Zhao Qingyue rested her chin on top of Bai Shuangshuang’s head, her voice muffled.
“I have a younger sister. Her name is Qingyao.”
Bai Shuangshuang didn’t move, letting her hold on.
“She was a few years younger than me. Soft, small, like a little cat.”
Zhao Qingyue’s fingers unconsciously traced circles on Bai Shuangshuang’s shoulder.
“Every night she’d crawl into my bed, and she wouldn’t sleep unless I stroked her head.”
Bai Shuangshuang’s eyelashes trembled.
“She was picky about food. She’d only eat Osmanthus Cake fresh out of the steamer—once it cooled, she wouldn’t touch it. When I scolded her, she’d pout so hard you could hang an oil bottle off it.”
Zhao Qingyue paused, her voice softening.
“You’re a lot like her.”
Bai Shuangshuang’s heart skipped a beat.
She’d had a vague suspicion before.
The way Zhao Qingyue looked at her sometimes—it wasn’t like she was looking at a picked-up maidservant, but more like… a stand-in.
The head pats, the cuddling to sleep, that unreasonable doting—all of it was someone else’s habit.
She couldn’t quite describe the feeling in her chest.
A little sour, and a little soft.
“What happened next?”
Bai Shuangshuang asked.
Zhao Qingyue didn’t answer.
She tightened her arms a little.
“Later, Qingyao died.”
“Huh?”
Bai Shuangshuang jerked her head up, nearly hitting Zhao Qingyue’s chin with the back of her skull.
Zhao Qingyue lowered her eyes, her gaze landing on Bai Shuangshuang’s earlobe, as if looking at something very, very far away.
“The story isn’t nice from here on,” she said.
“Do you still want to hear it?”
Bai Shuangshuang nodded.
Zhao Qingyue took a deep breath, pressed Bai Shuangshuang’s head back into the crook of her shoulder, and rested her chin there again.
“My father was one of the Late Emperor’s princes. He was enfeoffed to guard the Southern Region. Before the Late Emperor died, he helped another, younger prince ascend the throne and told my father to protect the realm for him.”
Her voice was flat, like she was reading from a worn-out book.
“The Southern Region is a borderland—fierce locals, strong soldiers and sturdy horses. The Late Emperor sent my father to guard it, originally meaning to have a family member he could trust keep watch. But my father’s younger brother didn’t see it that way.”
“He thought my father would rebel. Suspected him every day, guarded against him every day, sent countless spies to watch the Southern Region. The more my father endured, the more his brother thought my father was cooking up some big drama to perform for him.”
A hint of sarcasm crept into Zhao Qingyue’s tone.
“But my father never thought of rebelling. You’ve seen the man—a Prince who squats in a Blacksmith Shop chatting about plowshares. What kind of rebellious intentions could he have?”
Bai Shuangshuang’s lips curved.
That was true.
If anything, Zhao Qingchuan had only been forced into the idea of rebellion.
“Before the Late Emperor died, he went to Xinhuo Palace and invited a Sage to make my uncle swear an oath—after he ascended the throne, he would not harm his brothers or sisters. That was a Great Dao Oath; even the ruler of a country would not dare to break it.”
Zhao Qingyue’s fingers started tracing circles on Bai Shuangshuang’s shoulder again.
“So he couldn’t make the first move against my father, but he could force him.”
Bai Shuangshuang looked up at her.
“Force my father to rebel.”
Zhao Qingyue said.
“As long as my father struck first, he would have a proper reason to counterattack. So over the years, the Imperial Court kept finding fault, applying pressure, provoking. They used every means they could.”
She paused.
“Including going after Qingyao.”
Bai Shuangshuang’s fingers curled.
“People from the court took advantage of the Prince’s Mansion’s negligence and used despicable methods to kill Qingyao.”
Zhao Qingyue’s voice finally cracked.
“They even deliberately left clues behind, as if afraid we wouldn’t know who did it.”
Bai Shuangshuang felt a warm drop fall into the hollow of her shoulder.
“It was all to enrage my father, to push him past the point of endurance and make him raise an army in rebellion.”
Zhao Qingyue’s voice turned muffled, like she was speaking with her mouth covered.
“Qingyao was only thirteen that year.”
Bai Shuangshuang didn’t move, didn’t speak.
She had never liked these earthly court disputes, never liked those nobles and royalty.
When she met Zhao Qingchuan, she only thought he was an exception.
Now it seemed Zhao Qingchuan really was the exception—the struggle for power and profit was always the main current.
It was Zhao Qingyue who had suffered.
A girl barely in her teens, suddenly losing the little sister she’d grown up with.
Bai Shuangshuang was silent for a long time.
Then she wrapped her arms around Zhao Qingyue in return and gently patted her back.
Once, twice, like soothing a child who’d cried herself out.
Zhao Qingyue didn’t lift her head.
She just buried her face in Bai Shuangshuang’s shoulder and sniffled quietly.
The two of them hugged like that, neither speaking.
