The rain grew heavier, the willow branches by the riverbank pressed down, drooping low, and the sky was smothered in a layer of dull, gloomy cloud.
Jian Nian slowly sat up, watching the droplets on the glass wind their way down to the windowsill, and after a moment of quiet, spoke.
“Someone I know.”
Yu Qingqing studied her expression. Well, she really couldn’t tell if there was any change in it at all.
She seemed incapable of getting angry — even yesterday, when she’d been knocked down by that scam artist, she’d been just as quiet, not making a sound, like a porcelain doll sitting in the window of a high-end toy shop.
But she felt this Lu Zhun had to mean something more to her than just “someone I know” — otherwise why would she be dreaming about him?
Still, she had the tact not to press further. Everyone was entitled to their privacy.
“It’s still early, Little Fish isn’t even up yet. Get some more sleep, I’ll go make breakfast.”
Yu Qingqing said this and went out, and the room fell quiet.
Dawn hadn’t broken yet. The room was thick with a stifling dimness, every piece of furniture blurred in her vision.
Her head ached badly, her body unusually heavy. After a while, Jian Nian forced herself up, sitting at the edge of the bed, her shoulders and back aching all over, her breath coming out thick and sour through her nose.
Her throat was dry and hoarse, burning with pain.
She’d always slept poorly, waking often in the middle of the night, and there’d always be a thermos on the desk beside her, keeping a cup of water warm. Out of habit, she reached for it — and grasped nothing but air.
It took a few seconds for her muddled, throbbing head to sluggishly catch up: this wasn’t his house.
Right. Today was Monday. She had class.
Advanced Math — she’d barely scraped a passing grade on the last test, she needed to work harder… though she’d already fallen behind these past few classes, so she’d have to record this lecture too.
Jian Nian stood to get her books, her foot touching the floor, and a sharp pain shot through her knee — her legs gave out before she could even straighten up, and she crashed heavily to the ground.
“Ngh…”
Yu Qingqing rushed in, startled, hurriedly flicking on the light and pulling her up, and when her hand brushed against the warmth of Jian Nian’s arm, she flinched.
“God, you’re burning up.”
Something soft and cool suddenly pressed against her forehead.
Jian Nian’s vision was blurred, her eyes misted with a film of moisture, watching the woman’s hand reach out and touch her head, her face drawing close, measuring carefully, murmuring worried little mutterings.
“Oh no, you really do have a fever. It’s not the wound getting infected, is it?”
Yu Qingqing hurriedly bundled her into a coat and took her to the town clinic.
Jian Nian sat on the cold chair, watching her run back and forth, talking to the doctor who’d just come on shift — she couldn’t make out the dialect, couldn’t understand a word. BlackLotus Novel Chapters · Black Lotus
The doctor talked as he worked, holding an IV bag, drawing from several small vials back and forth with the syringe, finally injecting it all into the drip.
A rubber tourniquet was tied around her wrist, alcohol swab wiped across the back of her hand — the sudden coolness snapped Jian Nian briefly awake, and she flinched back. “…I’ll be late.”
The two doctors in the room couldn’t help but burst out laughing, as if teasing a child.
“Once the drip’s done I’ll write you a note, promise your teacher won’t scold you.”
The needle pierced her skin, taped down, the IV tube coiled neatly around her hand, and the doctor set her hand down.
The faintly cool liquid slowly flowed into her veins, a slight stinging, somewhere beneath the skin, impossible to pin down.
Jian Nian slowly turned her head, eyes falling on Yu Qingqing beside her. “What were they saying?”
Yu Qingqing rubbed the heat pack warm against the IV tube, glancing up at her pale, sickly face, poking a fingertip at her cheek — surprisingly soft.
She laughed a little too. “They were laughing at you — sick out of your mind and still thinking about class.”
Jian Nian lowered her eyes, her voice very soft, as if she wasn’t sure who she was saying it to, murmuring almost to herself: “…if I don’t go to class, I won’t learn it.”
