Boundless – Chapter 39

They lived like this for many, many years.

Later, Yan Han “died.” Canglan Courtyard lost a direct disciple, but the snake clan gained a new demon king.

Legend has it that on the day the new king forced the abdication, she bathed the royal family in blood, and snake corpses littered the ground. An old demon who escaped didn’t see her full face, only catching a glimpse of her standing on a high rock, her face half-turned, covered by a mask, her pupils a deep, eerie green.

She lowered her eyes and saw the trembling old demon.

The corners of her lips curled slightly, and she actually smiled.

Behind her, blood flowed like a stream. The vast sunset glow submerged the mortal world, igniting a blaze that filled the eyes.

“Very beautiful.” The old demon was terrified just thinking about it, yet at the same time, found her beautiful. “And very venomous.”

Other demons gathered around to listen, not noticing a vine retracting into the earth in a corner.

Disputes, turmoil, unrest in the immortal sects, chaos among the demon clans.

Yan Chengquan took the opportunity to consolidate Five Spirits Mountain, and Wen Qianshu was so busy she barely touched the ground.

She had newly taken Yan Yan and Yan Shenxing as disciples, and often worried that the former’s personality was too soft, while the latter’s was too unyielding.

Until one day, just as Wen Qianshu stepped out of Canglan Courtyard’s gate, she sensed Yun Cai was nearby.

Wen Qianshu stopped.

Yan Yan, following behind her, asked in confusion, “Master?”

Wen Qianshu waved her hand. “You go on ahead. I have something to attend to.”

Following the wing powder of the paired butterflies, she found Yun Cai.

The other person was sitting on a branch of a Fuliu Boat. The branch swayed gently, and she had her head tilted back, looking at something unknown.

But she immediately sensed Wen Qianshu’s approach, lowered her gaze, and said, “Moon passed away.”

Moon—Wen Qianshu was dazed for a moment before remembering it was the fish.

Wen Qianshu: “It was just an ordinary little fish. It lived for a long time.”

Yun Cai said, “That’s true.”

Wen Qianshu: “What about Head Yun? Didn’t he come back with you?”

Yun Cai: “He went into seclusion for cultivation.”

Wen Qianshu was taken aback, but then she heard Yun Cai say, “I’ve been a doctor in the mortal realm all these years. He couldn’t stand it, but he can’t argue with me about it anymore, so he gave up and left in a huff—”

A cultivator’s life spans hundreds or thousands of years; a mortal’s is indeed much shorter in comparison.

Head Yun couldn’t understand why his daughter would “waste her efforts” on these “trivial matters,” squandering her path to immortality.

Wen Qianshu: “Why?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Yun Cai said. “Perhaps it’s fate—”

She looked down at her palm and said, “I just feel that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m meant to save people.”

In the grand scheme of things, it was as if she had walked a very long road and met many people.

It was as if she always dreamed of a pair of pitch-black eyes, of patients in strange attire one after another.

She dreamed of herself with her hands clasped together, not knowing what she was wishing for.

Was she born to save people—

Wen Qianshu smiled. Yun Cai didn’t know what she was smiling about, but just looking at her, she started to smile too.

Wen Qianshu suddenly pulled a long branch and leaped onto it herself. “So what’s next for you? Are you leaving again?”

Yun Cai said, “Yes, perhaps I’ll just stay out there, treating illnesses and tending to injuries.”

Wen Qianshu lay down, letting the branch sway gently.

Her outer robe spread open, its sash fluttering. The sunlight and wind passed through Yun Cai’s long hair, catching her red silk hair ribbon and letting it fall on Wen Qianshu’s cheek.

The two of them chatted idly.

They talked about the medicinal herbs Wen Qianshu had sent to Yun Cai, and about the people Yun Cai had saved.

They talked about Wen Qianshu’s new disciples, the current state of Five Spirits Mountain, the little trinkets of the mortal world, the myriad states of mortal life, and the countless worldly affairs.

Lying on her back on the branch, Wen Qianshu glanced sideways, saw the crescent moon mark at the corner of Yun Cai’s eye, and suddenly said, “Should I catch another little fish for you to keep?”

