Chapter 19: “Can I Say More?”

One moment she had been so certain, but then Miao Bai fell silent, and Meng Bai found herself wavering once more.

She realized that Miao Bai probably didn’t have much to talk about with her anyway.

In Miao Bai’s world, she was likely just a silly little kid.

So she quickly backpedaled. “It’s not like we have to chat. Up to you.”

There was a hint of reluctance in those last words.

Yet Miao Bai still didn’t reply.

Just as Meng Bai thought she was about to be turned down, Miao Bai surprised her. “Sure.”

“Great!” Meng Bai scooted toward the edge of the bed. “I was afraid you’d say no. Come on over—we’ll lie down and talk.”

Miao Bai eyed the bed. “Your bed is tiny.”

Meng Bai shrugged it off. “No big deal. We’re both skinny.” She pressed herself hard against the wall, surrendering most of the space, then rolled onto her side. “There, all yours. Plenty of room now!”

Sharing a narrow single bed with a child was no small challenge for Miao Bai.

She lingered at the bedside, unable to bring herself to lie down.

Meng Bai, by contrast, was utterly at ease. “Are you thinking it’s dirty? Don’t worry—I’m super clean! The sheets smell fresh, like soapberries. No stink at all!”

“That’s not it.”

“Then get in!” Meng Bai grabbed her hand and tugged, offering a perfectly logical reason. “Zhou An and I do this all the time. Friends chatting on the bed together—nothing weird about it.”

She tacked on one final reassurance. “We’re both girls. What’s there to be afraid of?”

Meng Bai practically dragged her onto the mattress.

It was true—they were both slender, and with Meng Bai curled on her side, her slight frame barely registered.

When Miao Bai finally settled in, a hand’s breadth of space remained between them.

“Isn’t my little bed nice and soft?” Meng Bai whispered breathlessly. She peered toward Miao Bai, but the room was pitch-black; she couldn’t make out her face.

Still, she could sense her presence. Miao Bai smelled wonderful.

“Mmm.”

“Your bed must be huge,” Meng Bai murmured, her toes curling faintly. “You live alone in that big courtyard, after all.”

“It’s somewhat larger than yours.”

“How much larger?”

Miao Bai turned onto her side to face her. “About the size of three of these put together.”

“Wow.” Meng Bai giggled. “Being an immortal sounds amazing—even your bed is three times bigger than a mortal’s!”

“What immortal…” Miao Bai let out a soft laugh of her own before explaining. “I’m no immortal.”

“But to me, you might as well be. No one else could find Zhou An, but you did it in a single day. Is there anything you can’t do?”

A few light exchanges eased the air between them, and Miao Bai no longer seemed so intent on keeping her distance.

Their idle chatter drifted through the crisp autumn night, laced with a faint, drifting fragrance borne on some unseen breeze.

Meng Bai nestled into her pillow and shut her eyes, murmuring to Miao Bai like a sleepy mosquito. “So, Miao Bai… how did you end up in this world?”

“You’ve asked me that already.” Miao Bai whispered back. “And I told you—I don’t know.”

“Oh, right.” Meng Bai shifted slightly in her sleep, drawing a touch closer. “Can I ask more questions, then?”

“Go ahead. I might not answer them all.”

“How old are you? When’s your birthday?”

“Almost a hundred.”

Meng Bai burst out laughing. “No way, Miao Bai. You’re pulling my leg.”

“Why would I?” Miao Bai noted her exaggerated reaction. “Is turning a hundred that frightening?”

“Not exactly.” Meng Bai swallowed. “You must have some kind of immortality technique, then. You look so young—not much older than me.”

Miao Bai let the comment hang.

Memories welled up unbidden. Perhaps she should be grateful that her face had been preserved forever at twenty-five.

No telling what crossed Meng Bai’s mind next, but she piped up suddenly. “Does that mean I should call you Grandma Miao?”

Miao Bai: “…”

What an odd form of address.

“Just kidding. ‘Sister’ feels right. What do you think?”

Meng Bai’s voice was soft and drowsy, her words coming slow and syrupy, drawing out “sister” until it tickled Miao Bai’s ears.