“So what if you don’t learn it.”
Yu Qingqing leaned back against the chair, gazing out at the curtain of rain, the light falling across her face, carrying a mature, quiet air about it.
After a moment, she laughed suddenly, her gentle brows betraying no particular emotion. “Once you’re grown up, you won’t think this is such a big deal anymore.”
Once the drip finished, Yu Qingqing brought her home.
Afraid she’d catch a chill again, she pulled the bamboo mat off the bed and laid down a thick, padded quilt instead, the sheets carrying the fresh scent of laundry detergent.
Yu Qingqing sat at the bedside, tucking the blanket around her, then closed the door and left. “Alright, get some sleep. Call me if you feel unwell, I’ll be right out front.”
Outside, the rain pattered on, a sound that should have lulled her to sleep, and yet Jian Nian couldn’t rest easy.
Her mind was a murky haze, uncontrollably drifting through thought after thought — how she’d make up for another missed day of class, the garish red numbers on her grade report, the tablet smashed to pieces, the drawing paper torn apart… and finally, to her little brother.
Small, holding their father’s hand, eyes bright with laughter, walking in one step at a time.
Her consciousness swam, hot, cold, she curled up tighter. Her head throbbed, the sound of rain boring into it like a chisel against a wall, a dull, aching pain.
“Crash—!”
A vase shattered, shards of porcelain slicing across her calf, blood slowly trickling down.
The moon was full, and bright.
Sweet, soft clouds swelled in the dim candlelight.
The moonlight cast two blurred shadows, overlapping, tearing at each other, snarling and biting, fighting over the single red apple amid the wreckage scattered across the ground.
Blink again, and it had become a fresh, living heart, blood dripping and stretching, spreading out beneath her feet.
Cold, scalding hot… she curled up tighter and tighter, trying to escape, but was swallowed all the same.
Thick, sickly-sweet liquid poured into her nose, her throat, her chest heaving without pause, yet she couldn’t draw a single breath — a suffocating feeling drowned her.
“Having a nightmare?”
The bed dipped beside her, a gentle woman’s voice sounding by her ear, drifting softly through her eardrum.
Jian Nian slowly lifted her eyes, the woman’s features blurred in the dim light.
…Who was it?
She couldn’t make it out, only faintly, through her nose, caught a trace of floral scent.
The woman reached out and held her, letting her rest her head against her chest. That floral scent grew thicker, flooding into her burning, aching nose, and she coughed a few times.
A low, gentle humming drifted through the curtain of rain, a hand resting on her shoulder, patting softly. | Black Lotus Novel Novel Site | black lotus novel
“The stars in the sky weep tears, the roses on the ground wither…”
Jian Nian couldn’t see who she was, couldn’t quite make out what she was singing. She could only feel the hand on her shoulder, so very light, like raindrops falling one by one, gently landing on her back.
She hated the feeling of being touched, hated the overly thick floral scent flooding her nose.
She thought, what was it this time, that she was deliberately getting close to her for?
Money, fame, status?
Just like everyone else who got close to her, her methods of currying favor were clumsy, not even knowing what she liked.
She knew this concern was all fake, she should push her away, push away this stranger with her hidden agenda.
But her body relaxed on its own, growing more and more drowsy, her mind slowly clouding over, and though she knew she shouldn’t, she shamefully sank into the warmth of this moment.
“Feeling better?” the woman asked, low.
“…” She didn’t answer.
She only slowly closed her eyes, burying her face in the woman’s soft embrace.
…
When she woke again, the rain had stopped. Outside the window, the sky had darkened, distant lights glowing along the street, the faint sound of shop music drifting in from outside.
There was no one in the room.
Jian Nian held her throbbing head, slowly sitting up, and by the light seeping in through the window, her scattered gaze took in this small room.
Only now did she see clearly what this room looked like.
The door curtain and window curtain were strung with faded little seashells, the walls covered in childish scribbles, chunks of plaster peeling off in places.
