Still Secretly In Love With My Enemy Today - Chapter 25

Chapter 25: 

 

On the morning of the eleventh day, a street peddler passed by the gate.

 

The iron butterflies he sold were crafted with exquisite detail. I picked out a green pair and placed them in Xie Huaishuang’s hand while the medicine was brewing.

 

“They’re prettier than the ones back at Linlang Pavilion,” I let his fingertips trace the wings. “More expensive, too—do you actually like me?”

 

While feeding him, I told him about the recent weather: “It’s much warmer than when you first fell asleep. You won’t need a cloak anymore when we go out—do you actually like me?”

 

While revising my blueprints, I wavered between two different pipeline layouts and asked him: “Which do you think is better, the first one? Forget it, it won’t be too late to change it once you wake up—do you actually like me?”

 

Xie Huaishuang ignored me, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly with his breath, his long hair draped softly over his chest and across the pillow.

 

“Xie Huaishuang.”

 

I murmured his name to myself, picking up his hand as I had before and pressing it against my cheek.

 

Like warmed porcelain, the light callouses from his sword-work brushed against me, sending deep ripples through my heart.

 

…

 

On the twelfth day, I decided to try a different approach.

 

Waiting like this was becoming unbearable. After triple-checking that Xie Huaishuang was perfectly fine, I ran across two streets and hurriedly bought a stack of romance novels.

 

I figured I could sacrifice another hour of sleep each day to study these.

 

I had never liked anyone like this before, nor had I seen anyone close to me fall in love, so I was hopelessly inexperienced at judging if someone liked me back—and even less knowledgeable about how to pursue someone. That was why I was so prone to overthinking.

 

If that’s the case, shouldn’t I just see how the books write it? The people who write these stories must be more experienced than me. Maybe if I read enough, I’ll figure it out.

 

Feeling quite logical, I finished calculating the layout of the boiler room and drive gears, then picked a book by the lamplight. I glanced at the sleeping Xie Huaishuang and flipped to the first page with high expectations.

 

…

 

Closing the first book, I felt something was wrong.

 

What happened? How did these two people suddenly fall into a reckless love? Isn’t this just lust at first sight?

 

I looked at the cover doubtfully, set it aside, and picked out another.

 

Perhaps the first one was an outlier. Let’s look at another.

 

Halfway through the second one, I couldn’t go on.

 

What were these two doing? Why did the protagonist, after suffering endless abuse, suddenly have an epiphany that the other person treated them this way because of “love,” and then continue to endure the abuse?

 

I didn’t get it. But the submissive character was described as having a slight resemblance to Xie Huaishuang—stunning appearance, high martial arts prowess, and an exalted status. Why on earth would someone like that feel so inferior to an ordinary person all day?

 

Zero reference value. Xie Huaishuang would never be like that. Anyone who dared treat him like that would find his sword at their throat.

 

As I reached for the third book, I began to have doubts.

 

—Is this really how the people who write these stories feel about those they love?

 

This one was supposedly a bestseller. The bookstore owner, while dealing with three other customers, had specifically turned around to recommend it, calling it a “masterpiece of lingering affection and deep devotion that must be read.”

 

Regaining a bit of confidence, I opened the first page.

 

It wasn’t long—a thin volume. I finished it through gritted teeth and decided to use it to prop up a wobbly table leg.

 

I truly don’t understand.

 

If trampling someone underfoot and then offering a few casual apologies under the guise of “sudden realization” counts as “deep devotion,” then the day I found Xie Huaishuang could be called deep devotion, too.

 

—As if!

 

I decided to stop reading these nonsense stories and went back to look at Xie Huaishuang.

 

With half his face hidden in shadow, I suddenly remembered the unlucky protagonist of that third book.

 

That swordsman was unlucky enough to be unrecognized for his talents, but because of a few tears (which I suspected were fake) and some trivial support from the person who had once degraded him, he began to pour out his heart without reservation, going through fire and water for another sixty chapters. No matter how you looked at it, he was even unluckier than before.

 

Despite this, every character in the book insisted the best thing that ever happened to the swordsman was meeting that person.

 

I didn’t think the unlucky swordsman loved that person at all. Putting aside the past grudges, even looking only at the part after the other person’s “epiphany,” the relationship was at most a matter of debt or gratitude.

 

Gratitude and love are two completely different things. Those two characters never knew or cared what the other was truly thinking. Rather than a romantic tale, it was more like a story of someone who failed to take revenge but overpaid a debt of kindness.

 

But unlike the first two books which I forgot immediately, I kept thinking about that unlucky swordsman.

 

Perhaps because his experiences were so similar to Xie Huaishuang’s—betrayal, the loss of martial arts, and meeting a “passerby.”

 

—In the past, I also wanted to kill him. Can he really love someone he fought with tooth and nail for ten years?

 

I knew these absurd stories were unreliable, but those lines kept flickering in my mind.

 

The unlucky swordsman, because of a casual—and I truly mean casual—”I like you” from the other person, abandoned all caution, willingly surrendering everything and going through fire and water once more.

 

—I had never considered this before. Could it be that Xie Huaishuang also can’t distinguish between gratitude and love? Would he forget the past accounts just because of some so-called kindness?

 

He had, after all, lived alone in the depths of the Temple for so long. Who in the Temple would have told him that gratitude and affection are two different things? Perhaps he doesn’t even know what “love” is.

 

I wanted to touch his eyelashes again, but I withdrew my hand before I could.

