After Redeeming The Beautiful and Tragic Heroine [Transmigration] - Chapter 29

“Wait and you’ll know.” Yu Yuan waited all morning, but nothing happened. The atmosphere was tranquil and the world seemed at peace; Yu Yuan even felt she could take a nap.

However, a glance at the listless Xue Qingshu immediately sobered her up.

“Why does your face look so pale?” Yu Yuan knelt beside Xue Qingshu.

Leaning against the headboard, Xue Qingshu gave Yu Yuan a brief look, then half-closed her eyes, answering weakly: “It must be because I aggravated the wound on my lower abdomen just now.”

Yu Yuan frowned: “Aggravated the wound?”

She quickly pulled back the quilt covering Xue Qingshu and saw a large patch of her lower abdomen was stained red with blood again.

Yu Yuan: … This wasn’t just aggravating the wound; the stitches had clearly split open! She blamed herself for not noticing sooner.

Yu Yuan chastised herself for a moment, then ignored Xue Qingshu’s attempts to push her away. She quickly semi-undressed her to expose the wound on her abdomen.

“Bear with it for a moment,” Yu Yuan told Xue Qingshu.

She then summoned the medicine from the previous day and, following the original steps, re-applied the medication, meticulously wrapping it with fresh white gauze.

Once finished, Yu Yuan realized a new problem: if they remained trapped here, the medicine might run out.

If the medicine ran out, Xue Qingshu’s injuries would be difficult to heal. Yu Yuan understood the implications and knew that avoiding the issue was not a solution.

So, after helping Xue Qingshu lie down, she told her: “I plan to go outside and look for clues to break the array. You stay here, get some rest, and wait for me to come back.”

Hearing this, Xue Qingshu objected: “It’s not safe for you to go alone.”

Yu Yuan reassured her: “Don’t worry, I’ll just walk around the courtyard. This place should be a safe zone; nothing will happen.”

Knowing she couldn’t change her mind, Xue Qingshu relented: “Be careful.”

Yu Yuan obediently nodded and left the room.

Outside, everything was as it had been yesterday. Yu Yuan looked up at the sun hanging overhead and thought: “This illusion is quite decent; it even has a sun and a moon.”

With that thought, she moved her feet, circled the courtyard, and finally stopped in front of the pear tree—the only difference from her Qinglan Peak courtyard.

This pear tree was covered in blooms. White petals spun and fluttered lightly in the air, finally landing in her palm.

This was a sight Yu Yuan had never seen in her twenty years on Qinglan Peak.

She had once suspected that the tree in her own yard wasn’t a pear tree at all. Now, her attention returned to the one in front of her. Perhaps it didn’t matter what the other one was; what mattered was that this one was a pear tree.

Bringing her thoughts back, Yu Yuan stood on her tiptoes and plucked a branch of pear blossoms that was hanging in front of her, intending to take it to Xue Qingshu so she could see the beautiful flowers too.

The room was quiet. Yu Yuan walked around the screen to the bedside and found Xue Qingshu asleep.

She called her name softly, but received no response.

So, she softened her steps, walked back outside the screen, and placed the pear blossoms in an empty vase on the desk.

After arranging the flowers, Yu Yuan began to wander aimlessly around the room out of sheer boredom.

Without the System, she couldn’t read novels or binge-watch shows. All of a sudden, apart from flipping through a few well-worn storybooks on the shelf, she was reduced to gazing upward at a forty-five-degree angle, watching the fake sun outside the window slowly drift towards the west.

But she wasn’t a sunflower. Staring at the sun continuously was truly tedious.

So, after feeling like she was gathering mold for a while, she tiptoed past the screen and paced back and forth near the bed, occasionally glancing at Xue Qingshu and internally rating her: Extremely pleasing to the eye.

She was atrociously beautiful. If you asked her, Wei Haoran must have been blinded by greed to use Xue Qingshu repeatedly. If it were me, I’d probably suspect I’d done something wrong if she even frowned.

Yu Yuan was still musing when her gaze fell on the dressing table. A bronze mirror leaned quietly against the wall. Next to the mirror, there was no makeup or powder, only a stack of yellow talismans.

And a pear blossom wood box. Yu Yuan had never seen this box before.

Yu Yuan sat down at the dressing table and curiously slid the lid off the wooden box.

Inside the box was a thick stack of letters. The envelope of the first letter read: For A’Yuan’s Eyes Only.

Yu Yuan was surprised: These letters were written to her?!

She picked up the first letter and saw that it had already been opened.

She slowly slipped the letter out of the envelope and opened it. The handwriting was shaky and crooked, like that of a child just learning to write.

