Su Qianqian was waiting for her mother.
She waited from morning until the sun began to set in the afternoon before the hospital room door was finally pushed open gently.
Mrs. Su walked in, her tone apologetic: "Qianqian, I'm sorry, Mom is late."
"Your younger sister fell during her horseback riding lesson today and was crying terribly. It took a long time to calm her down..."
Su Qianqian immediately shook her head, her voice soft and light: "It's okay, Mom. Is sister alright?"
"She's fine, just frightened."
Mrs. Su approached and asked gently, "How are you feeling today? Any discomfort?"
"I'm fine."
Su Qianqian pursed her lips into a smile and picked up the tablet beside her. The screen lit up. "Mom, look..."
Mrs. Su's gaze swept over the screen filled with complex formulas and problems. Her brows subconsciously furrowed, and her tone carried a stern disapproval:
"Why are you looking at these things again? Didn't the doctor say you need to rest quietly and not strain your mind?"
"Look at your sister, she complains of a headache just from doing a bit of math..."
Her mother's words, not exactly harsh, still pricked Su Qianqian's heart lightly.
The light in her eyes dimmed bit by bit. Her hand holding the tablet slowly lowered, placing it on the snow-white blanket.
She lowered her head and said in a small voice, "I understand, Mom. I won't do it again."
Mrs. Su seemed to realize her words were too heavy. She sighed, her tone softening: "Mom is just worried about you. You need to rest well, don't think about these things, understand?"
After a few more admonitions to take care of her health, Mrs. Su left in a hurry.
The hospital room grew quiet again.
Su Qianqian hugged the tablet and curled back under the covers.
The tip of her nose felt a little sour. She blinked hard, forcing back that stinging feeling.
She knew.
Her father, mother, grandparents, and her younger siblings—they all loved her, but they were also afraid of her.
Afraid that investing too much emotion would make the eventual loss even more painful.
So she had always been very obedient, very good at comforting herself, trying hard not to be a burden to anyone.
But today, she just... really wanted to be praised, that's all.
Gu Chengyu stood by the bed. He saw her secretly raise a hand to wipe her eye, and his heart felt inexplicably stifled.
After a long while, he suddenly made a slightly irritated "tsk" sound.
Even though he knew she couldn't hear him, he stared at that fluffy back of her head and spoke stiffly, his tone carrying an awkwardness he himself didn't perceive:
"Su Qianqian."
"You did very well on the test. You're amazing."
Only the soft beeping of medical instruments filled the air.
No one responded.
Gu Chengyu frowned, thinking he was being a bit ridiculous.
What was he trying to prove with a little girl who couldn't see him or hear what he said?
But looking at those slender shoulders trembling slightly, that unclear, indescribable feeling in his heart simply wouldn't be suppressed.
Days passed, and Gu Chengyu found himself staying in this world for longer and longer periods.
He watched her.
Watched her most of the time, gazing quietly out the window at the flying birds and drifting clouds, her eyes holding flickering light.
He knew a soul yearning to fly resided within her, yet it was trapped in this confined space.
He heard the doctor's and her mother's repeated admonitions every time.
She needed quiet rest, no strong emotional fluctuations. Those stories from the outside world were a burden on her heart.
But the tablet hidden under her pillow still betrayed her dissatisfaction with the status quo.
It stored countless movie clips and scripts from various classic plays.
When Gu Chengyu first discovered it, he thought, This girl looks obedient, but she's quite bold.
Later, he became the sole witness to her secret.
She would often take advantage of when no one was around to stand before the mirror, imitating the expressions and lines of those characters.
Her voice was clear, her eyes exceptionally earnest and bright.
At first, he was merely an observer, finding it novel and amusing.
Occasionally, when she got stuck, her small face scrunched up, unable to find the right emotion, he would subconsciously murmur a few pointers.
"The emotion is wrong here. It should be despair, not anger."
After saying it, he himself would freeze, finding it even more absurd. Him, an Emotionless Sword Sovereign, teaching a little girl how to act?
But she couldn't hear him.
She would just frustratedly rub her hair and try again.
He didn't know from which day it started, but he was no longer just watching.
When she performed a monologue, he would unconsciously walk into her line of sight, even though he knew her eyes held no trace of him.
When she extended a trembling hand to touch an important person, he would, as if possessed, reach out a finger to gently clasp her small, pale hand.
She practiced, and he became her only, invisible scene partner.
He accompanied her through scenes of life-and-death separation, long-awaited reunions, deep palace resentment, and lively marketplace joy.
This became a game of words without sound, belonging to him alone.
He even gradually began to appreciate a certain charm, watching her puff up her cheeks in frustration over an imperfect gaze, and watching her face light up with joy when she finally captured the essence of a character.
Until that day.
She chose a romantic scene.
It was from a currently popular drama, where the male and female leads confess their feelings after enduring countless hardships.
Facing the mirror, she recited the female lead's lines, her gaze pure and sincere, carrying the desperate courage of a young girl.
"I like you."
As these words fell, she seemed still immersed in the emotion, a faint pink tinting her cheeks as she looked at her own glistening eyes in the mirror.
But Gu Chengyu, standing before her, clearly felt his own heartbeat quicken.
The feeling was unfamiliar and overwhelming, arriving without reason.
He even raised a hand to press against his chest.
The next moment, he almost fled in panic, his form flashing to appear in the air outside the hospital room.
The night breeze was cool, yet he felt the inexplicable restlessness in his heart was hard to dispel.
He lingered above the city for a night.
Below, the lights were dazzling, the traffic flowed like rivers, yet none of it entered his eyes.
He thought, if it were a few hundred years ago, when his Dao heart was still unstable and he was struggling bitterly on the Path of Emotionlessness, meeting her... then she probably would have been a little enchantress who could ruin his Dao heart.
But now, he had attained immortality, transcended the Five Elements, and broken free from the constraints of the Great Dao's rules.
Between heaven and earth, no law remained that could judge his right or wrong, or restrain his likes and dislikes.
He suddenly let out a low laugh, tinged with a sense of release.
Since the Dao is already achieved, wandering free between heaven and earth.
Then what does it matter, to follow one's heart and like someone?
