Waiting for You for a Long Time, But You Haven't Arrived - Chapter 15

Hating everyone, including herself

When Ming Yishu was led out, she was wearing only a single, thin garment. Having knelt in the snow for a long time, she hadn’t even had the chance to put on extra layers before being locked in the woodshed.

The woodshed was bleak and cold. Wind whistled through the gaps in the door, and even though it was locked, the chill remained biting.

In an instant, Ming Yishu had fallen into such a dire state. Her body and mind trembled with cold; she still could not understand where she had gone wrong. When a crime is fabricated, there is no room for one to argue their innocence.

Perhaps it’s because the fire in Aunt’s heart hasn’t faded yet, and I’ve simply been caught in the crossfire, Ming Yishu thought. She stopped wallowing in sorrow and took a few steps into the darkness, only to suddenly hear the squeaking of rats from a corner of the shed.

She froze. She had intended to move to the corner to shield herself from the wind, but now she didn’t dare.

Rats in ancient times were different from those in the modern world—larger, more aggressive, and potentially carrying plagues. In this era, a single bite could be fatal.

After a moment’s thought, she moved to a spot near the door instead. Though it was drafty, at least the rats wouldn’t venture there.

Clad in such thin fabric, her hands and feet went numb within half an hour of being locked away. The wound on her shoulder began to burn with pain, and her chest throbbed once more.

Ming Yishu smiled bitterly, thinking to herself that misfortunes truly never come alone.

She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, trying to relax her body in hopes it might make the suffering more bearable.

The snowy night felt eternal. During the late hours when the snow began to melt, the cold felt like it was drilling into her very bones. Even the rats fell silent from the chill. Ming Yishu’s lips were bloodless and white; she leaned wordlessly against the door, her brow furrowed as layer after layer of cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Deep into the night, the faint sound of footsteps crunching on snow echoed outside. Someone had come through the storm and stopped before the woodshed. They politely called out, “Miss Ming,” and upon receiving no answer, knocked gently on the wooden door.

Ming Yishu jolted awake, her heart pounding as she slumped powerlessly to the floor.

She pushed herself up, regaining a bit of clarity.

Listening closely, she realized the knocking wasn’t a hallucination. There was indeed a raspy, elderly voice calling her name.

Ming Yishu spoke with difficulty: “Who is it?”

“Miss Ming, it is this old servant.” Bo Lu stood there holding an oil-paper umbrella against the snow, his hunched figure blocking the wind from the door cracks. “Is your body holding up?”

Ming Yishu hadn’t expected to receive kindness in such a state. She was stunned for a moment before her voice softened: “I am… alright for now. Has Aunt’s anger subsided?”

Bo Lu fell silent for a moment and sighed. “The Chancellor has already retired for the night. I have brought you a cloak to ward off the cold. Take shelter for now; tomorrow, once the Chancellor wakes and her anger has cooled, you will be able to come out.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Sir, but if this cloak was not authorized by my Aunt and is seen tomorrow, it will surely implicate you.” Ming Yishu was so cold she could no longer feel her limbs. Her breath didn’t even mist, as if her body had already matched the frigid temperature of the shed. “I will not forget this kindness today, but please, you should return.”

Though she didn’t know what she had done wrong tonight, she knew one thing clearly: her Aunt loathed betrayal above all else.

Not even a shred of betrayal was tolerated, a boundary that expanded according to her Aunt’s distorted psyche. If Bo Lu gave her a cloak tonight and was discovered tomorrow, her Aunt would surely see it as a betrayal. Instead of cooling her anger, she would likely punish Bo Lu as well.

She could endure the suffering herself—a temporary ordeal wouldn’t break her—but the old steward was advanced in years. Being locked in a woodshed in the dead of winter might be the end of him.

Thus, despite the cold, Ming Yishu could only decline his kindness.

Standing outside the door, Bo Lu let out a heavy sigh. “Please, Miss Ming, do not let a rift grow between you and the Chancellor. Our Chancellor does indeed have a difficult temperament, but she has treated you with genuine heart. Perhaps she herself does not realize it, but having been in the Manor for so many years, I can see that she treats you differently from anyone else.”

Ming Yishu whispered, “I know.”

Bo Lu continued, “This woodshed is wretched and cold. I have already ordered someone to clean another shed overnight. Please endure this for a little longer; once it is ready, I will come to move you.”

Having become a prisoner, the location hardly mattered, but Ming Yishu felt a sense of “laughing through the tears.” She hadn’t expected that even in this state, she would have the “freedom” to choose a better woodshed.

Bo Lu bowed slightly toward the shed. “The night is deep and the snow is heavy. Please take care of your health, Miss. If I stay out too long, the Chancellor may grow suspicious. I shall take my leave now.”

Ming Yishu replied gratefully, “Thank you for your care, Sir.”

Silence returned to the woodshed. Ming Yishu coughed a few times, her throat feeling as if it were filled with ice shards. Amidst the piercing pain, a metallic taste of blood rose up.

Leaning against the door, she looked down. A streak of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

She was stunned. In the darkness, she couldn’t see clearly, but she reached up with her fingertip to touch her lip. Only then did the realization hit her.

Blood—

Why was there blood?

A sense of dazed sorrow washed over her. She did not fear death, but she did not want to die in this world.

If possible, she wanted to stay by Jiang Qionghua’s side for many more years.