It read: 

[The weather is sunny today. The pear blossoms in the courtyard have bloomed. They smell very nice, and you like them.]

Just a single line. Yu Yuan put the paper back in the envelope, placed the letter beside her, and picked up the second one.

The second one, like the first, was also addressed For A’Yuan’s Eyes Only and had also been opened.

Yu Yuan opened the letter; it again contained only a single line: 

[It rained today. The rain was heavy, and the pear blossoms fell all over the ground. You are very sad.]

Yu Yuan put the letter down and continued to the third one.

The third letter had more writing, and the calligraphy was noticeably better. It read:

[You said this is not how letters are written. I don’t understand; you clearly said I could write whatever I wanted.]

[No one else is not-important enough for me to want to write about, only you.]

“Not-important?” “Not important.” Yu Yuan somehow understood the error.

A slight smile touched her eyes, and she opened the fourth letter:

 [A’Yuan, you are unhappy today, but why did you flat me and say you were happy? Hmm?]

“Flat me?” Yu Yuan couldn’t help but chuckle, ready to open the next letter.

Unexpectedly, a hand suddenly reached across her, taking the letter in her hand and the entire wooden box away.

“Where did you get these letters?” Xue Qingshu stood to the side, asking in a cold voice.

Yu Yuan was stunned for a moment, then answered truthfully: 

“They were just on the dressing table.”

Xue Qingshu said nothing, staring at Yu Yuan in silence for a while. Then, she placed the letters back into the wooden box and walked away with it, moving behind the screen.

Yu Yuan remained seated at the dressing table behind the screen. She glanced at the blurred figure outside the screen, then lowered her eyes, noticing an envelope that had fallen onto the floor near the dressing table.

She stared at the letter for a long time, then, as if by impulse, bent down and picked it up.

This was an unopened letter.

Yu Yuan’s fingertip traced the four characters, For A’Yuan’s Eyes Only. She instinctively felt that the answer she sought was inside—the answer to why Xue Qingshu protected her with her life.

She hesitated for a moment, then finally turned the letter over, opened it, and pulled out the paper inside.

The paper was covered with dark blue specks. Its content was also just a single line:

[A’Yuan, I miss you. I’m sorry.]

Her gaze fell on the characters that were blurred by the blue spots. Yu Yuan’s heart twisted with a sharp pang of pain.

She quickly put the letter back in the envelope and slipped the envelope into her storage pouch.

After sitting on the stool and recovering for a while, Yu Yuan’s heart finally calmed.

She got up from the stool, walked out from behind the screen, and looked at Xue Qingshu, who was sitting behind the desk writing something unknown. A bold conjecture formed in her mind.

Perhaps this space doesn’t belong to her, nor was it created by the anxiety in her heart. Its true owner might be the desire in another person’s heart—the obsession that person has with something lost.

Yu Yuan recalled the way Xue Qingshu looked at her. It was a gaze that seemed to look through her at someone else and she felt she understood, yet simultaneously didn’t want to understand.

She stood there struggling with her thoughts for a long time, and finally, she walked toward Xue Qingshu.

Xue Qingshu didn’t notice Yu Yuan approaching. She was copying the Scripture of Clarity and Stillness over and over, but her mind was still incredibly unsettled.

Those letters shouldn’t have appeared here. Xue Qingshu remembered Yu Yuan’s surprised look and wondered if she had seen that letter.

If she did see it, what should I do? Xue Qingshu didn’t know, and the characters she was writing became increasingly messy.

She thought about getting up to explain to Yu Yuan, but when she looked up, she saw Yu Yuan sit down across from her.

Xue Qingshu: *. * She lowered her head, choosing to avoid the conversation.

Yu Yuan looked at Xue Qingshu’s delicate calligraphy and chose to ask in a calm voice: “Is this illusion yours?”

Xue Qingshu’s pen paused. She did not deny it.

Seeing this, Yu Yuan had her answer: “Those letters were also written by you to me.”

Xue Qingshu remained silent.

Yu Yuan didn’t pressure her for an answer. Instead, she took a sheet of paper from Xue Qingshu’s side, picked up a brush from the holder, dipped it in ink, and copied what Xue Qingshu was writing.

When she finished, she placed the two sheets of paper opposite each other on the desk. They truly looked like mirror images.

“Xue Qingshu, why is your handwriting the same as mine?” Yu Yuan asked.

Xue Qingshu slid the paper she was writing on further back, offering no reply.

Seeing this, Yu Yuan pondered for a while, and finally gathered the courage to ask: “Did something happen between you and me?”

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