Feng Yun’ai didn’t know. She still had to clutch the woman’s sleeve just to stand upright. She couldn’t tell if it was the pill in her mouth or something else, but as their breaths mingled, she smelled a peculiar medicinal fragrance. Unlike the knockout incense, this scent was warm and gentle, something one couldn’t help but crave.
Her breathing was ragged. Her body slipped down slightly, and she uncontrollably leaned forward until her forehead bumped against Sang Chencao’s shoulder.
“Oh my, why can’t our Xiuxiu stand straight?” Sang Chencao teased.
Feng Yun’ai felt as though she were about to tear the fabric in her hand. It took a long time for her to come to her senses and abruptly release her grip.
Sang Chencao remained as she always was, seemingly unaware that her actions were in any way strange. Every move she made was impulsive and otherworldly. She even reached out to brush the moisture from the corner of Feng Yun’ai’s lips, saying casually, “I shared the pill with you. You shouldn’t be angry this time.”
Feng Yun’ai stared at her, speechless, her grey eyes filled with shock and confusion.
The incense was still burning. The surroundings grew even quieter; those who had been drifting in half-sleep were likely now deep in their dreams.
“You… Why did you—” Feng Yun’ai pulled her eye veil back into place.
Sang Chencao glanced at her and started walking away. “I just gave you half the antidote. There’s no need to overthink it, Xiuxiu.”
Feng Yun’ai had read in books that medicine could be administered this way, but she hadn’t been unconscious. She could have easily swallowed it herself.
As they approached the Archive, the woman leading the way couldn’t help but laugh. It was a bold, unrestrained laugh, her head tilted back as if she weren’t the least bit afraid of waking the sleepers around them.
Feng Yun’ai realized then that she had been toyed with again. It was “administering medicine,” but it was clearly much more than that. She touched her own lips. Her fingertips were soft, but the sensation was entirely different. She couldn’t quite put into words what the difference was.
But that moment of closeness seemed to surpass every friendship and bond she had ever read about in books. It was so close it felt… as if two people could be rubbed into one another’s very flesh and blood.
Perhaps the books Feng Rong kept in the Archive were simply too few.
“The thing that knocked you out back then was actually this same incense,” Sang Chencao admitted. “I simply used my inner qi to guide the smoke directly into your body so you wouldn’t notice.”
“You!” Feng Yun’ai snapped.
Sang Chencao intentionally hissed a “Shh.”
Near the Archive, they could see a paper kite hanging from the nameplate above the door. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, looking grey and weathered.
Feng Yun’ai stopped and stared at it. Seeing that she wasn’t following, Sang Chencao doubled back.
“How many years has that been up there? How interesting,” Sang Chencao said, looking back. “Is it some secret between master and disciple?”
Feng Yun’ai stared blankly for a long time. Startled by the voice, she worried the woman would suddenly lean in close again.
“It seems I’m right,” Sang Chencao muttered to herself.
Feng Yun’ai shook her head. “It’s nothing. When I was young, the string snapped and the kite flew off. I was so desperate to catch it that I nearly fell off the cliff. My Master acted and struck it down with her palm.”
“So it got stuck on the plaque?” Sang Chencao raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Feng Rong had such a whimsical side. I thought all you did on Listening Goose Peak was practice the sword.”
Feng Yun’ai pressed her lips together.
“Why didn’t you ever take it down?” Sang Chencao asked.
“Master once said that when my martial arts were great enough that I could catch a kite mid-air myself, I should take it down then,” Feng Yun’ai said quietly. “But I have practiced for many years, and I still do not feel my martial arts are ‘great’.”
“It seems Feng Rong never praised you. She was quite stingy with her compliments,” Sang Chencao said meaningfully. “But I suppose it makes sense. She was obsessed with the sword and never satisfied with her own attainments. How could she ever be satisfied with yours?”
Feng Yun’ai wanted to argue, but when she opened her mouth, she found she had no rebuttal.
Sang Chencao suddenly leaped up. Disregarding the dust, she easily plucked the kite from the plaque. Dust swirled as she held her breath and patted it clean. With a light huff of air, she handed it to Feng Yun’ai. “The past is the past. Why not look forward? Feng Rong was dissatisfied with everything, but you don’t have to trap yourself in the past.”
Feng Yun’ai had never heard such words before. It was like a spring of clear water pouring over her head, washing through her meridians and cleansing her soul. Yes, why stay trapped?
Yet, for a moment, she couldn’t believe Sang Chencao was capable of saying such a thing. After all, this woman’s hatred for Wen Lanxin seemed to have festered for years, deep within her bones.
Sang Chencao clapped the dust from her palms. Regardless of whether Feng Yun’ai had taken her words to heart, she stepped through the door. “Let’s see if anyone has stolen Feng Rong’s collection.”
Feng Yun’ai stepped inside and immediately noticed the lanterns hanging high up. Their positions seemed different from what she remembered. The lanterns hung from two intersecting chains, with the four ends of the chains fixed to the four walls of the Archive.
Noticing her looking up, Sang Chencao leaped up without a word. She used a bookshelf as a stepping stone and hooked herself onto the iron chain.
The candle inside the lantern was extinguished. Aside from a wick that had burned nearly to the bottom, there was nothing else to see.
Upon testing it, she realized the chains were no ordinary metal; they were made of cold iron. Their strength and rigidity were incomparable to common materials.
Sang Chencao’s expression turned to one of surprise. She flipped herself over to sit on the chain, yet the heavy link didn’t even tremble. She looked down, crossing her arms. “Xiuxiu, you must be familiar with this.”
Feng Yun’ai’s gaze followed the iron chains. She raised an arm and pointed. “That lantern… it wasn’t originally hanging there.”
Sang Chencao struck the chain with a burst of qi, realizing the lantern could be moved. “Then where did it originally hang? In the center?”
“No.” Feng Yun’ai shifted her finger slightly. “To the Northeast. Three feet from the wall.”
Sang Chencao used her inner qi again to pull the lantern toward her.
As soon as the lantern clicked into place three feet from the Northeast wall, the extinguished candle inside suddenly flared to life.
“Excellent memory, Xiuxiu!” Sang Chencao laughed.
