Chapter 32 Part 2

Lu Qingxue wanted to say: Wait until you come to me with love, and then I’ll tell you everything. But at that thought, she felt she was asking for too much. She wanted Yun Chun to seek her out actively, to love her. How could so much good fortune fall on her alone? She wasn’t even willing to share what Yun Chun wanted to know, yet she hoped Yun Chun would approach her with even a sliver of affection without knowing her first. Wasn’t that just a pipe dream?

Lu Qingxue sank into anxiety.

It all boiled down to one thing: She wanted Yun Chun to desire understanding her, but not just because she seemed impressive. Ideally, that desire would be mixed with a wish to know her for her own sake.

After hesitating for a few seconds, Lu Qingxue pushed down her inner qualms. She let her hand fall from her eyes, clear weariness now evident in her gaze, and said once more, “I’m sorry.”

Then she continued, “What do you want to know about me?”

Lu Qingxue had compromised. If she wanted to enter Yun Chun’s heart, all those stubborn principles meant nothing.

Between her true self and Yun Chun, which would she choose? Or put another way, which did she want more?

The answer was obvious.

If she wanted to stay true to herself, she would refuse to answer Yun Chun and hold firm to her convictions.

If she wanted Yun Chun, she would abandon those pitiful stubbornnesses.

Lu Qingxue had lived a life with few regrets. She’d done what she set out to do, obtained what she desired. But before her death, she’d gained her one and only regret—one tied to Yun Chun.

So even in death, why cling to these pointless principles? Better to fill that regret first.

Yun Chun, sitting beside her, had fallen silent from the moment Lu Qingxue first apologized. She had seen the exhaustion in Lu Qingxue’s eyes, the hesitation in her pauses. And naturally, when Lu Qingxue asked what she wanted to know, she had glimpsed the indulgence in her gaze.

It was as if Yun Chun could see it: Lu Qingxue choosing her over her own scruples.

Realizing that possibility sent a tremor through Yun Chun’s heart. She shook her head with a smile. “Nothing anymore.”

Yun Chun pondered that “wait until” Lu Qingxue had mentioned. Wait until what? She didn’t know. She only knew there was surely more to it—a crucial condition Lu Qingxue had omitted.

Yun Chun’s lips curved up. Looking at Lu Qingxue, she said, “Maybe I asked the wrong question, or at the wrong time. Sister Qingxue, if you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. We’ll wait until…”

Yun Chun echoed the “wait until.”

She had no idea what would follow Lu Qingxue’s version. But hers continued: “…until I realize what’s off and ask you again. Then you can tell me. We can sip wine and talk through the night. What do you say?”

Lu Qingxue didn’t respond right away. Her eyes stayed downcast, fixed on the coffee table.

She wasn’t looking at Yun Chun, but after a few seconds, she murmured back, “Mm.”

She didn’t know what to say or how to reply, but she didn’t want Yun Chun’s words to hang unanswered, lest the little one overthink it. So a simple acknowledgment would have to do.

Yun Chun had never been in love or even crushed on anyone; she was slow when it came to feelings. But dealing with all sorts of guests day in and day out had sharpened her sensitivity to people. She could clearly sense when someone’s emotions were off.

Like Lu Qingxue right now.

Her eyes curved like willow leaves, but the mole at the corner drooped. That little mole was like a lone star beside the moon—when the moon dimmed, it lost its light too.

Yun Chun reflected on where the mood had soured earlier and quickly pinpointed the issue.

She let out a feigned casual sigh, kicked off her slippers, and sat cross-legged on the sofa. Staring straight at Lu Qingxue, she said, “Senior Sister Qingxue, do you know? Ever since I was little, to me, you’ve been… well, how to put it?”

She drew out the end of her sentence on purpose, drawing Lu Qingxue’s gaze to her. The instant their eyes met, Yun Chun flashed a brilliant smile. “Like a spring breeze.”

Lu Qingxue’s eyes narrowed slightly at the corners.

A spring breeze?