 

If I told him I liked him right now, what if he confused these feelings and agreed to be with me out of a muddled sense of obligation?

 

Xie Huaishuang is a very soft-hearted person.

 

Under the flickering lamp, I looked at his peaceful face. After a long hesitation, I finally touched his fingertips, but only for a fleeting second.

 

During these days, I could feel that Xie Huaishuang had developed some dependence on me, but I knew better than anyone where that dependence came from. Does he truly know the difference?

 

“Xie Huaishuang.”

 

I called his name very softly, but the rest of the words wouldn’t come out. I didn’t even dare poke his palm anymore.

 

How was I supposed to tell him?

 

…

 

Xie Huaishuang woke up on the morning of the fifteenth day.

 

I hadn’t dared sleep since the middle of the night. Listening to the sound of the wind rustling the flowers and leaves outside, I sat by the bed staring at him.

 

When his fingertip twitched, I thought I was hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but then I saw his eyelashes tremble and lift.

 

The sound of the wind and the sunlight both seemed to freeze.

 

It took me a moment to react, my eyes widening as my heart hammered in my chest. In that instant, his right hand began fumbling to catch my sleeve, following it up to find my wrist.

 

Before he fell asleep, Xie Huaishuang had asked me: “Will I find you when I wake up?”

 

Of course. Of course.

 

Before he could speak, I instinctively pulled his hand and pressed it against my face, trying my best to suppress my ragged breathing so he would know I was right here.

 

Xie Huaishuang was still half-asleep. Those emerald pools gazed at me blankly for a long time before they suddenly flickered. His fingertips moved against my cheek, and then he immediately tried to sit up.

 

“Slow down—what’s the rush?”

 

I had grown used to speaking to him during his sleep. I pressed him back down to rest against the pillows before remembering to write in his hand again.

 

“How do you feel? Is anything uncomfortable?”

 

Xie Huaishuang shook his head, then suddenly sat up again. Before I could push him back, he closed the distance without a word, wrapping both arms around my shoulders.

 

“I had… such a long dream.”

 

His voice was muffled, sounding not quite fully awake. I didn’t have time to ask anything else or even gather up his hair, which fell in long strands over my shoulders.

 

I instinctively raised my hands to hug him back, but stopped just as I touched his shoulders.

 

—He might really not know the difference. Let’s take it slow.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, I just patted his back, trying my best to control my own trembling.

 

“It’s okay, don’t think about it anymore.” I wrote slowly in his hand. “Everything is better now.”

 

Xie Huaishuang gradually quieted down. By the time I had written it a third time, he let go. He looked completely different from the dazed state he was in just moments ago; he was fully awake. I settled him back down and asked: “What did you dream about?”

 

“I can’t remember.” He blinked slowly, then again, and shook his head. “Anyway, it was very long.”

 

“Then let’s not talk about that.” I asked again, “How does your body feel now?”

 

Xie Huaishuang lowered his eyes and pressed his fingers to his own wrist. I saw his brow lift, and a moment later, he reached out his hand toward me: “Do you understand pulse readings?”

 

I looked at him and pressed my fingertips down.

 

I only knew a little about it, but that little was enough to see that he was completely different from fifteen days ago.

 

When I looked up at him, I saw his eyes were bright—filled with joy, expectation, and a hint of pride. All these emotions, mixed with the sunlight filtering through the curtains, rippled across his brow, eyes, and lips.

 

“I’d say I have about fifty percent of my former strength now.” He explained in detail, adding, “Physician Ye truly has the touch of a saint. As for the rest, it can’t be rushed in a day.”

 

“Fifty percent is already very good.” Xie Huaishuang now always seemed to guess what I was going to say before I spoke. “Like a withered tree in spring, there is a future; I’m not in a hurry. Besides…”

 

He smiled. “Even with fifty percent, how many people in this world can be my match?”

 

He poked my palm. “Only you are the most troublesome. But either way, you won’t be opposing me now.”

 

I pressed his misbehaving hand back down and wrote: “How do you know?”

 

Xie Huaishuang tilted his head. “How could I not know?”

 

“There are many things you don’t know,” I said aloud, looking at him. “You have no idea that I like you.”

 

I only dared to say it because I knew he couldn’t hear. As expected, he didn’t react, keeping his palm open, waiting for me to write something else.

 

A complete and total “casting pearls before a blind man” in every sense!

 

But—I looked at him and smiled along—seeing him like this truly made me happy. His complexion was no longer pale, and the lingering shadow of loneliness was gone.

 

This time, he really can take up his sword again, without suffering the pain of Rebel Sovereign or anxiously counting the minutes.

 

Xie Huaishuang was already making plans: “I think I can get out of bed this afternoon—I’ve never truly shown you my swordplay; I want to show you. Do you want to spar with me? I definitely can’t beat you right now, but I can hold my own for a few moves. What do you say…”

 

I stuffed a piece of candied fruit into his mouth to shut him up and warned him: “Do not do anything reckless before Physician Ye arrives!”

 

After saying it, I felt I had used the wrong tone. I want him to like me; being bossy is not the way to be likeable.

 

Xie Huaishuang’s right cheek puffed out slightly. He gave a cold snort and pulled his hand away.

 

“You don’t understand these things—this is tasty, where did you buy it?”

 

…Actually, in some ways, Xie Huaishuang is quite different from that unlucky swordsman. He’s quite confident when he’s bossing me around.

 

Not that I’m complaining, of course.