Yellowed cartoon stickers were pasted on the wardrobe and desk; on the desk, a few literature books were stacked up, a handful of gel pens in a pen holder.
There was also a photo album lying open on the desk, looking rather old, its cover worn at the edges.
The page it was open to held two photos of sugar paintings, glossy amber and translucent, their patterns delicate and beautiful.
Her body had regained a little strength; Jian Nian threw back the covers and got out of bed, walking slowly to stand at the desk, and turned a page.
Every photo was of a sugar painting, shot against a marble slab, each a different design, clearly made with great care, lifelike and vivid. Flipping forward, the colors went from bright and clear to gradually yellowed and blurred.
She turned to the last page, and the background changed.
No longer the blank marble slab, but a deep blue sky.
A little girl with a ponytail, her expression shy and awkward, standing on tiptoe, straining to hold up a sugar painting against the sky — never expecting she’d been caught in the shot herself.
The sound of conversation drifted in from outside the door; Jian Nian steadied herself against the doorframe and slowly walked out.
A customer had come into the front shop, and Yu Qingqing was explaining the varieties to them, discussing what they wanted, boiling the syrup and painting with sugar.
Passersby came and went outside the shop entrance, thin threads of amber syrup falling onto the marble slab.
Warm yellow light lit her profile, her brows and eyes especially gentle, eyes lowered, expression focused and intent, a beautiful sugar painting slowly taking shape in her hands.
Jian Nian watched her profile, and for one moment, seemed to see that bad-tempered old man again.
It didn’t look like she was making a sugar painting — it looked like she was carefully carving something she loved, shaping out, bit by bit, its brows, its body, its soul.
Watching her so absorbed in doing something she loved, Jian Nian felt, almost by extension, the heat of the scalding syrup against fingertips, and found herself staring, a little dazed.
Not until she’d seen the customer off and sat back down at the counter, idly picking up an unfinished sachet, tapping at her phone screen.
A woman’s voice, somewhat stiff in its delivery, played out.
“…gripped her chin, said coldly: ‘Remember, punishment is your reward.’ Su Yi felt as though she’d fallen into an icy cave, trembling all over. She knew he truly hated her to the bone, and would never again spare her an ounce of tenderness.”
Jian Nian: “…”
Catching sight of her out of the corner of her eye, Yu Qingqing set down the sachet in her hands. “You’re up?”
She pulled her over to sit down, reaching out to press a palm to her forehead, feeling it back and forth for a moment, then suddenly leaned in close.
Jian Nian blinked, a little dazed, her amber, cat-like eyes fluttering, just watching as the woman’s forehead pressed against hers.
The latter kept muttering under her breath, “Still seems a bit warm.”
The woman’s floral scent surged over her, flooding into her nose.
Jian Nian suddenly recalled those hazy images from when she’d been feverish and half-conscious, herself pressed against her chest like a small child.
An indescribable wave of embarrassment surged up… how could she have done something so humiliating.
She pulled back, hastily dodging away.
Yu Qingqing didn’t notice the child’s awkwardness at all, standing up. “I’ll go boil you some porridge, eat something, then take your medicine.”
Wu City was poor — even though this was a small ancient town scenic area, it was still quite backward. Black Lotus novel Novel Translation | BlackLotusNovel
Seven years had passed, and it had developed a little; this street hadn’t had this many shops before, and now there was even a trendy nail salon.
Pedestrians came and went along the street outside the shop, the lively music and clamoring voices of other shops carrying faintly from a distance, making the end of the street feel especially quiet.
Most of the neighbors knew each other; at mealtimes everyone sat with their bowls at their doorsteps, gathering to gossip and chat idly.
Jian Nian’s head was still spinning; she sat on a little stool, cradling her porridge, sipping slowly.
Yu Qingqing called her Little Antique.
When gossiping about a cheating neighbor on the street, Yu Qingqing had righteously ranted about the scumbag, “does he really believe I’ll buy that he’s changed, does he think I’m an idiot” — and Jian Nian had just stared blankly.