“Do you know what a spring breeze feels like to me?” Yun Chun’s hands dangled between her legs, her gaze steady on Lu Qingxue as she spoke slowly. “When the spring breeze blows, all things revive. Everything dormant awakens in its touch, drawing new life. It’s a force brimming with vitality, irreplaceable… hope.”

Yun Chun was smiling. She had no ulterior motive; she just wanted Lu Qingxue to know that, in her heart, she truly wasn’t ordinary. Not one bit.

She went on, “When I was little… no, forget childhood. Right now, even—I want to become a person like you. I wonder why you’re so wonderful, why you embrace everything so effortlessly, why your smile is so captivating, why you’re… so incredible.”

Lu Qingxue began, “I—”

Yun Chun cut her off. “I know. You’re going to say you’re not incredible, right?”

No.

What Lu Qingxue had wanted to say was that there was no need to become anyone else—Yun Chun was Yun Chun, wonderful and incredible in her own right.

But Lu Qingxue stayed silent, quietly listening to what Yun Chun had to say next.

Yun Chun continued, “Whether you’re incredible or not is your call. But to me, you are different. Sister Qingxue…”

She called out, her voice light yet infused with unwavering strength. To Lu Qingxue, she said, “You are my spring breeze.”

The only one in my life who makes me feel this way.

Yun Chun hugged a throw pillow to her chest and gazed straight at Lu Qingxue. “Even if you brought me no benefits at all, even if you’re utterly ordinary in daily life. In my heart, you’re not. You’ll always be the one I aspire to follow, the example I strive to emulate.”

“And my curiosity about you, thinking you’re amazing—it’s all because of that. No matter what I learn in the end, the image of you in my heart won’t change. It’s like how, even though it’s a spring breeze, winds have their strengths.

“Level one wind, level two, level three… Different intensities, but the essence is still wind. No matter how deeply I come to know you, Sister Qingxue, your essence will remain as I perceive it.”

Yun Chun felt that spending time with Lu Qingxue had softened even her own voice. Now she spoke more gently. “A gentle Lu Qingxue.”

But that description didn’t feel sufficient. She paused, then added, “Out of ten points, you’re an eleven.”

Lu Qingxue asked her, “What’s that extra point for?”

Yun Chun grinned smugly. “Because you’re Lu Qingxue! In my heart, you’re always one more than perfect!”

A perfect score of a hundred? You’d be a hundred and one!

She declared, “That’s what makes it special.”

Lu Qingxue’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

Yun Chun watched her for a few seconds, her own emotions settling, before saying slowly, “Sister Qingxue, I know you didn’t mean anything else by what you said earlier. I won’t misunderstand.”

She figured Lu Qingxue must feel bad for saying the wrong thing, worried she’d overthink it. But no—Lu Qingxue had explained clearly, and she’d taken it to heart.

Yun Chun reached out a finger and tugged at the hem of Lu Qingxue’s clothes, giving it a shake. “So, could you smile for me?”

A smile would chase away the weariness.

Lu Qingxue looked at her. She had once said Yun Chun was like the sun. And indeed, she was—radiant as sunlight. Those words lifted Lu Qingxue’s foul mood considerably.

She had been overthinking, blowing things out of proportion.

Being by Yun Chun’s side was already the best outcome. What more could she ask for?

Yun Chun pressed the pillow down with her hands and knelt up on it, leaning her upper body toward Lu Qingxue. “Smile for me, and I’ll treat you to ice cream.”

Lu Qingxue laughed in response, her eyebrows arching playfully. “Don’t you mean you want to eat it?”

Seeing Lu Qingxue smile, Yun Chun giggled. “You can’t eat it, so I’ll eat it for you.”

Gazing at Yun Chun’s smile, Lu Qingxue felt a lump in her throat. How could she be… so adorable?

Lu Qingxue opened her arms and called softly, “Little Darling.”

Yun Chun tilted her head. “Hm?”

Lu Qingxue’s eyes curved into gentle arcs, her gaze toward Yun Chun soft and bubbling with warmth. In a tender voice, she said, “Give me a hug.”

If you won’t kiss me, then hug me instead.

