My Senior Sister Says She Will Marry No One But Me - Chapter 53

After conversing for a while longer, Xue Shuyan stood up to take her leave. It seemed as though her arduous, discreet journey had no other purpose than to ensure Du Yunge was settling well in this unfamiliar place.

Du Yunge felt deeply uneasy. Having once declared in Miaoyin Sect that “her food, clothing, and daily necessities shall be equal to mine,” she had implicitly acknowledged that her Senior Sister Xue held a distinct place in her heart. Just as Xue Shuyan couldn’t bear to see her suffer, she equally couldn’t stand the thought of Xue Shuyan enduring hardship. Tentatively, she asked:

“Where will you rest tonight, Senior Sister?”

To be honest, Xue Shuyan hadn’t given it much thought initially. After a brief consideration, she replied, “I’ll find an empty tent to make do for the night.”

“That won’t do,” Du Yunge exclaimed in surprise. She had assumed that, given the blood relation between Qin Shanshan and Xue Shuyan, Qin wouldn’t treat her cousin too harshly. Yet it appeared Qin Shanshan truly showed no regard for Xue Shuyan’s dignity.

She glanced at her own bed, noting the fine silks and satins adorning it. Apart from the somewhat outdated style and colors, both the size and location were impeccable: situated deep within the tent where few could intrude, shielded by a screen, and conveniently close to the partially sealed rear exit should Xue Shuyan need a quick escape without using the front entrance. Moreover, the bed lacked railings and was even larger than her canopy bed on Wangyou Mountain. It could easily accommodate two people, and with a squeeze, even three. Pointing to the spacious bed, she asked Xue Shuyan:

“If you don’t mind, Senior Sister, would you like to share with me? After all, we’ve already squeezed together once at Emei Sect.”

Xue Shuyan responded as if she had been waiting for this very invitation: “That would be fine, though I’m afraid it might inconvenience you, Yunge.”

A faint sense of something amiss stirred in Du Yunge, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint it immediately. She replied, “Senior Sister, there’s no need for such formality between us. You’re being too polite.”

Xue Shuyan was indeed acting unusually tonight. After the back-and-forth banter with Qin Shanshan along the way, she had become more talkative. To an outsider, she might still seem reserved, but to those who knew her well, it was as if a floodgate had opened perhaps they owed Qin Shanshan some thanks for that.

“It was you who started being formal with me,” Xue Shuyan remarked.

Seeing Du Yunge’s puzzled, uncomprehending expression, she patiently guided her: “What did you just call me?”

“Senior Sister!” Du Yunge repeated the address she had used earlier, only then realizing what Xue Shuyan meant by “you started being formal”:

She had never addressed Xue Shuyan so affectionately by name before; even calling her “Senior Sister Xue” was rare. Only in a few urgent moments had she directly uttered Xue Shuyan’s name. Even Qin Shanshan, through wheedling and playful persistence, had managed to earn the address “Miss Qin.”

In comparison, Xue Shuyan’s desire for a more intimate form of address seemed perfectly normal. However, in the martial world, there was no precedent for a junior sister to directly call her senior sister by her given name. At most, using her courtesy name was already the limit of intimacy. But Xue Shuyan, being of mixed Hu and Han heritage, didn’t even have a Han name until Feng Chengchun gave her one, how could she possibly have a courtesy name, which must be bestowed by an elder?

Yet, considering their status alone, it didn’t seem overly improper for Du Yunge, as the sect leader, to address Xue Shuyan by her given name. In fact, it might even give outsiders the impression that the two shared a close, unbreakable bond.

And so, Du Yunge called out Xue Shuyan’s name:

“Shuyan.”

As soon as the words left her lips, before Xue Shuyan could even react, Du Yunge’s face flushed completely red. Her fair, even complexion made the blush all the more noticeable. Yet, if she were to think about it seriously, there was no real reason for her to blush it was as if a small flame had suddenly ignited in her heart, tinting even the air she breathed with a rosy hue.

To change the subject and quickly escape her embarrassment, Du Yunge hurriedly urged Xue Shuyan to blow out the candle, nearly choking on her own saliva in the process. Her words stumbled slightly:

“L-Let’s go to sleep, Shuyan!”

Admittedly, the sudden change in address felt a bit awkward at first. But Xue Shuyan’s name was elegant and pleasant to the ear after all, it had been chosen by Feng Chengchun herself. After calling it a few times, if one didn’t see Xue Shuyan’s icy demeanor, the name evoked a flowing, gentle image, like clouds of brocade parting as a wild goose carrying a letter soared through them.

When one cannot see their surroundings, their perception of many things becomes sharper. Just like now, even in the pitch-darkness of the tent, Du Yunge could feel Xue Shuyan’s intense gaze fixed on her without pause. Yet when she groped for Xue Shuyan’s position and met her gaze with a questioning look, Xue Shuyan would avert her eyes. This left Du Yunge feeling as though countless fluffy little claws were tugging at her heart, an unbearable itch that demanded an answer:

“Shuyan, what are you looking at?”