She’d tossed out a few more memes, none of which Jian Nian understood either.
Yu Qingqing, exasperated at her hopeless case, said it felt like playing a lute to a cow, and insisted on giving her a crash course in a bunch of trending internet knowledge.
…though none of it seemed to serve much purpose.
Chronically frail, her fever spiked again come evening; after taking her medicine, Jian Nian drifted into a hazy sleep.
She suddenly jolted awake, having heard the sound of arguing outside.
Through the door panel, she couldn’t hear clearly, only catching a few scattered phrases — it seemed to be about Yu Yu’s exam results.
“Worse every single time — this is the joint entrance exam, are you planning to score this low on the college entrance exam too? What exactly are you trying to do? You don’t want to keep studying anymore?”
“Haven’t I already told you, with the scores I’ve got, what could I even get into…”
“Yu Yu, you…”
The voices grew quieter and quieter; Jian Nian, still hazy, drifted off to sleep again without realizing it.
…
When she woke again, it was already noon.
She had no idea how the argument between the siblings had ended the night before — today they seemed back to normal with each other, as if there’d been no fight at all yesterday.
Yu Qingqing left the leftover food; Yu Yu obediently took it and ate it, then went off to school.
Jian Nian’s head was still spinning, but at least it had eased a little.
Sitting in the small courtyard, she picked up a little wooden stick and idly poked at the ground. She pulled her thoughts together, trying to make sense of where she stood.
These past few days had made it clear to her, with undeniable reality, that this wasn’t a dream.
…She really had died that night she ran away from home, and really had ended up here, seven years later.
It was hard to believe.
But after hearing, from Yu Qingqing’s phone, lines like “the female lead deliberately runs off pregnant, the twins born two months apart” and “the genius baby prodigy becomes a top hacker at one year old to find her real father” — it started to feel a little less unbelievable after all.
“I’m heading out to deliver an order, and pick up some groceries while I’m at it.”
Yu Qingqing, having packed up the finished sachets, leaned over to ask her, “What do you want to eat?”
Then added, “This chef’s skills are limited, though.”
Jian Nian: “…preserved plum ribs.”
Yu Qingqing laughed. “You really do love that dish, huh. Alright.”
Yu Qingqing headed out; Jian Nian lowered her eyes and kept thinking.
She had nothing on her now — no phone, no ID. Having already died seven years ago, she was likely an unregistered person now, off the books.
Her eyelashes trembled slightly, filled with uncertainty about the future.
…Where should she go from here? What should she do?
In the past, her mother would have told her all of this. — B L A C K L O T U S Novel Translations | black lotus novel
But now her mother was gone, seven years had passed, and there was no way she could go back to Huai University to continue studying finance.
She remembered that before the car accident, she’d had a sudden impulse to drop out and pursue painting, to try for Huai City Central Academy of Fine Arts.
But now that momentary impulse had faded, and Jian Nian felt even more lost.
She didn’t even have an ID now, couldn’t even buy a train ticket — could she really go study painting in Huai City?
Footsteps approached; Yu Qingqing came back carrying bags large and small, putting away the newly bought sachet materials, storing the groceries in the fridge.
Then she suddenly pulled out a small sketchboard, holding it out to Jian Nian.
Jian Nian startled, looking up.
The woman’s brows were gentle, a smile in her eyes, as she continued pulling a stack of drawing paper and charcoal pencils from the bag. “I saw you drawing on the ground for ages — here, go have fun with these.”
Jian Nian looked down, only now noticing that she’d unconsciously drawn a mess of faint marks on the ground with the wooden stick, vaguely making out the corner of a street scene.
“…”
She had no idea how long it had been since she’d held a paintbrush; picking one up again now felt strange, unfamiliar.
But her heart was pounding. Just like when she’d watched Yu Qingqing making sugar paintings — she could sense it, the feeling of blood flowing.
Jian Nian slowly set the pencil to paper.
