After a long while, his hovering hand finally fell, gently patting Lin Chaoyu’s trembling back.
“Alright, alright, you’re so old and you’re still a crybaby.” His voice was very soft, carrying a hint of helpless tenderness.
“When we get to town, I’ll buy you a double portion of osmanthus flower cakes, okay?”
Lin Chaoyu didn’t respond; she only buried her face deeper and cried even harder.
Arthur sighed and looked at Fu Hua again.
Fu Hua was also looking at him.
The moment their eyes met, Arthur saw something flash through hers very quickly—it was complex, like understanding, like a sigh, and also like…
something soft, almost helpless.
Then she slightly turned her head away, looking toward the mountain path ahead.
“Let’s go,” she said, her voice very soft.
“If we delay any longer, the market will disperse.”
With that, she took the lead, her green robes brushing against the dew-covered grass as she walked into the forest where the mist was gradually clearing.
Arthur looked at her back, then down at Lin Chaoyu, who was sobbing in his arms, and suddenly felt that this morning mountain path was much heavier than he had imagined.
He gently patted Lin Chaoyu’s shoulder.
“Let’s go.
If you keep crying, there won’t be any sugar cakes left.”
Only then did Lin Chaoyu look up, sobbing, her eyes and nose all red like a wronged little rabbit.
She let go, wiped her face haphazardly, and muttered in a small voice.
“I want six portions…”
“Fine, fine, six portions.” Arthur couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled a clean handkerchief from his sleeve and handed it over.
“Wipe up, you look terrible.”
Lin Chaoyu took the handkerchief, blew her nose, then stole a glance at Fu Hua’s back, who was already a dozen steps ahead, and lowered her voice.
“Senior Brother…
is Master very disappointed in me?”
Arthur’s movements paused.
He looked at Lin Chaoyu’s red and swollen eyes, which were filled with self-doubt.
This girl appeared carefree on the surface, but she was more sensitive than anyone else.
“What are you thinking?” He reached out, this time gently ruffling her hair just as he did when she was a child.
“If Master were disappointed in you, would she have spent eleven years teaching you?
Would she ask me if you don’t eat onions?”
Lin Chaoyu was stunned.
“Master is just…” Arthur paused, searching for the right words.
“Just not very good with words.”
As soon as he said this, he felt it was a bit funny.
The Red Kite Immortal, who had lived for thousands of years, was not good with words?
But it seemed…
that was truly the case.
Fu Hua’s emotions, most of the time, were buried in a place so deep that even she herself might not be able to perceive them.
Occasionally, a bit would surface and be expressed, but it was always so blunt, clumsy, and even hurtful.
“She just stated the facts.” Arthur looked at Lin Chaoyu and said seriously.
“It’s a fact that you started late.
It’s also a fact that Su Mei learns quickly.
But facts do not equal everything, and they certainly don’t mean ‘you aren’t important’.”
Lin Chaoyu stared at him blankly, tears about to well up again.
“Alright, alright, don’t cry again.” Arthur quickly stopped her.
“Hurry up, Master has already gone far.”
He nudged Lin Chaoyu’s back, and the girl finally sniffled and jogged to catch up.
Arthur followed behind, looking at the two figures ahead, one large and one small, while the tangle in his heart only grew tighter.
Fu Hua’s gaze just now, Lin Chaoyu’s tears, Su Mei’s black eyes that were as calm as an adult’s…
and his own heart, filled with those indescribable emotions that were becoming increasingly difficult to suppress.
The mountain road wound on, the morning mist vanished, and the sunlight finally spilled down without any obstruction.
The town was just ahead, and the sound of voices could be faintly heard.
But Arthur felt that they were perhaps walking into a puzzle more complex than this mountain forest.
And at the end of the road, what would be waiting for them?
He didn’t know.
He only knew that the handkerchief in his possession was still wet, soaked with the girl’s salty tears.
And ahead, Fu Hua’s back appeared exceptionally clear in the sunlight, yet also exceptionally…
distant.
[worldline Repair Progress: 68.7%] This chapter is updated first at g.com.
[Key character ‘Lin Chaoyu’ is experiencing intense emotional fluctuations, and her self-perception is shaken.
Dependency on ‘Arthur’ +5, awe toward ‘Fu Hua’ mixed with confusion.]
The system’s prompts flickered in a corner of his mind.
Arthur took a look, then looked ahead again.
Fu Hua had already reached the stone bridge at the entrance of the town.
She stopped and turned back to wait for them.
Sunlight fell on her face; that elegant face still had no expression, but Arthur just felt that something in her eyes was different from before.
What was it?
Before he could think further, Lin Chaoyu had already run to Fu Hua’s side and, with her head lowered, whispered something.
Fu Hua nodded slightly and raised her hand—extremely naturally, she used her fingertips to brush away a strand of hair by Lin Chaoyu’s cheek that had been stuck there by tears.
The movement was very light and very fast, so fast that Lin Chaoyu herself probably hadn’t noticed.
But Arthur saw it.
His steps paused, and the tangle in his heart was suddenly illuminated into a vague shape by this minute beam of light.
So that was it.
He suddenly understood Fu Hua’s look, that unfinished sentence, and this movement that was almost too light to be seen.
It wasn’t disappointment.
It was…
heartache.
It was just that her way of expressing heartache was too clumsy, too subtle—so subtle that even the person being cared for couldn’t feel it.
Arthur stood where he was, watching the master and disciple at the bridge.
The morning light was just right, the stream gurgled, and the clamor of the distant market reached them.
Everything seemed to have returned to the right track.
Only he knew that from today on, some things were different.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
No matter what, life had to go on.
Sugar cakes had to be bought, fabrics had to be chosen, and farm tools had to be looked at.
And…
this wet handkerchief in his arms needed to be washed clean by a stream.
Thinking this, he put on a smile again and walked toward the two people at the bridge.
The sunlight fell on his shoulders, warm and pleasant.
But a corner of his heart felt as if it had been soaked by Lin Chaoyu’s tears—both wet and cold.