Yun Cai: “I’m not keeping another one. It’s too sad when they die.”

Wen Qianshu, however, froze and looked at her.

The branch fluttered, rising and falling, carrying the person before her as she drifted, like a willow catkin that couldn’t be caught in the wind.

An afternoon long ago, the cold and merciless winter sun shone in, illuminating a sofa scratched by a cat. Someone else had sat there, bending over to pick up cat toys, and said to her, “I’m not getting another one. It’s too sad when they die.”

Wen Qianshu let out a breath and softly spoke the words she hadn’t realized back then, or perhaps had realized but refused to say.

“Then let’s not get another one. I’ll keep you company from now on.”

Yun Cai was stunned. She whipped her head around, her gaze meeting Wen Qianshu’s.

Yun Cai was silent, but Wen Qianshu could read her thoughts—She said she’ll keep me company, what does that mean?

Wen Qianshu: “…”

Wen Qianshu “never regretted,” and considered this one of her few virtues.

But now, she regretted it.

She regretted arguing with Jiang Mingyue back then, so much so that she never heard a proper confession from her, so much so that—

Giving up on herself, Wen Qianshu asked 2333 while lying down, “Do you know how to properly confess to someone?”

She thought for a moment and added, “The kind that won’t scare someone away in ancient times.”

2333: “You’re asking me?”

2333 seized every opportunity to twist the knife: “You’re just not an ancient person. I’m not even a person.”

Wen Qianshu: “Well, there’s no one around me thinking about this stuff either.”

Wen Qianshu had actually observed very carefully, but after observing for a while, she found she couldn’t draw any conclusions.

Yan Chengquan was completely preoccupied with schemes and power struggles, having never given a thought to romance, and no one was qualified to ask about the Head’s marital affairs. As for Yan Han, she was now more like Yan Chengquan’s disciple and had probably almost forgotten her true master’s name. Even Yan Shenxing and Yan Yan—as a child, that little girl Yan Yan had been head over heels for her neighbor’s older brother, caring so much about face. But now that she was grown up, good heavens, she was all buddy-buddy with him, laughing and joking, never mentioning love again.

When Wen Qianshu asked, she became very embarrassed—“Master, everyone has their moments of youthful ignorance.” After saying that, she added in a soft, sweet voice, “How could I have known as a child that there were so many handsome young men in the world? They are endless, of different races, and I can’t take them all—”

2333 and Master Wen were both stunned into silence. Then they heard her continue, “It’s better to read more storybooks and legends. The people in the stories are forever young and handsome, never aging or dying. When they find their happy endings, it’s as if I’ve found my own several times over.”

Just as Wen Qianshu’s mind was wandering, Yun Cai asked, “Why would you say that?”

Wen Qianshu was at a loss for words.

She remembered the vow she had made before—Don’t run away—

Don’t run away anymore—

But one crooked idea after another popped up, spinning in her mind, dragging her back into her comfort zone.

Wen Qianshu opened her mouth and said with a smile, “I—”

That one word was drawn out for a long time, until the sound faded without being followed by another.

The long wind rustled the leaves.

The ocean waves crashed against the rocks with a roar.

Heaven and Earth continued to operate on their own. Amidst the clamor, Wen Qianshu could distinctly hear her own breathing, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest.

And she could distinctly see Yun Cai’s open, light-colored eyes.

Wen Qianshu couldn’t help but observe her surroundings—

The chirping of birds, the fragrance of flowers.

Falling leaves, the sound of the wind.

The scent of damp earth, the faint chirping of insects, cut short by a pecking sparrow.

Countless pieces of information rushed into her mind, vying to distract her.

She suddenly wasn’t so sure if Yun Cai liked her anymore.

Time seemed to stop. Wen Qianshu watched herself retreat, her voice detaching from her body as she said with a casual smile, “I was just saying.”

Yun Cai’s light-colored pupils slowly narrowed.

