Chapter 33: Sunflower

Wuyue Liuli.

It wasn’t the first time Xueqiu heard that name today.

In the student council president’s office, Ou Ziyun had already shared some stories about the late senior.

So why was Xia Yin suddenly bringing her up?

“Yes,” Xueqiu said, choosing not to lie to him.

Xia Yin led her to the dorm door but signaled her to wait before entering.

In seconds, he dumped his snacks, books, and the uniform he’d handed her onto the table, grabbed a black longsword leaning against the wall, and locked the dorm behind him.

What was he up to? Xueqiu stared blankly.

“When did you find out? Bing Shi or Ou Ziyun?” Xia Yin gestured for her to follow him downstairs.

“Ten days ago, during my interview with Professor Chen. He gave me Senior Wuyue’s file,” Xueqiu said softly.

The elevator descended from the sixth floor to the first.

This time, she didn’t see Bing Shi Nagi by the glass doors—maybe he’d taken Xia Yin’s advice and returned to the library.

Xia Yin’s destination wasn’t far, just behind the dorm—a gazebo surrounded by trees, reached by a single cobblestone path.

It seemed less a spot for afternoon relaxation and more a place for secret lovers’ meetings, though its proximity to the dorm made that unlikely.

“You know you look exactly like her, right? Hair color, eye color, even height—identical, yeah?” Xia Yin said, propping his sword tip against the concrete like an old man leaning on a cane.

“Yes,” Xueqiu replied.

That night, Xia Yin had looked at her like she was a ghost, but only now did he mention Wuyue Liuli’s name.

“It’s no big deal, though. You’re nothing alike. She was S-rank, you’re E. Her Contract was ‘Yinglong,’ yours is ‘Mirror Demon.’ She was a total chuunibyou, you’re a total shut-in…” Xia Yin said, leading her along the cobblestone path to the gazebo.

Xueqiu stayed silent, curious why he’d brought her here with a sword.

Up close, she saw the gazebo was long abandoned.

The marble bench was covered in leaves—some rotting, some freshly fallen.

The white pillars, weathered by wind and rain, bore a faint yellow tint.

Xia Yin cleared his throat. “Chen didn’t explain why you look like this, but you know it’s tied to Wuyue Liuli, don’t you?”

Xueqiu nodded slightly, watching him sweep leaves off the bench with his blade as more fell silently from above.

“Honestly, sometimes I think you’re her. But that’s impossible—she’s long gone, and you’re still kicking, right?”

Xia Yin kept scraping the bench’s surface, ignoring whether she nodded or shook her head.

“She must’ve been a great senior to you,” Xueqiu managed to say.

She wanted to ask more about Wuyue Liuli.

Her file painted her as exceptional, a fact even the usually dismissive Ou Ziyun acknowledged.

Yet she wasn’t a great leader, having led the student council astray…

“She was a great senior. That sounds like something a loser heroine would say in some recent anime… which one was it…?” Xia Yin mused, then shook his head. “Whatever. I wanna ask, Xueqiu, why’d you join the Academy?”

The sudden question echoed one she’d pondered half an hour ago.

“You don’t have to tell me. Keep it to yourself. If you don’t have a reason, you’ll find one eventually.”

He paused, leaning close to the bench, inspecting it for marks.

“There it is.”

Xueqiu crouched, following his gaze.

Among the gray, mottled patches, she saw a character: “Moon.”

The strokes were sloppy, betraying the carver’s impatience.

Yet it stood out, as if Xueqiu could glimpse the carver’s face in its lines.

“She left it. Wanted to carve ‘Wuyue Liuli,’ but ‘Wu’ and ‘Liuli’ had too many strokes, and she was lazy, so just ‘Moon,’” Xia Yin said, idly swinging his sword. “Carved with this blade. I told you it’s called ‘Mist Cutter.’ Pretty simple—she took a character from her surname and gave it that ominous name.”

Xueqiu froze, unsure why he was detailing Wuyue’s life so thoroughly, like he was about to narrate her entire biography.

“I think I mentioned, when I first came here, someone helped me. So I help newbies. This year, that’s you.”

“Be glad I was the one who saved you that night.”

His dead-fish eyes never left her as he spoke.

“I was fourteen when I got here. Besides height, I couldn’t match Wuyue in combat, Contracts, or experience. I thought, with someone that amazing around, I had to step up and be a knight…”

“Of course, I don’t know what you’re thinking now. You seem even more shut-in than I was.”

Xueqiu blinked, never imagining Xia Yin as reserved—he was always a chatterbox, unchanging.

“But I’m E-rank. I’ll drag you down,” she said dryly.

“Just that?”

Just that?

Was a low rank not enough?

Xia Yin stared into her sea-blue eyes for ten seconds, then burst into laughter.

“I thought it was something serious. Don’t you remember what I said at noon? There’s a second half.”

“Second half?”

“If you hate your low rank, come on missions with me. You’ll climb from E to D, then C, and B or A isn’t a dream~”

Xueqiu was stunned.

She pieced together their reactions—Xia Yin, Ou Ziyun, even Bing Shi Nagi minutes ago…

No wonder Ou Ziyun said rank didn’t matter, or why that cold senior mentioned climbing ranks through missions.

“But… I don’t know anything,” Xueqiu said.

It was true—from Qingtan till now, she’d been a bystander, never fighting a Shadow Ghost.

If combat ability were scored, hers would be two or three, not even five.

“So what? You can learn,” Xia Yin said, slicing a small branch from the gazebo’s side with a swift swish.

He handed her the sword, like a parting gift—though his expression suggested a loan.

“Starting tomorrow, I’ll train you. Every night, mornings too. You’ve got time…”

“New students arrive in September. By then, you’ll be as tough as me… uh, I mean, able to fight. Why not today? New season tomorrow—I gotta grind some ranks first…”

Xia Yin rambled as usual, and Xueqiu, never good at interrupting, listened quietly.

When his voice grew hoarse, she finally spoke: “Thanks, Senior. I’ll work hard.”

Xia Yin, mid-rant about swords, Arcane Arts, games, and esports, fell silent at her words.

He suddenly recalled days long past—hundreds, maybe a thousand days ago.

Back then, he’d stood in this gazebo, saying similar things to someone.

Fate? At not even twenty, dwelling on such things felt like melodramatic nonsense.

Am I living in some angsty teen novel?

But someone had died forever at twenty.

Xia Yin gave a self-mocking smile.

Next year, he’d turn twenty too.

The wind picked up, scattering leaves onto the bench and ground with a soft rustle.

Xia Yin remembered—back then, there were no trees, no leaves, only endless rain, a billion tears falling from the sky.

ps: Daily begging for monthly tickets and tips!