190: Almost There

Almost There

My question clearly caught him off-guard, as I felt him twitch ever so slightly. I suppose I could've picked a more natural topic … and I wondered if I had made my intention too obvious. But if an unnatural topic meant diverting his attention more successfully, then it was just as well.2

"You didn't have a name," he replied almost guiltily. "And you didn't want me to give you one …"

I stared at him, bewildered. I never had a name in my past life? As if sensing my shock, he added, "Though it didn't turn out necessary anyway. There was no one else in this hall, so it was quite obvious who I was talking to."

"There's no one else in this hall these days either," I glared at him, "but I still like hearing my name in your voice."

He smiled, an apologetic one mixed with a wisp of nostalgia. "You probably wouldn't have liked it as much back then. I wasn't very patient with you most of the time … If I had ever called your name, it would've been to complain or nag you to do something."

I remembered the first vision Twin Stars had shown me, and I let out a small chuckle. "Was I a troublemaker?" I asked. "Sometimes I still can't believe how different a person I've become in this life."

He shook his head. "You haven't changed that much. You still like fuzzy little animals. Your favorite flowers are still peonies. You are still kind and caring like you always have been. I was the one that—"

The sorrowful change of his tone alerted me, and I knew he was starting to remember the regrets from those days again. Before the words of self-reproach came out of him, I hastily interrupted, "Did you know that I haven't always liked fuzzy little animals? When I was young … Or maybe I should say, when I was still the other Yun Qing-er before she died, I was afraid of the chicks and ducklings on my parents' farm."

His eyebrow shot up. Chuckling a bit embarrassedly, I continued, "I don't really understand why I felt that way, but back in those days, I somehow thought of them as giant caterpillars with sharp claws and teeth, and I got scared even by the sound of them chirping. That was one thing my parents were relieved of after I woke up from that fever … At least they could keep animals again without scaring me to death."

He laughed softly. "I remember seeing cows and goats at most houses in your village, except yours. Now I know why."

"THAT is not why we didn't have them!" I defended myself. "Goats take a lot of effort to keep! We didn't get those until I was old enough to help with some of the work."

I started telling him stories of my life on the farm: the crops and animals I tended to, the fresh scent of dirt and the sweeping sight of golden harvests that I loved, and the biting insects that I loathed. I hadn't told him much about that life before—most people deemed it tedious, and we didn't usually have this much time to waste on something so irrelevant and pointless. I was surprised to find that he listened with genuine interest the entire time, even stopping me to ask questions once in a while.

Time passed quickly, and my worries over the pain from the bath slowly eased. Maybe he really didn't feel it … As much as the reason behind his tolerance saddened me, at least it meant that he wasn't suffering right now, which was all I could ask for. At the end of the first hour, I got up from where I was sitting and scooped the rocks out of the tub. After reheating them over the fire, I carefully placed them back into the bath to warm up the water.

I had placed most of those rocks at the end of the tub by his feet. But judging from the dying steam, the bath must've cooled off faster than I expected, so I decided to add a few to his side as well. Padding quietly to the far edge, I leaned over, and I was about to start lowering the rocks when my eyes landed on the tub's rim.

His hand was resting over the edge—about half an hour into the bath, he had said that the spiritual power surge was making him feel too hot, so he lifted a hand out of the water to cool off. I hadn't paid much attention to it, but now that I could see it better from this side, my heart stopped. He was gripping the rim of the tub so hard that his knuckles were white as snow, and his nails dug so deep into the ceramic that they chipped, leaving a thin trail of scarlet beneath.

He was hurting … even though he was still trying to convince me that he wasn't. Even though he was still wearing that faint smile and asking me which wildflowers I used to pick for my crowns.

I bit my lips, telling myself not to cry, and it took every bit of my will to stop my hands from moving on their own and clasping his. He didn't want me to know, because he didn't want me to worry for him … And I had to respect that. As much as I wished I could bear this with him or take some of the pain away from him, I knew that wasn't what he needed. This was his battle, and he took pride in fighting it for me. The only thing he asked of me was my faith, so I would give it to him.

Pretending that I didn't notice anything, I continued to place the rocks at the bottom of the tub. Darting one last look at his hand, I moved back to the front of the tub, leaning back down against him. "Bai Ye," I whispered in the most confident voice I could manage. "We're almost there."

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