When the crowd surged onto the stage, the residual thin frost on the stone surface was trampled to pieces by dozens of footsteps. Broken ice mixed with melted water shimmered wetly under the moonlight.
The disciples of the Xuantian Sect were the first to rush in front of Bai Qingxue. Several of them spoke at once, their voices overlapping so much that it was impossible to make out what anyone was saying, but the expressions on their faces all shone with the same light.
A light of excitement, of admiration, of joy that came from the bottom of their hearts for her.
Someone reached out, wanting to pat Bai Qingxue's shoulder, but pulled back at the last second, only daring to brush the back of their fingers against the fabric at the edge of her cuff. It was as if a mere touch could allow them to catch a lingering trace of that ice lotus.
Then, the elders arrived as well.
The white-haired elder of the Xuantian Sect walked much faster than usual. Coming up to Bai Qingxue, he looked her up and down, then pressed his hand onto her shoulder. The pressure was light, but his palm was warm and reassuring.
He said nothing, but the meaning in that single look was clear enough.
The elders of the other sects gathered around afterward. Some said with a smile, “The Xuantian Sect has produced a fine talent,” while others stroked their beards and asked who Bai Qingxue's master was. Some handed over tokens, saying, “Come visit when you have time.” Their words were as warm as hands stretched out toward a winter hearth, one pair of hands after another.
Surrounded by the crowd, Bai Qingxue slowly moved toward the exit of the stage.
Her frost-white robe fluttered and settled in the wind, and her silver-white hair occasionally flashed with a sliver of cold light amidst the interweaving silhouettes, like a moon pursued by countless gazes.
Walking in the center of the crowd, Bai Qingxue maintained a steady, moderate pace. She occasionally turned her head to respond to a fellow disciple beside her, or nodded slightly to meet the gaze of an elder. Her expression was as cold and elegant as usual, but within that coldness, there seemed to be an extremely faint layer of softness, like a thin layer of water melting on the surface of ice.
Lu Xueqing walked half a step behind her to the left the entire time.
She kept that half-step distance exceptionally steady, neither getting too close nor deliberately distancing herself. If someone squeezed too close, she would slightly tilt her shoulder, unobtrusively keeping them at bay with the edge of her scabbard.
Her hand rested on her sword hilt, her finger pads pressed against the cloth wrapping. Her steps fell in perfect synchronization with Bai Qingxue's—rise, fall, rise, fall—like two breaths aligned in frequency.
Beside a stone pillar at the edge of the training ground, a pale green figure leaned against the coarse stone surface.
The chill of the stone pillar seeped through her clothes into her back, but Ye Qingyao did not move. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her knuckles lightly tapping the back of her hand.
Her gaze pierced through the dense, bustling crowd, past the raised arms and the rising waves of cheers, through the flowing light woven from moonlight and frost-white robes, and fell upon the back of the figure surrounded in the center.
Ye Qingyao did not squeeze into the crowd, nor did she take a single step toward the stage. She merely stood beside the stone pillar, her feet planted on the very bottom step of the stone stairs, her figure casting a long, thin shadow under the moonlight.
Her pale green robe was lifted and lowered by the sea wind. She watched the frost-white back being pushed toward the exit in the crowd, watched the arc drawn by the silver-white hair as she turned, and watched the tassel of the Frost Moon Chant gently swaying at her waist with each step.
The corners of her mouth curved up. It was a very shallow arc, like the first sliver of light shining through thin ice.
“As expected,” Ye Qingyao thought to herself, “Sister Bai is still as dazzling as ever.”
When Ye Qingyao thought this, her heart was full.
That fullness was not a feverish desire to rush forward and grasp something, but a quieter sensation, like the gentle warmth that rises in one's heart when watching a heavy snowfall blanket a courtyard.
She knew that Bai Qingxue was currently standing where everyone's gazes converged, amidst the moonlight and the lingering presence of the ice lotus, while she herself stood by the stone pillar, separated by a whole crowd of people and cheers.
Yet, there was no bitterness in her heart.
She stood here because she had walked to Canglan Island step by step with her own cultivation, and Bai Qingxue stood there because she had also stepped onto the stage with her own cultivation.
They were walking the same path, just in different positions.
There was nothing to self-pity.
She did not need to stand by Bai Qingxue's side right now.
She could not say for sure when that “one day” would come, but she knew it existed.
It was like a distant lamp. Right now, it looked like only a tiny speck of light, but she knew that the light was shining toward her. If she walked long enough and steadily enough, she would eventually reach the lamp.
The crowd reached the exit of the stage. Surrounded by everyone, Bai Qingxue stepped onto the descending stone steps, her frost-white robe brushing against the edges of the steps. The night wind swept in from the path lined with dwarf pines, blowing a few strands of her silver hair backward.