Perhaps it was because the night was deep and everything around them was shrouded in a hazy blur, but Du Yunge thought she detected a hint of unusual tenderness in Xue Shuyan’s voice:

“I’m waiting for you to fall asleep.”

As soon as Du Yunge’s head touched the pillow, drowsiness washed over her. She had exhausted herself that day though she hadn’t suffered from “disrupted qi flow” as described in Du Baoqin’s manuscripts, she was more tired than if she had practiced swordplay all day. Not to mention, she had endured a welcome banquet under the weight of various meaningful glances, barely tasting the food.

Now that she could finally rest, with someone she trusted completely by her side, it was as if she had swallowed a sleep-inducing bug. Her eyelids grew heavy, and her voice softened not in an intentionally sweet or coquettish way, but like a cat that had always kept its distance finally warming up to someone, rolling over, exposing its belly, and letting out a long, drawn-out meow:

“But why do you have to wait for me?”

Such natural softness and warmth brought immense comfort to the listener, and Xue Shuyan was no exception. Her voice grew even gentler, though Du Yunge was too preoccupied to notice the subtle change:

“I’ll sleep after you do. What if you need something in your drowsiness and no one is there to help you?”

“…You’re always so thoughtful, Senior Sister.” Having called Xue Shuyan “Senior Sister” for so many years, Du Yunge couldn’t break the habit easily. In her muddled state, she instinctively reverted to the old address:

“Then I’m really going to sleep now.”

With great effort, she managed to utter these words before falling completely silent. Just as Xue Shuyan thought she had drifted off and was about to close her own eyes, a faint, tearful murmur came from Du Yunge’s side. It sounded as though it had been squeezed past tightly sealed lips and clenched teeth, a manifestation of overwhelming sorrow, each word dripping with anguish:

“Senior Sister…”

“You shouldn’t have come back for my seventh-day memorial!”

Startled, Xue Shuyan’s drowsiness vanished instantly. She rose silently, moving so lightly that not a sound was made, and leaned close to Du Yunge. From this proximity, she could see the wounds on Du Yunge’s face and the traces of ointment applied to them. Then, she noticed a single tear clinging to the corner of Du Yunge’s eye.

That tear was like morning dew clinging to the delicate inner petals of a magnolia, or a drop of clear water sprinkled over solidified almond curd. Just that tiny bit seemed to complete the picture neither too much to evoke excessive pity, nor too little to lose its vitality. Framed by her long lashes, it stirred an overwhelming sense of tenderness in anyone who saw it, making them yearn to shield her from all hardship and suffering.

Yet while others might feel pity, some would let their thoughts wander into darker corners, wishing to see such beauty weep freely elsewhere, the more tears the better, as if a downpour of sorrow would bring them a sense of triumphant pleasure. But Xue Shuyan harbored no such twisted thoughts.

She simply gazed at Du Yunge, who lay fast asleep yet still wept, her dreams filled with such despair and self-reproach, and felt an infinite ache in her heart:

What kind of dream are you having? What could torment you so deeply? Aren’t you the treasured master of the Miaoyin Sect, cherished and protected by me and the Four Guardians of the Seasons? The troubles of this world should never have reached you. Why has it come to this, Yunge?

For a moment, even the small joy Xue Shuyan had felt earlier at sharing a bed with Du Yunge faded away. She felt none of the suspicion or wariness that such an eerie dream utterance might provoke in others:

It was like holding a torch against the wind on a freezing night, with barely any clothing for warmth. If one could grasp even a sliver of light and warmth, who would care about the wind blowing against them?

When Xue Shuyan reached out to gently touch the corner of Du Yunge’s eye, a tear finally trembled on her long lashes and fell, landing precisely on Xue Shuyan’s fingertip. It brought a faint, almost imperceptible chill, fleeting as it was, yet to Xue Shuyan, it felt bone-piercingly cold.

That single tear should have held no weight at all. To insects or ants, it might have seemed like a torrential flood descending from the heavens, but to Xue Shuyan, accustomed to wielding swords and blades, it should have been nothing.

Yet, the moment the tear landed on her fingertip, her hands which never hesitated whether holding a sword or a spear trembled ever so slightly, as if she truly could not bear the weight of that single drop. Still, Xue Shuyan quickly regained her composure. After a long moment, she brought the tear to her lips.

Human tears are never without bitterness, let alone this one, which seemed to carry endless anguish and despair, so bitter it felt suffocating. Yet, to Xue Shuyan, it was as if she had stolen a sip of a century-old vintage wine while its owner was unaware, a mix of shame, for taking advantage of another’s vulnerability, and joy:

In this world, perhaps nothing else could bring her such pain and sweetness all at once.

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