Let me feel your warmth.

Yun Chun glanced at Lu Qingxue’s outstretched arms. She paused for just a moment before tilting sideways directly into her embrace, her head resting on Lu Qingxue’s shoulder. With a hearty laugh, she said, “Ah! I’ve fallen into the spring breeze.”

The instant Yun Chun leaned in, Lu Qingxue’s arms caught her securely. Hearing those words, she tightened her embrace. “Then I’ll hold on to Little Sun.”

The hug was complete, and Yun Chun had meant to sit up and chat with Lu Qingxue. But the sunlight was perfect just then, and nestling against her shoulder felt too comfortable to abandon. Instead, Yun Chun slid down along Lu Qingxue’s body until her head came to rest in her lap.

Yun Chun stretched out languidly, one leg bent and the other extended straight onto the sofa. Tilting her chin upward, she gazed at Lu Qingxue. “Am I the sun to you?”

Lu Qingxue looked down at her, the faint threads of rain in her eyes drifting along with the spring breeze, silently nourishing the world. “Mm.”

“Why?” Yun Chun asked.

What did the sun represent? Sunlight.

Yun Chun didn’t see herself as someone brimming with positive energy.

She’d had more than one fleeting thought of the Earth exploding without warning, wiping everyone out in an instant.

Yun Chun figured Lu Qingxue must have gotten the wrong idea. Her reason for being all giggles and full of life around Lu Qingxue was simple: Lu Qingxue was gentle, willing to indulge her. In her presence, those darker impulses simply faded away.

Yet Lu Qingxue’s answer made it clear that Yun Chun’s view was too narrow.

“Because—”

Lu Qingxue’s fingertips gently toyed with the stray hairs on Yun Chun’s forehead. The soft rain that had earlier moistened all creation in her eyes now converged entirely on Yun Chun alone, quietly nurturing her growth.

Meeting Yun Chun’s gaze, Lu Qingxue smiled and withdrew her fingers. Tilting her head back, she let out a soft sigh. From Yun Chun’s angle, the pale curve of her neck was utterly alluring.

Skin as thin and delicate as paper, veins faintly blue and translucent beneath, tracing a graceful arc.

She wanted to bite it.

To leave her own mark, her teeth imprinted on that flawless, porcelain skin.

Yun Chun stared, lost in a daze, not even realizing how improper her thoughts had become.

When Lu Qingxue lowered her head and caught her stealing glances, Yun Chun flusteredly averted her eyes. Only then did it hit her just how… indecent that idea had been.

Her heart still pounding, Yun Chun heard Lu Qingxue’s soft chuckle—likely teasing her for peeking but too shy to admit it. Refusing to back down, Yun Chun started to lift her eyes again, determined to meet Lu Qingxue’s gaze and prove with a look that she wasn’t afraid to own up.

But the moment her eyes rose, Lu Qingxue’s words whispered past her ear like a warm spring breeze.

“I want to see you every day.”

Yun Chun went still, sorting through Lu Qingxue’s words: She wasn’t the sun because of its light or warmth or anything like that. No, it was because the sun rose every day. If Yun Chun was the sun, then Lu Qingxue would see her every single day.

Her heart began to pound fiercely.

Her newly lifted gaze dropped once more.

Her lashes quivered.

An indescribable feeling rippled through her chest.

What was it?

Yun Chun could only wonder to herself in silence.

But she had no answer.

That sensation was just as elusive as the one Lu Qingxue stirred in her—slipping through her fingers like mist.

In the end, Yun Chun skipped the ice cream. She was too lazy to go out and buy any, and honestly, she hadn’t craved it much in the first place. It had just been an excuse to draw out Lu Qingxue’s smile.

Ice cream was no big deal anyway. She’d managed to coax a laugh from Lu Qingxue.

And Lu Qingxue’s smile was its own reward.

Coaxing that smile from Lu Qingxue was something Yun Chun absolutely dreaded tempting fate with—not because she had any aversion to chasing away that springlike vitality in her, lest it fade into autumnal bleakness.