Her footsteps paused for a moment as she stepped down the first stone stair.
It was a very slight pause, as if her feet had stopped before her consciousness did. Then, she turned her head slightly, a lock of her silver-white hair sliding down to drape against her cheek.
Her gaze pierced through the gaps in the crowd. It went past the space between two talking disciples, through the opening beneath an elder's raised sleeve, and across the moonlight and the shadows of the dwarf pines.
It landed in the direction of the stone pillar at the edge of the training ground.
The pale green figure was still leaning there, her back against the stone, hands clasped behind her back, watching her quietly from afar.
The distance was too great for Bai Qingxue to see her features clearly.
But Bai Qingxue saw her figure, saw the tilted silhouette of her head looking up.
She recognized that silhouette.
Bai Qingxue's gaze lingered there for two breaths.
From a distance that was neither too far nor too close, separated by the crowd that had not yet fully dispersed and the height difference of the stone steps, she simply watched. She did not wave, nor did she make a sound.
Ye Qingyao felt that gaze.
Leaning against the stone pillar, the curve of her lips deepened just a bit more, like a pebble dropped into water, pushing the ripples outward.
Yet she did not wave either, nor did she take another step forward. She simply stood in place, gazing back at the frost-white figure from afar, across the moonlight and the crowd.
Two breaths later, Bai Qingxue withdrew her gaze.
She turned her head and continued down the stone steps, her frost-white robe brushing against the cold stairs as her steps returned to their previous rhythm.
Lu Xueqing followed half a step behind to her left. Her fingertips tightened slightly on the sword hilt and then released. She lowered her head, gripping her scabbard a little tighter.
Lu Xueqing's peripheral vision had caught that brief moment of hesitation.
Bai Qingxue turning her head, the direction of her gaze, and that quiet two-second exchange of looks were so subtle that anyone not paying attention would have missed them. But Lu Xueqing had seen it all.
She had seen the outline of the pale green figure by the stone pillar, seen the gentleness in Bai Qingxue's eyes as they pierced through the crowd to land there, and felt a slight weight sink into a corner of her own heart during those brief two breaths.
Lu Xueqing did not turn her head to see who the figure was.
She merely gripped her scabbard even tighter, her knuckles turning white for a moment against the wrapped cloth before slowly relaxing.
Her pace did not change, still steadily following half a step behind Bai Qingxue. Yet she suddenly felt that this half-step distance was a fraction wider than usual, even though her robe still occasionally brushed against the edge of Bai Qingxue's cuff, and even though their steps were still in perfect sync.
It was as if a single thread of that half-step had been quietly pulled away, leaving behind an empty, hollow gap.
The crowd flowed down the stone steps toward the path lined with dwarf pines.
The disciples of the Xuantian Sect walked ahead, talking in groups of twos and threes about the details of the battle on the stage. Someone imitated Bai Qingxue's flute-playing posture and got smacked on the back of the head by a companion, eliciting several rounds of laughter before falling quiet.
The elders walked in the middle, occasionally looking back at Bai Qingxue following behind, their eyes filled with the approval characteristic of elders.
Bai Qingxue walked at the rear of the crowd, the tassel of the Frost Moon Chant swaying gently at her waist with her steps, her robe occasionally lifted by the night wind to reveal the rhythm of her feet on the stone stairs.
Lu Xueqing walked to her left and slightly behind, her palm resting on her scabbard, her fingertips occasionally releasing and tightening.
The space beside the stone pillar at the edge of the training ground was already empty. The pale green figure had left at some point, leaving only the moonlight to shine obliquely on the coarse stone surface, stretching the pillar's shadow long and thin.
The sea breeze swept in from the water, blowing away the last few traces of ice powder from the stone steps, leaving the entire training ground completely clean. It was as if the auroral colors that filled the stage when the ice lotus bloomed had merely been a dream everyone had shared at the same time.
Yet under the moonlight, the path on the stone steps worn smooth by footsteps remained. One in front and one behind, two sets of footprints of varying depths—a frost-white robe had brushed over them, and a pale green hem had also fluttered there under a different patch of moonlight.
They did not overlap, yet they extended in the same direction, stretching all the way through the path of dwarf pines, through the night and the sea breeze, and disappearing into the distant lights deep within Canglan Island.
Ye Qingyao walked along a different fork in the path. Her hands were still clasped behind her back, her steps slightly brisker than before. As her pale green robe fluttered in the wind, it revealed a few specks of fine frost clinging to the tips of her shoes.
She did not look back. But the slight curve of her lips remained, resembling the shadow of a green bamboo bent by the wind under the moonlight—quietly, resolutely, she continued walking forward step by step in her own direction.
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