Legend

Bai Miaoqing sat on the edge of the motel bed. Beside her feet was an opened travel bag, only half-packed.

She couldn’t help but lift the mirror in her hand and glance at her reflection again. The moment she saw the fearful, vacant look in her own eyes, she suddenly hurled the mirror to the floor. The shattering of the glass pierced through her heart like a knife.

“Don’t look. Don’t look anymore…” she muttered, climbing into bed and wrapping herself tightly in the blanket, as if that could help her escape the version of herself she had just seen in the mirror.

But nothing worked. Her greasy, dirty hair, her sickly pale face like someone suffering from malnutrition, her hunched posture, downcast eyes, timid demeanor… Bai Miaoqing loathed what she had become, yet she had no choice but to keep living like this. That despair crushed her.

The motel’s heating wasn’t much help; even in winter there wasn’t proper warmth. Bai Miaoqing huddled in the blanket, trembling with cold.

Why had Chen Anran suddenly shown up again…? I thought I’d already…

Her mind was still a chaotic mess, spinning with stray thoughts: “…Could it be because of Ruxin…?”

…That must be it.

Because she had run into Ruxin. That’s why Chen Anran had reappeared.

If that’s the case, there’s nothing I can do… Bai Miaoqing hadn’t expected it either. She had just gone to the convenience store to pick something up, and she ended up bumping into Ruxin. Ruxin probably hadn’t seen her in a long time, right? No, no, not since the college entrance exams. She didn’t expect Ruxin to still remember her—or to still be willing to help her…

It felt so good, so wonderful… Ruxin hadn’t changed a bit.

A soft warmth bloomed in Bai Miaoqing’s chest. She couldn’t help smiling as she picked up her phone and began flipping casually through the photos in her gallery. The phone’s faint glow bathed her face in a pale blue light.

But it wasn’t time to sleep yet.

After a while, she reluctantly climbed out from under the covers and rummaged through her travel bag, eventually pulling out a picture frame.

If An Ruxin were to witness this scene, she would realize it was that very same “mysteriously vanished” group photo. It seemed that right after Bai Miaoqing had seen An Ruxin off that first time, she had immediately hidden the photo in her room, then packed it again when she left for the motel.

Her gaze only lingered on the photo for a second before it snapped away like a needle prick. She opened the back of the frame and slid the photo out, her thumb pressing—whether intentionally or not—on the image of little Chen Anran’s face.

“When I accidentally spilled the hot water earlier, Ruxin might’ve seen the photo… But I hid it afterward. It should be fine…” Bai Miaoqing muttered. She pulled a lighter from her pocket. Click—a small flame rose.

She slowly brought the photo closer. The fire caught the corner almost immediately and began to spread. She dropped the burning photo into an empty trash bin, and through the orange flames, she watched Chen Anran’s innocent smile blacken, twist, and ultimately vanish, leaving only a pile of charred ash.

“Chen Anran,” Bai Miaoqing murmured the name of the dead girl, “Chen Anran… Chen Anran…”

Chen Anran.

Bai Miaoqing—the so-called winner during their high school days—had always been a failure in life, both before and after that brief period. Even those three years never brought her any real happiness.

She had always been a failure.

So now, even thinking of Chen Anran only brought that same overwhelming feeling—

“I really envy you, Chen Anran… I’m so jealous,” Bai Miaoqing said.

She remembered things she thought she’d never recall again.

She and Chen Anran had grown up in the same apartment complex, right across the hall from each other. They were childhood friends. But Bai Miaoqing always felt like a parasite living in the shadow of Chen Anran—insignificant, disgusting. Despite the closeness in distance, the gap between them was vast. Bai’s home was filled with endless fights between her parents—cold wars and broken dishes. But Chen Anran’s parents had always loved her deeply. Bai was withdrawn and timid, constantly shamed by her relatives and scolded by her parents; Chen Anran was praised wherever she went.

Her parents would always say: “Why can’t you be more like Chen Anran next door?!”

She had no friends at school, and her home wasn’t a safe haven either—it was suffocating. Only when Chen Anran came to play did Bai Miaoqing feel a brief sense of relief.

Popular, perfect Chen Anran had befriended her only because she was kind, and they’d grown up together—nothing more. It was a pity offering, a gesture of charity. Even so, to Bai Miaoqing, she was the only lifeline, the only friend she had. So she had to work hard to please Chen Anran, to show how much she liked her, to prove herself worthy of standing beside her.

Only then could she breathe in her stifling life.

Even then… even those moments with Chen Anran were tinged with pain.