On the page, a woman’s figure gradually took shape — hair tied back simply with a blue hairband, falling to one side on the left, brows and eyes gentle and composed, standing behind the counter holding up the sugar ladle.
Thin threads of syrup trailed down from the ladle onto the marble slab.
Whether it was from being sick and weak, or simply not having drawn in so long, her hand kept trembling, the lines coming out messy and uneven.
Yu Qingqing came out having finished making dinner, and caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, surprise flickering across her face. “Oh, that’s really good.”
She leaned in with a grin, that floral scent surging up again. “Will you give this one to me?”
Jian Nian’s fever hadn’t broken yet, her head still spinning; she looked up from the drawing, embarrassment surging up, reaching out to try to cover her failed attempt.
“I’ll give you the next one.”
But it was too late — Yu Qingqing had already snatched it away.
She even found a frame for it, hanging it up in her room, admiring it with obvious delight.
Jian Nian: “…”
She looked down at the sketchboard, slowly tightening her grip on the pencil, feeling the sound of her own heartbeat in that moment.
Her breath ran hot, her head still foggy, but the confusion that had been circling her mind had scattered.
——She wanted to paint. She wanted to go study in Huai City.
This was the first time she’d ever made a decision for herself, done something she actually wanted to do.
With a goal in mind, the path toward it became clear too.
Jian Nian recalled that among her relatives back then, there’d been someone who could handle getting identification documents sorted — she didn’t know how to contact them, but she’d gone with her mother a few times before, and roughly knew the address.
As for the money needed for school… she’d taken commissioned work from a publishing house before; she should be able to earn money that way.
She’d also seen street artists making a living drawing portraits, and…
“Hey, still not sleeping?”
Yu Qingqing, lying on her bedroll on the floor, suddenly spoke up; Jian Nian’s gaze turned, meeting her smiling eyes.
She teased, “You really love that sketchboard, huh — you’ve been staring at it all night.”
Outside the window was pitch black and silent, the girl’s amber, cat-like eyes reflecting the moonlight as she gazed out the window, and didn’t answer.
Yu Qingqing didn’t mind, already used to her being expressionless and emotionless all day, like a little wooden doll.
She yawned, lying back down, closing her eyes to sleep.
Just as her consciousness was growing hazy, on the edge of sleep, she suddenly heard a low, soft voice.
Like it might have been a trick of her own hearing, light as a feather brushing softly across her heart.
“…Mm.”
…
Her illness hadn’t fully healed yet, but Jian Nian had already started her recovery-drawing routine.
Yu Qingqing sat behind the counter listening to her novel, stitching sachets, while Jian Nian sat on the tall stool by the doorway, holding her sketchboard, pencil in hand, drawing with focus, occasionally turning her head to cough a few times before lowering her head to keep drawing. Black Lotus Translations | Black Lotus Novel
Occasionally customers buying sugar paintings would notice her drawing and come ask the price.
By the end of one morning, Jian Nian had sold two pencil portraits this way, earning thirty yuan.
After a few days of recovery-practice, Jian Nian grew more and more skilled, her figures more and more refined, and the price of her drawings slowly climbed… by five yuan.
Her going rate was now twenty-one yuan a piece!
Yu Qingqing poked her cheek, picking up the teapot to pour tea, grinning as she teased, “Little Jian’s quite impressive, huh.”
Jian Nian sat on the tall stool, lifting her eyes to look at her gentle brow.
She thought of how, back at school, close female friends would interact this way too, warmly, easily.
She asked slowly, “Yu Qingqing, are we friends?”
The tea suddenly overflowed the cup, spilling onto the table. The woman wiped it up with her hand, smiling as she answered, “Of course.”
Jian Nian held her sketchboard, slowly swinging her slender, pale legs.
She remembered again how they’d chat with each other, sharing their own experiences. For the first time, she initiated a conversation, saying, “Your grandfather told me you were smart, ever since you were little.”
The woman froze for a moment, silent for a long while, before slowly breathing out a few words: “Is that so.”
