The Cross-Dressing Legend Is Excessively Beautiful - Chapter 16

Chapter 16

If Song Xizhi is compared to a red lotus blooming atop ten thousand miles of snow, then Song Xialan is a green lotus amidst a cluster of blossoms, making one feel tranquil and at ease just by looking at her.

“Lan’er, you’re here,” Song Xizhi said in a clear voice as he entered the room.

However, a long time passed after his words fell, and no one answered him. Song Xizhi looked up in confusion, only to see that his sister—who was usually all soft whispers and gentle words—had unexpectedly turned her head away, giving him the cold shoulder.

Song Xizhi wasn’t used to her coldness. Usually, at a time like this, Song Xialan would have already rushed up to him, calling him “Sister” over and over.

He walked over to stand before her, deliberating for a long while on what to say. Because he had just given Song Ci that “rotten idea” a few days ago, and now Song Xialan was rarely putting on a long face, he couldn’t help but wonder if Song Ci had said something to her.

He asked tentatively, “Who has upset our precious young lady?”

The two actually looked very much alike, except that the corners of Song Xizhi’s eyes tilted upward slightly. When his “peach blossom eyes” looked at someone seriously, they always gave the lingering illusion of deep affection.

Song Xialan saw her own reflection in those watery peach blossom eyes and looked away uncomfortably, her face flushing slightly. “Besides Sister, who else could it be?”

Seeing her face turn red with anger, Song Xizhi’s heart began to sink. He wondered how to respond—if Song Xialan did this now, would it affect his plans?

As he was pondering, he heard her continue: “You clearly know your own body is weak, yet you still braved the snow to go out and play. What if your condition worsens?” She glared at him, genuinely angry.

Song Xizhi was stunned. “You’re angry because of that?” He found it difficult to understand.

Song Xialan frowned. Although they were twin sisters, Song Xizhi had been sickly since birth; a single bout of wind-chill could cost him half his life. If she hadn’t absorbed too much nourishment in the womb, causing his congenital deficiency, her sister wouldn’t have to suffer like this. Therefore, while she sometimes felt jealous of their father’s attention toward him, she mostly felt a deep sense of guilt whenever she saw him looking so ill.

Yet, Song Xizhi simply didn’t take his own health seriously. This made her even angrier.

Song Xizhi pressed a fist to his lips to suppress the itch in his throat. “It’s nothing. I’ve felt better lately, so I wanted to walk around more.”

Seeing him so careless, Song Xialan glared, wanting to scold him more. But seeing his lowered eyes and lonely expression, her anger deflated like a leaking balloon. Her sister had been locked away for years due to this strange illness; though it was for recovery, it was more like being a prisoner. He had lived all these years without ever seeing the outside world—how could she criticize him?

Song Xialan took a breath and softened her gaze. “I heard that the Divine Physician Luo has arrived in the capital. He has practiced medicine for years, and rumors say he can grow flesh on withered bones. If we can invite him, there must be a way to cure you.”

Song Xizhi only gave a short laugh and didn’t respond. How could a character card’s setting be “cured”? Over the years, countless famous doctors and even imperial physicians had been stumped by his condition. Some had even stated bluntly that he wouldn’t live past the age of twenty.

He leaned over and coughed twice. Song Xialan moved closer to support him, worry etched between her brows. “Sister, is the illness acting up?” She took her own damp handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead.

As she moved, a string of lustrous white eastern pearl bracelets caught Xizhi’s eye. This was something he had made by hand to practice his crafting skills when he was ten; she had wanted it, so he gave it to her.

Song Xizhi smiled faintly. “I didn’t expect you to still have this.” Song Xialan had always liked to cling to him, and Xizhi was happy to spoil such a gentle sister. While they had their disagreements, their bond was overall very deep. He still couldn’t figure out why she had wanted to kill him in his last life.

Seeing he remembered the pearls, Song Xialan beamed, her watery eyes sparkling. “How could I ever throw away something Sister made? I have carefully preserved everything.”

In her heart, she silently added the second half of that sentence: Including every strand of your hair.

Their hands overlapped, and a warm breath traveled through the skin to Xizhi’s fingers. The distance was truly too close. Though he was wearing a dress, he was still a man. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he unobtrusively withdrew his hand.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to hear me play the zither?” He left his seat and sat by the window, lowering his head to pluck the strings.

Song Xialan felt a sense of loss, wondering why he was always avoiding her. “Sister, have you ever thought about your own marriage?” she asked, staring at the figure before her.

Xizhi sat there with a leisurely smile, his fingers dancing across the strings. The wide, water-red sleeves were partially slipped back like falling petals, revealing pale, delicate skin that was bewitchingly beautiful.

Thinking that they would one day be separated, Song Xialan took a sip of tea; it tasted bitter in her mouth.

Song Xizhi hadn’t expected this question. If someone truly married him, the wedding night would likely turn into a midnight horror story. He laughed self-deprecatingly: “I’ve seen every doctor, and I’m not getting better. No noble son in the capital would want to marry a sickly person like me.”

“As long as I see you happy, I will be content.”

“But for me,” Song Xialan said, “the greatest happiness is seeing you safe and staying by your side for a lifetime.”

If only she could stay with him like this, living a simple life—accompanying each other to hear the cicadas in summer and sitting together by the fire to play the zither in winter. How wonderful that would be.

Outside, the snow fell with a soft rustle against the branches. Song Xizhi’s gaze grew distant. “Our ‘lifetimes’ are not the same.” His journey was too long. One day, he might not even recognize himself, let alone her.

Song Xialan thought he was being pessimistic about his health again. Not wanting to make him sad, she changed the subject. They chatted idly about flowers, birds, and folk stories, and for a while, the atmosphere was harmonious.

From a distance, one played the zither while the other brewed tea—one in red, one in cyan—complementing each other like an exquisite painting.