Chapter Sixty-One: Girl, Give Me a Smile

Jing Hong, lost in thought, was clearly oblivious to Li Ruoyu’s entrance. She sat there, silent and sorrowful, completely absorbed in her own melancholy. Li Ruoyu approached her, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, and with a curl of his right index finger, he hooked her chin and said, “Hey, sweetheart, give me a smile, would you?”

The words finally startled the dazed girl out of her reverie. Hearing Li Ruoyu’s voice and seeing him before her, she instinctively raised her hand, intending to tap Li Ruoyu’s head as she usually did. But as she lifted her eyes and saw his small frame, noticeably shorter than her own, she found herself unable to bring her hand down. Instead, she gently stroked his cheek, then a little awkwardly let her hand fall.

Before Li Ruoyu could react, Jing Hong kicked him squarely on the backside and snapped, “Sweetheart? Give you a smile?” Her face was fierce as she delivered a second kick to Li Ruoyu, who, caught off guard, stumbled forward.

But Li Ruoyu spun around, seized her raised foot with his right hand, then steadied her thigh with his left, saying, “If you won’t smile for me, I’ll smile for you, sweetheart.”

At the sight of him, Jing Hong couldn’t help but break into laughter.

Her clear, melodious laughter had barely reached Li Ruoyu’s ears when she added teasingly, “Little radish head, since you’ve touched me, you’ll have to take responsibility from now on. Otherwise, I’ll cut you off.”

Startled by her words, Li Ruoyu glanced at the slender, elegant leg in his grasp and quickly let go.

What he didn’t notice was the fleeting shift in Jing Hong’s expression—a flash of heartache mixed with disappointment. Sometimes, things that seem ordinary in the moment only reveal their true significance when remembered years later. Only then does one understand what it means for the commonplace to hold an extraordinary poignancy.

After their playful exchange, Li Ruoyu and Jing Hong went to find Wang Bo, who was still the same as ever—his round, chubby face unforgettable. After catching up, the three friends each returned to their own small corners of the world.

When Li Ruoyu returned to his little courtyard, now overgrown with withered grass, the air was thick with decay and desolation. He stepped inside and sat cross-legged atop the dry grass, gazing out at the world around him.

The wind was clear,
The clouds scattered,
And between heaven and earth, only Li Ruoyu remained, as if all things had faded into silence. An inexplicable emotion welled up inside him.

Loneliness.

Perhaps only in solitude does one most keenly feel such a sense of loss. Li Ruoyu looked back on all the people and events he had encountered in his life, extended his right hand, and, staring at his palm, murmured softly to himself, “Everything has changed.”

Seated cross-legged in the withered grass, Li Ruoyu shut his eyes and remained perfectly still, falling into a strange state of mind.

Only the ever-changing wind kept him company, growing wilder with each passing day, as if to echo that ancient feeling of winds rising and clouds soaring. Yet what arrived was not the soaring of clouds, but soft, goose-feather snow drifting down from the sky.

On this day, Jing Hong pushed open the courtyard gate, a vibrant crimson fox-fur robe draped over her arm. The heavy snow had dusted her long, dark hair white, but she clutched the fiery red robe tightly to her chest.

Seeing Li Ruoyu seated on the ground, already blanketed by thick snow—his body buried up to the waist—she did not disturb him. Instead, she quietly crouched beside him, holding the fox-fur robe, a marked contrast to her usual fiery temperament. She simply watched him in silence, saying nothing at all.

Silence became the only whisper beneath the falling snow.

An hour passed. Then another. Even as a cultivator, Jing Hong’s hands turned red with cold. Finally, the snow that had settled on Li Ruoyu’s brows trembled and fell, drifting down to join the snow on the ground.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, emerging from a deep meditation on the world and the Dao. Seeing Jing Hong before him, clutching the red fox-fur robe, looking for all the world like a snow maiden, Li Ruoyu, for once, was at a loss for words.

Men are not plants; they have feelings. From the moment he left the Abyss of Fallen Demons, at Jing Hong’s final glance, Li Ruoyu had sensed something. At the time, he thought he was overthinking it, but now, he realized perhaps he hadn’t thought enough.

He stood up, stretching his stiff legs. Just as he reached out to brush the snow from Jing Hong’s hair, she stopped him with one hand and, with the other, held the crimson fox-fur robe to his chest, saying, “Here, this is for you.”

Li Ruoyu carefully took the heavy robe—heavy as Mount Huang, it seemed—from her hands. He looked at her; she looked at him. Four bright eyes met. For a moment, a strange awkwardness hung in the air.

“Little radish head, walk with me, won’t you?” Jing Hong’s voice held a hint of hope.

“All right,” Li Ruoyu replied.

Jing Hong walked ahead, Li Ruoyu following behind as they left the courtyard and made their way up a rarely-trodden peak within the Everlasting Nine Sect. Step by step, footprints pressed into the fallen snow, the heavy flakes swirling ever thicker on the wind.

Jing Hong’s pace was slow, unusually so. She said nothing, and Li Ruoyu remained silent as well. They simply walked together through the snow, the crimson robe on Li Ruoyu’s shoulders soon dusted white with snowflakes.

An hour passed, then another, until dusk began to fall, and at last, they reached the summit. However slow the pace, every journey must eventually reach its end.

From the mountaintop, the world below was a vast expanse of white, the earth clothed in silver, the horizon as clear and sharp as the meeting of sea and sky.

“Little radish head,” Jing Hong asked, “do you think, if we kept walking through this snow, we’d grow old together, hair turning white as we go?”

“Aren’t we already white-haired?” Li Ruoyu smiled.

Jing Hong returned his smile, her beauty dazzling against the wintry backdrop.

Li Ruoyu picked up a piece of nearby deadwood, split it with his bone sword into palm-sized blocks, then, closing his eyes, recalled Jing Hong’s smile from a moment before. When he opened them again, he drew a carving knife from home and set to work, his hands moving swiftly.

Soon, a delicate wooden figure emerged in his palm. He blew away the wood dust, and the little statue, bearing a striking resemblance to Jing Hong, came into view.

“Here, this is for you,” Li Ruoyu said, offering her the carving.

Jing Hong accepted it, first gently running her right hand over the figure’s delicate face, then holding it tightly in both hands.

Her beautiful, luminous eyes gazed at Li Ruoyu.

“Let’s go back,” Li Ruoyu said softly.

“Okay,” Jing Hong replied.

They made their way back down the mountain, treading lightly over the thick snow. With each step, they left only the faintest imprint, and not until night had fully wrapped the world in silver did they return to the little courtyard.