can: [Who the hell is she? Really transmigrated?]

Gan Xun: [Pretty much. Details later.]

Cui Can: [Forget it, just drop her at the police station. I’ll head back tomorrow. Get to bed early tonight, rest up—big battle ahead!]

Gan Xun: [Girly time to fight.JPG]

The sound of a door opening rang out. Gan Xun looked up, and Zhao Chiyun emerged gracefully.

Gan Xun sat on the sofa like it was her first time at a fashion show, her eyes on a top model. One glance told her this hadn’t been a wasted trip.

An ordinary dress became haute couture on Zhao Chiyun—a true work of art.

Her black hair cascaded like a waterfall, the ends gleaming like satin as it draped lightly past her waist.

Her bare feet pressed against the wooden floor. It was probably cold; the elegant arch of her foot tensed, her thin skin revealing every vein clearly.

“Put on the slippers.”

Gan Xun bent down to hand them over.

Zhao Chiyun lifted her foot slightly, reserved as if trying on crystal slippers.

The shoes were more comfortable than she expected, and light blue too—Gan Xun’s favorite color.

“How’s the outfit? Not bad, right?”

“The clothes here,” Zhao Chiyun said as she lifted her arms and frowned down at herself, “are far too wanton.”

She tugged uncomfortably at the skirt hem, trying to cover her bare calves.

Gan Xun could tell her discomfort wasn’t an act. Holding back a laugh, she explained, “We have long sleeves and pants too, but skirts are like this. It’s summer now—hot weather. Nobody likes too much fabric on them.”

“Your ancient people were conservative. After modern enlightenment, everyone opened up. Even fifty-year-old aunties dress like this. You’ll get used to it.”

“Defying all norms.”

Zhao Chiyun huffed lightly but straightened her back. “If what you say is true, then having entered a foreign land, I must follow local customs. But only like this when it’s just us at home. Before we go out, please prepare proper covering clothes for me.”

Gan Xun nodded repeatedly out of respect.

Amused, she asked, “Willing to follow customs now? Not afraid I’m a con artist anymore?”

“You’re not afraid anymore either?”

“You didn’t call the police. You even prepared slippers for me in advance.”

—Even without tending to her own wounds first.

She had thought Gan Xun rushed out to treat her injuries. She hadn’t expected Gan Xun to wait for her to get dressed, with an attitude much improved from the start.

She now had the awareness of a proper host to a noble guest.

Promising indeed.

Gan Xun was surprised. “You know about calling the police?”

“It’s your way of protecting yourself, isn’t it?”

Zhao Chiyun pondered for a moment. “I suspect it’s related to the authorities or those in power.”

Gan Xun smiled, admiration in her eyes. This county princess was far sharper than she had thought.

On that stormy night, Zhao Chiyun had heard the patter of rain outside early on. It had given Gan Xun’s brows a misty look at their first meeting, like a damp shade of blue.

Every time she smiled, it was like a gentle breeze, soothing to the heart.

Zhao Chiyun couldn’t help but open up to her. “Just now, I pulled back the curtain for a look. Lights blazed through the night without end, jade towers rising in layers like an immortal palace. I’m now fully convinced—you haven’t deceived me.”

“Either you wield great magic and illusions, or I’ve fallen into a peach blossom land. Either way, it’s beyond my power to change. Since I’ve come, I’ll make the best of it.”

“All I need to do is get familiar with this place and keep myself safe.”

Her voice rang clear as she spoke, her eyes gazing elsewhere. Her resolve was set.

Gan Xun had looked down on this pampered noblewoman with modern disdain—one who called herself “this county princess” at every turn, who needed servants just to dress. Her brain must have been wired like an alien’s.

But when Zhao Chiyun stood there in her Luo skirt, declaring her intentions with such resolve, Gan Xun suddenly felt ashamed.

Her last scraps of narrow-mindedness vanished into smoke.

The woman was just delicate, not stupid. She could think clearly about what mattered.

“Insightful,” Gan Xun said from the heart. “Your way with words is impressive.”

Zhao Chiyun smiled at her genuinely for the first time.

Lightning suddenly flashed outside the window. Zhao Chiyun shuddered and instinctively leaned toward Gan Xun.