“I’d prefer you call me by name. Just Miao Bai.”

Meng Bai: “You’re so proper. I remember that first night we met—I thought you seemed so distant. If you hadn’t saved me, I never would’ve worked up the nerve to talk to you.”

With that, she yawned hugely. “Sigh, I miss Zhou An right now. We’d huddle up like this on her little bed, talking about everything under the sun. Sometimes we’d just drift off mid-sentence…”

Miao Bai realized how much Meng Bai liked to talk. Before she could respond, the girl was already chattering on:

“Miao Bai, you smell so good.” Meng Bai clutched at Miao Bai’s sleeve and nuzzled her shoulder. Her voice trailed off softer and softer, fading beyond even a mosquito’s hum.

Miao Bai missed the last bit.

She glanced over and saw Meng Bai’s eyes were closed; she seemed on the verge of sleep. Moments later, her breathing evened out into a steady rhythm.

Her small face rested right against Miao Bai’s shoulder.

This kid had insisted she wasn’t tired—such a stubborn little thing.

The room was shrouded in darkness, but Miao Bai could see perfectly. She felt the gentle cadence of Meng Bai’s breaths and traced the soft contours of her face.

So close up, Meng Bai’s features brimmed with youthful innocence, like a flower bud yet to bloom—every line tender and untouched.

For a brief moment, Miao Bai lost herself in the sight. She studied Meng Bai and thought: This girl is truly beautiful.

She would be, in any age.

Such loveliness stirred a pang of tenderness, even in Miao Bai.

Noticing the quilt had slipped off, she gently tucked Meng Bai in before slipping from the bed herself. From above, Meng Bai looked even more fragile.

The bed was so small; even curled up tight, she left space to spare. Her slim limbs clutched one corner of the quilt, her chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

Too thin, Miao Bai thought.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered.

Meng Bai wasn’t sure if Miao Bai was truly a goddess, but the moment those words—”sweet dreams”—left her lips, moonlight flooded the room.

Miao Bai reached out and gently tapped Meng Bai on the forehead, then dissipated into the wind like mist.

The autumn night was bathed in moonlight as Miao Bai raced along the country path, her shadow flickering from one spot to the next. Her speed was astonishing.

Night was her domain.

How did one pass the days without sleep?

Having lived so long, even Miao Bai had forgotten.

She returned to her Old Courtyard. The iron gate creaked open on its own, while the dense walnut tree swayed in the night breeze.

Miao Bai stood in the courtyard, her figure somehow seeming frail. She extended her hand and gave a light wave; the young walnuts on the tree came tumbling down in a rapid patter.

With another flick of her fingers, the walnuts flew back up to the branches, restoring everything to its former state.

“Boring.” Miao Bai lowered her hand and glanced once more at the walnut tree. To her, such feats held no wonder.

Not after a full century of so-called supernatural powers.

Day in, day out, year after year—it all became mundane, utterly ordinary.

Miao Bai closed her eyes, the wind sighing in her ears. She drew a deep breath, and the leaves on the ground began to spin wildly, rustling like a whirlwind. But the instant they lifted into the air, she let out a sigh, and they scattered back to earth.

Miao Bai opened her eyes. “Boring,” she said again.

She raised her hand, pointing her fingertip toward the iron gate. With a slight crook of her finger, it swung open.

Creak, creak—the gate flew open and shut in rapid succession, keeping time with her fingertip. The rusty hinges wailed out a tune, eerie and discordant.

“Harsh and boring.”

At last, Miao Bai stopped.

Yes, in those sleepless nights, in nights that had always held only her solitude from beginning to end…

The world was, in the end, boring.

She was no omnipotent figure from Meng Bai’s imagination, no joyful immortal.

Time simply dragged on, endlessly long—day bleeding into day, night yielding to dawn, dawn to night once more. When today held no hope for tomorrow, all color drained from existence.

Meng Bai had called her a goddess.

Miao Bai gave a wry, self-mocking smile. What goddess? She was nothing more than a wandering soul, adrift with nowhere to call home.