Chapter Forty-Three: Moonlight

She had never expected to be questioned in such a way, and for a moment, Qiu Wan’er was at a loss. Most people in this world love treasures, but it cannot be said to be true for everyone—especially for someone like the Butterfly. Although the day before was not their first meeting, there was always an elusive aura about this woman, impossible to decipher no matter how hard one tried. Perhaps it was precisely this mystery that drew others’ curiosity, even admiration. At least judging by the present circumstances, Han Tan Yi was one of them. Qiu Wan’er did not respond, nor did he press her for an answer. Matters like this, even if she replied, would hardly be conclusive. Better to let it be and ask again tomorrow, when things would surely become clear.

He rose slowly from the stone surface. Anyone who holds a position for too long will feel discomfort, and the coldness of the stone only made it worse. Relying on one’s own body heat could never warm it. Han Tan Yi felt his legs numb and stiff as he moved, but he made no sound. One must endure what one brings upon oneself; depending on others is not the way of a man. Yet at that moment, he felt a peculiar sensation within his heart—for as he turned, his peripheral vision caught the flicker of a shadow near the wooden cabin in the valley.

He did not turn back. In such deep darkness, no one would appear in that place. Common thieves would not choose a mountain home like this, and even if they did, they could never contend with the two snow wolves. As for those in the martial world, they would not come either: acting without proper cause was always a taboo among them. Stealthy deeds like this simply would not happen. Besides, Butterfly had always lived in this valley, never interacting with the outside world, without entanglements or grudges. Though her days were lonely and dull, such a life was not so bad.

Therefore, it was likely just an illusion. Although Han Tan Yi had no sleepiness, in such a pitch-black night and at such a distance, this was the most plausible explanation. He slowly took the luminous pearl from his pocket, seeking some confidence from its glow. Truly, it was a remarkable object; held in his palm, it not only radiated a gentle, bright light, but also seemed to emit a faint warmth. At that moment, Han Tan Yi recalled that this was said to be the heirloom of the Shen family, masters of Moon Mountain. It did seem to possess a certain magic. Even if Butterfly had the highest standards, she would not look down upon such a treasure. If she liked it, he would not have violated the code of the martial world, and his efforts would not have been in vain.

As for Qiu Wan’er, she watched the scene, lips parted but voiceless. She adored the luminous pearl, and thought how happy she would be if it were given to her. But that was impossible, so she felt only a trace of regret, along with envy for Butterfly’s happiness—how fortunate to have a man willing to do so much for her. Of course, this moment did not last long. Soon, Han Tan Yi put away the pearl, tucking it back into his pocket, and strode away from the stone toward his bedroom. After several steps, he realized Qiu Wan’er had not followed, but stood motionless in place, as if lost in thought.

“Junior sister, go and rest—it’s very late!” Han Tan Yi suddenly halted. Even strangers exchange courtesies; for him, this girl was no different from his own sister, so he could not let her linger in the cold night. As he spoke, Qiu Wan’er’s body trembled slightly, yet she made no move. Han Tan Yi smiled, as if amused by his own forgetfulness, and in a tone laced with a touch of appeasement, continued softly: “Rest assured, your senior brother never forgets what he promises. If you have any requests, just say the word—so long as I can manage it, I will not refuse you.”

He spoke with steadfast loyalty, as though he would brave any danger for her. Of course, that was just Han Tan Yi’s sentiment; who could know Qiu Wan’er’s true thoughts? The human heart is hidden, impossible to guess. She was still preoccupied with his earlier question; as for the promise he made outside Yingyang City, she had almost forgotten it—perhaps she had never cared, and so it slipped from her mind. Now, with this reminder, she recalled it, and as she turned, a contented smile appeared on her face. Under the slanting moonlight, her features were truly beautiful, and Han Tan Yi was startled. When had the little girl from his memories become so elegant, standing tall and graceful, no less lovely than any beauty of the world?

“Senior brother, you said it yourself—right now I haven’t thought of anything, but when I do, I’ll let you know. Just don’t go back on your word when the time comes!” With a smile, she spoke, restoring Han Tan Yi’s perception of her. Though she had grown, her nature was still as childish as ever. Han Tan Yi nodded vigorously, as if affirming his promise, and Qiu Wan’er’s smile grew even brighter, filled with satisfaction. Han Tan Yi had no idea that, at that moment, a quiet voice in the girl’s heart murmured: I have no requests; if I did, it would be simply to stay close to you, watching you live happily. That would be enough. If I could hope for anything more, it would be that, each year when the mountain flowers bloom most brilliantly, you would make me a paper kite with your own hands.

“Very well, it’s settled. But don’t make your senior brother wait too long—if it’s too long, I might forget, and if you get nothing, you can’t blame me!” Han Tan Yi still felt that, whether it was Butterfly or Shui Linglong—one proud, one deeply devoted—being with them brought both joy and sorrow, happiness and pain, and above all, tension and a relentless pressure that could suffocate. Only when with his little junior sister did he feel utterly relaxed, free to laugh or cry without reserve, sometimes experiencing a rare comfort. He cherished this feeling, but did not long for it; it was good, like flowers in spring, adding beauty but never as vital as the tender yellow leaves—the source of life for seasons to come. Clearly, those leaves once belonged to Butterfly, without question; yet now, his heart was no longer certain.

“I may not be clever, but I’m not foolish either. Don’t worry, senior brother, your junior sister will remember everything for you. You can’t escape, not ever!” With this answer, Qiu Wan’er seemed wholly satisfied. She darted forward, giving Han Tan Yi’s chest a playful slap, her expression full of pride. Without stopping, she bounded ahead, her gestures so light and carefree that one could not help but envy her youthful spirit. Though she struck him forcefully, Han Tan Yi felt no pain; for someone trained in martial arts, being hit was routine, a habit long ingrained. As he watched her figure recede, his smile deepened, and he softly murmured, “Little sister, if only you could live your whole life as happily and care-free as this, and find someone who will cherish and indulge you—not like me, caught between love and uncertainty, unable to tell my own heart.”

There was a hint of overprotective concern in his words. At this thought, Han Tan Yi could not help but glance back toward the valley, his feelings growing inexplicably heavy. Of course, he could not see the cabin from here, so he felt only awkwardness. The moonlight, deep into the night, seemed even brighter—perhaps because the darkness had grown thicker.

As Han Tan Yi had seen earlier, the cabin still glowed with light, and Butterfly had not yet slept. She remained vibrant, as if untouched by weariness. The two snow wolves nestled at her side, blending in with her white robes. If one did not examine closely, it would be hard to distinguish them, but that mattered little. Her hand stroked their snowy fur, and these once-ferocious beasts were utterly gentle beneath her touch, as docile as dogs. She seemed to be waiting for the wind to rise outside, for at that moment, something told her that when the wind came, the person she awaited would arrive.