Gan Xun’s phone nearly smashed onto her foot. “What is it?”

Zhao Chiyun’s face paled, her fingers gripping Gan Xun’s clothes until her knuckles whitened. “Thunder.”

Gan Xun had just been admiring her, but now she found it funny. “The mighty county princess is afraid of thunder?”

Zhao Chiyun saw no shame in it. “I’ve been afraid since I was little.”

Gan Xun’s heart softened. “Don’t worry. The house is sturdy.”

“I was scared of it as a kid too. On stormy nights, my grandma would hold me while I slept.”

Zhao Chiyun relaxed amid the conversation. “She sounds like a kind elder.”

Gan Xun shook her head with a laugh. “She’s a fierce old lady most of the time. The whole family was scared of her. Only then was she gentle, and she’d hum a few nursery rhymes for me.”

She walked over to the balcony. The moment the doors and windows sealed shut, the rain and thunder were cut off in the wilderness, reduced to a distant wail that could no longer disturb fragile lives.

The room fell quiet. Zhao Chiyun then noticed how unusually cool it was. “Where’s this chill coming from?”

“Air conditioner. See that over there? Turn it on, and you get cold air.”

Gan Xun pointed to the corner of the wall.

Zhao Chiyun was astonished. “Such a treasure exists?”

Her praise made Gan Xun inexplicably proud, as if she had invented the air conditioner herself. “It does hot air in winter too.”

After her bragging, she savored the amazement in Zhao Chiyun’s phoenix eyes—shimmering faintly like an exquisite eternal lamp.

Gan Xun casually showed her how to use the remote to adjust the temperature and recognize the Arabic numerals.

Zhao Chiyun learned eagerly in the cool breeze. She didn’t disdain the new knowledge just because she might return to the Mirror Dynasty at any moment.

She was far more willing to keep up with the times than Gan Xun’s aunt back in the countryside.

Once she had it down, Zhao Chiyun asked with interest, “Gan Xun, how do you break down your name?”

It looked like she planned to be friends.

Gan Xun had been asked about her name hundreds of times, but never quite like this. First time.

“The Gan from sweet, and the Xun from seeking, with the water radical.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t say if it was good or bad.

“A deep cliff is called a xun.”

She lowered her eyes in thought, then looked back at Gan Xun. Her gaze deepened, like silken threads from ancient roots—gentle, yet endlessly entwining.

Gan Xun didn’t catch what she meant and didn’t want to ask, lest she seem illiterate.

The viscous gaze made her uneasy. She wondered if ancient people had such sharp eyesight that they always looked at others with affection—it was hard to fend off.

“Also the Xun from sending off guests at the Xunyang River by night.”

She really ought to send her guest on her way.

Gan Xun realized her mindset was off.

It wasn’t turbulent. On the contrary, it was too calm, as if she were fully immersed in enjoying this extraordinary night.

She didn’t want to shower or apply medicine. She just wanted to sit there teaching an ancient how to use the remote.

If Zhao Chiyun had burst into tears, wailing for her family and friends, desperate to go home and disrupting the house, Gan Xun could have felt at ease.

The calmer and more insightful Zhao Chiyun was, the more Gan Xun wanted to send her away as soon as possible.

Because someone like that was too captivating.

Wasn’t she?

Wisdom, beauty, a bizarre and tragic backstory—the mix was too much for an ordinary modern person to handle.

“So you have read books.”

Zhao Chiyun not only missed the hint to leave but delivered this haughty line.

“A little,” Gan Xun chuckled.

She countered, “Do you know the Tang Dynasty?”

Zhao Chiyun looked puzzled. “How could one not know Great Tang?”

Parallel world.

Gan Xun decided not to dwell on it. It had nothing to do with her.

“Hungry?”

“I wasn’t in the mood to cook today. I’ll order some dinner—it’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you.”

Zhao Chiyun knew she was using that device called a phone to summon food from the kitchen.

“So your dynasty lies far beyond the Mirror.”

“Can you put it in plain terms? The kind ordinary folk can understand.”

Zhao Chiyun had noticed early on that Gan Xun’s way of speaking was different.

“I mean, I’ve never seen or heard of air conditioners or phones. With such marvels of craft, it must be many years after the Great Mirror, right?”