Wen Qianshu had never seen this expression on her before, but the next moment, that expression magnified abruptly. Yun Cai suddenly moved closer, right in front of her, and also smiled. “Just saying? Do you even know what you’re saying?”

Her eyes were so light, her gaze so sharp—

It could see right through a person.

Her breath fanned across Wen Qianshu’s cheek, her arm like an iron hoop, clamping down on her shoulder.

Caught off guard, Wen Qianshu tilted her head back and bumped into the back of Yun Cai’s hand—her other hand was already positioned behind her, anticipating that she might hit the branch.

Yun Cai just looked at her like that, and after a moment, she let out a sneer.

“Sister is always so carefree.”

With that, she released her hand, gave Wen Qianshu a sweeping glance from top to bottom, then looked away, preparing to leave. However, Wen Qianshu suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her closer.

Caught by surprise, Yun Cai braced herself with one hand on the branch behind Wen Qianshu. The two of them fell together, only to be bounced back up by the branch.

Yun Cai’s hair wasn’t tied up neatly; a stray lock fell out, brushing against Wen Qianshu’s cheek.

As they bobbed up and down, Wen Qianshu asked softly, “You like me, don’t you?”

Yun Cai didn’t answer. She stared motionlessly at Wen Qianshu, who continued teasingly, “Otherwise, why would you have kept the fish I gave you for so long?”

Yun Cai: “What about you?”

Wen Qianshu: “Does that even need to be said—”

Yun Cai interrupted her: “What about Canglan Courtyard?”

Wen Qianshu suddenly froze. She realized where the problem lay.

The corner of Wen Qianshu’s mouth twitched. “Tsk, I really can’t escape this, can I.”

2333 didn’t understand. “What?”

Wen Qianshu closed her eyes and opened them again, then suddenly propped herself up, moving close to Yun Cai’s face.

Their long eyelashes touched, their breaths mingling.

Where did the problem lie—the problem lay with this damn world.

They were no longer students in an ivory tower, but disciples of Canglan Courtyard and Yanyun Sky.

In a way, they were in an adversarial relationship; they had a conflict of interest.

Yun Cai did like Wen Qianshu—that Moon Chaser flower, the paired butterfly wing powder, the letters; that fleeting glimpse in the cave, the way she leaped to protect her in front of the Fire Iris.

But Yun Cai could never be like Jiang Mingyue again, staking everything on that faint glimmer of affection Wen Qianshu had shown.

Yun Cai had already left the inner circle of Yanyun Sky, but Wen Qianshu was still the disciple of Canglan Courtyard’s leader. If they were to get together, what would Yanyun Sky think? And what would Canglan Courtyard think?

That’s why Yun Cai had been traveling abroad for so many years, why she stayed away from Yanyun Sky where she grew up, rarely returning.

It’s like this again, just like this again.

In the time Wen Qianshu hadn’t noticed, she had always paid too high a price.

She couldn’t run away anymore. Otherwise, Yun Cai would, “for her own good,” become her pen pal for life.

What a joke. What did Wen Qianshu need a pen pal for?

Yun Cai: “Figured it out?”

Wen Qianshu: “Figured it out.”

Yun Cai chuckled and tried to get up, but Wen Qianshu held her right arm, not letting go. Yun Cai looked down at her, but Wen Qianshu stared into her eyes, her gaze even a little fierce.

The long wind crossed the sea, the waves of leaves surged.

Wen Qianshu suddenly stretched her neck and kissed the corner of Yun Cai’s mouth.

A brilliant sunset spread across the horizon. The sun gradually sank, its gentle light watching over them.

For a moment, Yun Cai couldn’t tell if it was real or not. The spot of skin at the corner of her mouth, pressed against warm, moist lips, felt as if a fire had been lit, bursting into flames with a “whoosh.”

The rosy clouds filled the sky, blazing like flames.

The person beneath her whispered something.

The voice was moist and indistinct.

Such a light, light sentence, scattered in the wind, blown across the years.

But Yun Cai heard it clearly.

“I’m giving you my heart, please don’t break it.”

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Author’s Notes:

Yan Yan: Using the softest voice to do the most ferocious things.

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