Because of jealousy. Bai Miaoqing understood it well: she was consumed with envy for Chen Anran, so much it nearly destroyed her. And yet she was grateful to her, wanted to cling to her forever, even wished she could become her. Chen Anran was perfect—lovely, smart, articulate. If only she could become her, then teachers would like her too. She’d have lots of friends. Her parents would stop fighting. Her parents would finally love her…

If she could become Chen Anran, she could escape her tiny cage of a life. All her misfortunes were her own fault—because she wasn’t a good child. But if she became a good child—if she became Chen Anran—then surely, everything would be okay…

Yet she cared so much about this one friend. She cared so much about Chen Anran, even when that jealousy nearly drove her mad—she didn’t hate her.

Because all of this was her own fault. Bai Miaoqing always thought: compared to the tragedies happening in the world, what right did she have to complain? If she was in pain, it was because she was stupid and weak. So she worshipped Chen Anran, was grateful to her, wanted to be her best friend for life—

But did Chen Anran, whom she cared so deeply for, care about her the same way?

She had loving parents, countless friends, a life like a fairy tale. She was the princess. Bai Miaoqing was just a little mouse the kind princess had saved…

She had always known this. Their friendship was never equal. Because she was so lacking, being with Chen Anran was painful. So she gave everything she had to please her—memorized her birthday, studied her preferences, her talents, her moods… None of it mattered.

As long as Chen Anran was still her friend, none of it mattered.

Even if her parents kept fighting, even if teachers never once looked at her properly, even if her classmates all ignored her—so long as Chen Anran was still her friend, none of that mattered.

That’s what Bai Miaoqing used to believe.

…

Sometimes, Bai Miaoqing would think: If only we hadn’t gone to the reservoir that day.

But it wasn’t her fault. It was… the ghost. If only they hadn’t gone to the reservoir. If only she could’ve stayed best friends with Chen Anran forever. If she just worked hard enough, Chen Anran would never have left her.

But unfortunately, there are no ifs in life.

After high school, it was as if Bai Miaoqing had become another Chen Anran. Her wish had come true. But this wasn’t a blessing—it was a curse… She never wanted to remember anything from high school again. The only good thing about those years was meeting Ru Xin. As for everything else…? Even getting into a prestigious university didn’t matter. She couldn’t concentrate on her studies at all and dropped out in her freshman year. She had planned to retake the college entrance exam, but Bai Miaoqing no longer wanted that. She couldn’t do it anymore.

Bai Miaoqing still lived in her hometown, but she had moved out of her parents’ house. She did odd jobs and rented a place on her own.

The farther she was from her parents, the better. The farther she was from Chen Anran’s parents, the better. The farther from those memories, the better…

Why, even after going to such lengths, was she still unable to escape Chen Anran?

“Why won’t you let me go?” Bai Miaoqing muttered to herself. “It wasn’t my fault… Besides, you’re already…”

The air conditioner suddenly kicked back to life with a loud mechanical rumble, cutting her off. Bai Miaoqing shivered, kicked aside the trash can, crawled back under the blanket, shut her eyes, and forced herself to sleep.

She dreamt of that afternoon many years ago—she and Chen Anran were sitting outside the corner store, eating popsicles. The high school entrance exam was the next day.

Chen Anran said, “Hey, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“That rumor going around on the school forum! They say there’s a ghost of a girl in the abandoned reservoir in our town! Apparently, she committed suicide for love!”

Bai Miaoqing was frightened. She’d always been a timid person. “D-Don’t say that… That’s really scary. Probably just some bored guy making stuff up…”

“Aiya, let me finish,” Chen Anran’s smile was so bright it felt like it could reflect sunlight—it stung Bai Miaoqing’s eyes. “They say the ghost isn’t evil. She’s a good ghost. If you make a wish at the reservoir, it’ll come true!”

“Seriously…?”

“Don’t you want to try? Miaoqing! Tell me, what would you wish for?”

Bai Miaoqing figured her smile must’ve looked really awkward. “…To be best friends with you forever?”

“Haha…” Chen Anran laughed happily. She turned to Bai Miaoqing and seriously suggested, “After we get our test scores, let’s sneak off to the reservoir without telling our parents and go on an adventure.”

Bai Miaoqing hadn’t wanted to agree. She was scared. She had never wanted to agree. But she didn’t dare go against anything Chen Anran suggested. Bai Miaoqing was terrified Chen Anran would get tired of her and stop being her friend. So she pretended to be interested and nodded hard, saying, “Sure! After the scores come out, we’ll go explore the reservoir and make wishes.”

Make a wish…

Back then, what had her true wish been…?

And why… why had she waited until now to finally burn that photo?

Bai Miaoqing didn’t understand. And she didn’t want to. She simply sank deeper into the long, unending dream.

—

Author’s Note

This chapter is from Bai Miaoqing’s perspective.

The next chapter will return to An Ruxin’s point of view.