She couldn’t bear to let go.

All the affection and protection she never received in her modern life, she had found in her Aunt alone. Ming Yishu had been alone for many years; she felt incredibly lucky to have met Jiang Qionghua through this “book transmigration.”

Perhaps she truly craved that kind of love and that kind of person so much that, over the past six years, she had treated the other woman as a completely real existence, staking all her sincerity and love on her.

Ming Yishu admitted to herself: she liked taking care of her, liked everything about her—even the way she frowned in anger.

It was as if she had enshrined a deity in her heart, worrying and admiring every day, keeping the woman in her soul and serving her with a devotion that knew no regret.

She closed her eyes, leaning against the frozen door with her hands over her heart, trying to pray to the heavens for a few more years to accompany that unreachable person.

Her thoughts drifted…

Then, at some unknown point, the sound of footsteps returned.

“—Miss! I’ve secretly brought your medicine out. Did you take your medicine today?”

Ming Yishu opened her eyes and asked, “Qian’er? Why are you out in such heavy snow?”

Forty-five minutes earlier, Jiang Qionghua had been jolted from a half-slumber by a pounding headache.

She sat up with a frown, her anger still simmering.

“Ming Yishu—”

The moment she spoke, she stopped herself. She remembered then that earlier in the night, she had lost her temper and locked the only person who could soothe her headache in the woodshed.

Jiang Qionghua didn’t know if she was angry at herself or at the girl. She pulled back the bed curtains and stared into the void for a long time before thinking spitefully: It’s not as if I can’t live without Ming Yishu. It’s just a headache. It won’t take my life; I won’t die.

She let go of the curtain with frustration, the self-loathing in her eyes almost manifesting as dark smoke.

She hated everyone, including herself.

Whenever her chronic headaches flared, she even felt like taking a blade to her own skull to stop the pain—as if that could end a life that was as joyless as it was loveless.

After all, no one cared for her. After she died, people might dig up her grave, but no one would offer sacrifices or shed a single tear for her.

She did not know why she lived, nor why she had come into this world at all—to endure nothing but cold stares and punishment, and to commit every manner of evil deed.

Nothing and no one could move her heart anymore.

Her life had been born from ashes and raised among thorns; she was destined never to become a kind person.

In her youth, when her family fell into ruin, she learned to use malice as a shield for self-preservation.

At eighteen, she met the wrong person. She trusted Tang Guangjun’s help, only to have that trust trampled upon.

At twenty-eight, she suffered further tribulation. Having seen through the villainy, she took her revenge and killed Tang Guangjun. From that moment on, she never dared to pull her heart out for anyone to see again.

So be it. She had grown used to such a life.

In these empty years, only power and the dead would not betray her. Only by standing at the pinnacle of the world, looking down upon all of humanity, could she find any substantial sense of satisfaction. Even if the masses cursed her in unison, what of it? As long as she held the ultimate power in her hands, Tang Guangjun wouldn’t be able to have his way even if his corpse were reanimated. No one under heaven could bully her—even the Emperor had to kneel in her presence!

History would be rewritten according to her will. Decades, centuries, or millennia from now, she would become an entity praised by future generations. Even if no one wept for her now, the simple-minded scholars of the future would worship and admire her; they would read her story by lamplight, and poets would chant verses in her honor…

Yes.

She must not repeat the same mistakes. She could not be controlled by anyone. Any existence that acted as a shackle upon her deserved to die.

As Jiang Qionghua thought, her head throbbed more violently. Her emotions were chaotic and irritable, and a thousand voices seemed to be screaming in her ears.

She, too, was on the verge of madness.

What can be used to soothe this headache?

Jiang Qionghua smashed her jade pillow, making a tremendous noise, yet she could not reclaim a shred of her sanity. She opened her mouth, instinctively about to call out a certain name.

No—

She changed her tune, raising her voice to call: “Bo Lu.”

There was no answer.

Jiang Qionghua rose and threw on a garment, calling for Bo Lu once more. This time, a maid on night watch duty entered.

the girl spoke timidly: “Lord Chancellor, the Steward has gone out on business.”

“What business could he possibly have?” Jiang Qionghua’s mood was foul, her words dripping with dissatisfaction. She demanded, “What did Bo Lu go to do?”

The maid knelt, trembling, her voice shaking: “This servant does not know.”

Jiang Qionghua instinctively assumed that Bo Lu was also betraying her. Suppressing a surge of fury, she hurried outside, intending to catch him in the act.

She did not allow anyone to follow her. Step by step, she walked through the snow toward a specific direction.

Blasted by the cold wind and heavy snow, Jiang Qionghua suddenly froze. She realized that she had unconsciously walked toward the woodshed.

What foolishness am I doing?

In an instant, she felt a wave of self-loathing. She wished she could cut off her own limbs just to maintain her thin veneer of dignity.

The wind was truly fierce at night. Jiang Qionghua felt as though her very bones were freezing stiff. She paced in the snow for a long time, trying to suppress her violent emotions. She hoped the cold wind would freeze her headache along with her feelings, thereby alleviating the pain…

Suddenly, her foot slipped. Jiang Qionghua stumbled, her figure swaying. She looked down for a moment and, aided by the moonlight’s reflection, saw several rows of footprints on the ground.

The snow was fresh, and the night was half-spent. Who could have walked toward the woodshed?

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