…
After a few days of recovery-practice, Jian Nian’s hand no longer trembled so much holding the pencil, and she was no longer content with just drawing portraits — she went to the temple in the old town to paint instead.
Tourists wandered through in twos and threes; Wu City was always shrouded in mist, and amid the haze, the temple took on an air of mystery.
——Qing’an Temple.
The wound on her leg had mostly healed by now; Jian Nian walked slowly with the flow of the crowd, climbing the mountain.
Her health wasn’t good — normally even climbing three flights of stairs left her gasping for breath, needing to rest for a long while; back when she’d lived at his place, he’d always had to carry her up on his back.
She climbed slowly like this for two hours, finally reaching the tree at the back of the mountain, draped with wish tablets and red string.
This was the tree from the photo she’d seen the night before.
It had fallen out of a book while tidying up, and Yu Qingqing had sat by the desk, quietly gazing at that photo.
Jian Nian had seen that look before. The same look her mother wore gazing at that photo of the Freud rose pressed deep in the study drawer — quiet, and still.
Jian Nian thought, this tree must mean something to her.
If she drew it, Yu Qingqing would probably like it. Just as she’d liked that clumsily-rendered, messily-lined sketch.
She circled around twice, found the best angle, and sat down on a stone stool to start drawing.
She was very quiet while drawing, only the soft, rustling sound of the pencil scratching against paper.
Only, as she drew, for some reason the music from the short videos Yu Qingqing scrolled through on her phone suddenly surfaced in her mind.
…eerily, it wouldn’t leave her head.
Jian Nian couldn’t help herself, humming along softly a couple times.
By the time she finished, it was already dusk; looking at the drawing, Jian Nian frowned, not satisfied.
…the charcoal pencil really couldn’t recreate the feeling she wanted; she stared at it for a while, then packed up and got up to head back.
Never mind — she’d wait until she bought oil paints and brushes, and paint it for her properly then.
Halfway down the mountain, the sky clouded over, looking like rain was coming.
Jian Nian held her sketchboard, walking toward Yu Family Sugar Paintings, hearing the faint rumble of thunder, quickening her pace.
Still about two meters from the shop entrance, she heard the faint sound of conversation from inside.
“Where’s she at?”
“Out painting.”
By the voice, it was Yu Yu. Coming back at this hour probably meant he’d skipped evening study again.
Jian Nian was about to walk in when she heard another voice.
“Hey, I’m just saying, isn’t this enough already? How much longer are you gonna let her stay here?”
The young man’s voice gave a soft tsk, tone dripping with disdain, “Real little princess, isn’t she — staying at someone else’s place all these days like it’s owed to her, hasn’t even said a proper thank you.”
“I just can’t stand these rich kids, so full of themselves, every single one.”
“Alright, Xiao Yu, that’s enough.”
“What’d I say wrong? I’m not wrong, am I — red wine beef stew, some ‘tarta’ this and that, does she think this is a five-star Western restaurant, where’s she expect us to get that stuff from.”
The male voice grumbled on, “And I’ve noticed you’ve gotten real used to waiting on her hand and foot these past few days too — washing her clothes, cooking her meals, might as well spoon-feed her while you’re at it.”
The female voice sounded a little helpless. “She’s just used to it, from back home. It’s normal. Alright, go help me get the rice steaming.”
“And now you’re taking her side too?”
The male voice let out a disgruntled huff, his voice growing fainter, “Wasn’t it your idea to begin with — wait till she’s been bullied enough, then step in, coax her along, wait till her family…”
The evening sky was dim, the air thick and stifling.
The sky suddenly opened up with rain, kicking up fine dust, passersby hurrying their steps home.
“Pit-pat, pit-pat.”
Raindrops fell, splashing tiny droplets onto the sketchboard on the ground.
At the back of the mountain, the wish tree’s branches and red strings swayed gently in the wind, the wish tablets fluttering, slowly blurring the damp ink marks spreading across them.