Bai Shuangshuang waited quietly until she seemed done crying, then spoke softly.
“So the Princess was treating me as Qingyao’s stand-in?”
Zhao Qingyue raised her head.
Her eyes were still red, her nose tip pink, but she shook her head.
“At first… pretty much.”
Her voice was still a little hoarse, but sincere.
“You looked like her when you curled up in the blankets, the way you ate, the way you squinted when I patted your head.”
Zhao Qingyue paused.
“Back then, I thought, did the heavens give Qingyao back to me?”
Bai Shuangshuang didn’t speak, waiting for her to continue.
“But later, it changed.”
“Qingyao rarely talked back to me, never rolled her eyes at me, never went stiff as a board when I hugged her.”
She smiled a little as she spoke.
“You have a lot of things Qingyao didn’t. I started to feel that Bai Shuangshuang is Bai Shuangshuang, not anyone’s shadow.”
Bai Shuangshuang blinked.
“So the way I treat you now… there’s a part because of Qingyao, but also a part because of you.”
Zhao Qingyue looked down at her own fingers.
“I haven’t been truly happy in years. It was you who pulled me out of that shell. Thank you.”
Bai Shuangshuang opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back.
Zhao Qingyue suddenly looked up at her, a flicker of unease in her eyes.
“Are you angry? At the beginning… I really did see you as Qingyao.”
Bai Shuangshuang was stunned for a moment, then laughed.
Not a perfunctory laugh—a truly relieved one.
“No, I’m not.”
Her tone lightened, and she even blinked.
“That actually puts my mind at ease. So the Princess sees me as a little sister, not as having a crush on me~”
Zhao Qingyue’s face turned bright red.
“You—who, who has a crush on you!”
“No, no, the Princess is pure-minded and has a perfectly normal orientation. She has no interest in girls.”
Bai Shuangshuang waved her hand, laughing even harder.
Zhao Qingyue’s blush spread from her cheeks to her earlobes.
She was guilty.
Qiu Yue’s question from that day suddenly surfaced in her mind.
“I heard the Princess likes girls. Is that true or false?”
It wasn’t an unfounded rumor.
A girl her age from a Great Clan should have been engaged long ago.
But she hadn’t met a single suitable man.
It wasn’t that there were none—she simply hadn’t looked in that direction.
She liked spending time with cute girls.
She liked holding them, hugging them, nuzzling them.
She liked watching them blush.
She liked listening to them speak softly.
When it came to Bai Shuangshuang, she couldn’t honestly say it was just “older sister to younger sister.”
Because sometimes—like when she held Bai Shuangshuang—thoughts she shouldn’t have flashed through her mind.
Those thoughts made her face burn, her heart race, and kept her tossing and turning deep into the night.
Even more absurdly, when she told herself, “I’m just treating her like a little sister,” those thoughts didn’t disappear.
Instead, they grew stronger.
Like a sense of moral transgression—older sister toward younger sister… it seemed even more thrilling?
No, how could she think about that?
But the more she shouldn’t think about it, the more she did.
Zhao Qingyue’s face grew redder and redder.
Her breathing became uneven.
Bai Shuangshuang watched her flushed complexion, and her heart skipped a beat.
Uh-oh.
This Eldest Miss wasn’t really… into her, was she?
Bai Shuangshuang’s mind raced.
She still had her Senior Sister back home.
She couldn’t betray her.
And dating a girl as a girl… that felt a bit strange, no matter how she looked at it.
Although, after spending all this time together, she wasn’t without feelings for Zhao Qingyue.
But those feelings… should be just the friendly, sisterly kind, right?
Right?
Right, right?
Well, she wasn’t entirely sure herself.
But at least for now, it hadn’t reached that level.
Bai Shuangshuang cleared her throat and decided to change the subject.
“Hey… I’m a little bored.”
Zhao Qingyue was still blushing, barely reacting.
“There’s nowhere to go right now.”
Bai Shuangshuang pointed to the bookshelf by the bed.
“Will you read with me?”
Zhao Qingyue followed the change of topic and nodded, then grabbed a random book from the table and handed it over.
Bai Shuangshuang took it and glanced at the cover.
Under the Moon and Before the Flowers.
Wasn’t this the one she’d been caught red-handed with last time?
Both of them froze at the same time.
On the cover, a peach blossom bloomed brilliantly.
Two women leaned together beneath the flowers, robes overlapping, eyes full of longing.
Bai Shuangshuang looked up at Zhao Qingyue.
Zhao Qingyue’s face wasn’t red anymore—it was black.
“I didn’t grab that on purpose!”
She snatched the book back and shoved it into the deepest part of the shelf, moving as fast as if she were hiding contraband.
“I picked it up at random! Really, at random!”
Bai Shuangshuang watched her flustered back, and a smile slowly crept onto her lips.
“Mm, at random.”
Her tone was perfectly calm.
Zhao Qingyue, back turned to her, was dizzy with a tangled mess in her heart.