“Definitely. But I didn’t lie—our history has no Mirror Dynasty, only Tang.”

Zhao Chiyun savored the implications. The shock and novelty of stumbling into a peach blossom land were buried under a wave of sorrow.

It buried her until her vision blurred and her heart ached, like a lone bird adrift in an empty sky.

Gan Xun keenly sensed her mood sinking and realized her words might have hurt.

She comforted her softly. “Don’t be sad. And don’t worry. Our world is safe. We’ll figure something out.”

She had no real confidence, but offering comfort to someone unhappy was basic courtesy.

Her gaze on Zhao Chiyun was gentle, trying to instill some faith.

She was about to say more when Zhao Chiyun suddenly hugged her.

Gan Xun’s face filled with disbelief. She had no idea what was happening.

Zhao Chiyun rested her head against Gan Xun’s shoulder, nestling into her embrace.

Her right arm hugged loosely, while her left hand lightly held Gan Xun’s, fiddling with the hand string wrapped three times around her wrist.

The posture was clingy, the gestures intimate.

Gan Xun went rigid, her senses overwhelmed.

Ambiguous scenes always led her to overthink—it was involuntary, her eyes scanning and her brain feeding back.

But with actual physical contact, especially a pure hug like this, Gan Xun had no energy for stray thoughts.

Her mind cleared, untouched by dust.

After a quiet moment, she gently withdrew her hand and patted Zhao Chiyun’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”

When the heart raced, people turned into romantic believers.

Not for blazing love or passion, but for the warmth of the moment—a vivid palpitation, like a brief ritual between two lonely souls.

The host forgot to send the guest on her way.

Body temperature: warm.

Heartbeat: normal.

Pulse: present.

Not a ghost. Not a postmortem illusion.

Good.

With one more possibility ruled out, Zhao Chiyun straightened up. “I lost my composure. My apologies.”

Seeing her distant expression, Gan Xun froze. Huh?

Gan Xun usually disliked physical contact, but seeing how pitiful she looked, she had generously let her lean in, hoping it would ease her heart.

Such a huge upheaval—most people couldn’t handle it.

Who knew she was so resilient? One second she was like the little cat at Cui Can’s house, dodging into her arms; the next, calmly accepting harsh reality.

Gan Xun felt a bit baffled. She tried to stand, but her leg throbbed, and she let out a soft cry.

Zhao Chiyun spoke up. “Since your leg is injured, you need to clean and medicate it quickly. Or can your immortal arts simply erase the wound?”

Her train of thought was adorable. Gan Xun laughed. “No. Medicine and tech have advanced, but I’m flesh and blood like you—no spells for instant healing. I’ll go shower first. You stay put, don’t open any doors or windows, and don’t touch anything.”

She said it for Zhao Chiyun’s safety, but it greatly displeased her. Who dared instruct a county princess like that?

Under someone else’s roof with no food yet in her belly, she held her tongue.

The county princess nodded reluctantly.

Gan Xun saw the ice in her eyes—like their first meeting—and knew she was upset.

She said nothing more, limping to the kitchen to pour her water. She grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and a pack of butter toast slices too.

“Pad your stomach first.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t turn her head, merely glancing down. “You eat first.”

“Afraid I’ll poison you?”

When she saw Zhao Chiyun nod without hesitation, Gan Xun smiled. “Then starve.”

Thin-skinned hypocrite. Zhao Chiyun turned her head with a “hmph.”

Starve it was.

Thirst was the hardest to bear. She sniffed the water in the cup—no odd smells, quite sweet.

“Why doesn’t your home have even a cup of hot tea?” she grumbled with a frown as she drank.

Gan Xun found her picky. “Mineral water’s safe to drink straight. Hot day like this, why hot tea? Only have tea bags—peach oolong. Want some?”

Zhao Chiyun eyed her, then the water, and said objectively, “Never mind. I doubt your home has decent tea anyway. Don’t ruin good water.”

Gan Xun turned and walked off.

Before she reached the bathroom, she was called back. “Wait.”

Gan Xun turned back, gritting her teeth. “What now?”

“I need the toilet.”

Zhao Chiyun sat primly on the sofa, proclaiming it like a decree from her throne.