Picked Up the Female Lead When She Was Young (GL) - Chapter 54

This condition was impossible for Zhou Qinglang to meet; short of putting Xia Wanshuang back into the womb and being born earlier herself, she couldn’t be older.

Furthermore, even if age wasn’t the main issue, based on their current development, Zhou Qinglang estimated she had no hope of being physically larger than Xia Wanshuang.

“Why is that? Do you prefer older people, Sister?”

“At least not too young. Someone more mature would be better.”

Xia Wanshuang’s criteria for a partner were actually quite vague.

Since she wasn’t actively looking, she didn’t set standards.

It was mostly based on feeling, but Xia Wanshuang didn’t think she’d be attracted to an immature child.

Her psychological age was far greater than her physical age, so her attention wouldn’t be on teenage boys.

“What about someone young in age but very mature psychologically?”

 

“That would depend on the person.”

 

Xia Wanshuang genuinely considered the question, then smiled inwardly.

 

Why am I thinking about this?

 

If she could survive the hurdle of her twenty fourth birthday, there would be plenty of time to consider these things later.

 

Zhou Qinglang got her answer and didn’t press further, afraid of giving herself away.

She took Xia Wanshuang’s hand and used the key to open the front door.

 

As soon as they stepped inside, Xia Wanshuang sneezed again.

 

The house was cold.

 

Xia Wanshuang didn’t like all the windows to be tightly shut, believing it hindered air circulation and made people prone to illness.

 

So, before leaving, she always left the windows slightly ajar to let the air circulate.

 

Zhou Qinglang didn’t even stop to put down her school bag; she immediately went to close the windows, leaving only small gaps in the balcony and kitchen windows.

 

Xia Wanshuang, meanwhile, poured two glasses of hot water, clutching them to warm her hands as if they were life support.

 

Xia Wanshuang had never been so sensitive to the cold in past winters, but perhaps due to this body’s predisposition to coldness, every winter since the transmigration had been particularly hard on her.

 

At this moment, Xia Wanshuang felt her fingers were like stiff branches, slowly softening only under the heat of the water.

 

Zhou Qinglang had finished closing the bedroom windows, turned on the electric blanket, and plugged in Xia Wanshuang’s hot water bottle.

 

After doing all this, she sat in the living room and picked up the other cup of hot water.

 

She only held the cup, not drinking, watching Xia Wanshuang sip the hot water slowly.

 

Xia Wanshuang still wore the scarf, which covered her delicate white neck tightly, making her face look even smaller.

 

The way she took small sips of water was utterly obedient.

 

Zhou Qinglang watched intently, then suddenly remembered the important task and quickly went to mix a packet of Banlangen (Isatis root) granules for Xia Wanshuang, carrying the medicine-infused water to her.

 

The freshly made medicine was quite hot, but Xia Wanshuang took the cup without hesitation and slowly drank the medicine, just as she had the plain hot water.

 

Honestly, Banlangen tasted better than plain water; though it was medicine, it wasn’t bitter.

 

After finishing the cup, Xia Wanshuang felt revived, radiating heat.

 

She took off the scarf, but immediately shivered, her neck chilled.

 

Zhou Qinglang took the scarf from Xia Wanshuang and hung it on the coat rack, urging her to go to the bedroom.

 

“I’ll call you after I’m done showering.”

 

Since winter began, Zhou Qinglang always showered before Xia Wanshuang.

 

It was freezing cold, and even with the heat lamp on, the bathroom could still be uncomfortable.

 

Zhou Qinglang felt it was better for Xia Wanshuang to shower in a bathroom already warmed by steam, so she always insisted on going first.

 

••••

 

Xia Wanshuang was well aware of Zhou Qinglang’s small, thoughtful gestures.

Watching Zhou Qinglang take her clothes and go into the bathroom, and seeing the silhouette behind the closed door, Xia Wanshuang immediately went to her own room.

 

She retrieved the gift she had prepared earlier and placed it on Zhou Qinglang’s desk.

 

Zhou Qinglang, upon entering her room after her shower, paused when she saw the gift on her desk.

 

She turned and glanced at the open door.

 

Xia Wanshuang had just passed her on the way to the bathroom but had returned, leaning on the doorframe, holding her clothes and watching her.

 

“Sister, what did you send?”

 

Zhou Qinglang saw a small, exquisite wooden box.

 

“Open it and see!”

 

Xia Wanshuang smiled, urging Zhou Qinglang to open the box.

 

Zhou Qinglang reached for it, but noticing the moisture still on her hands from the shower, she quickly wiped them hard on her clothes before picking up the small box.

 

Inside the wooden box lay a pendant: a red cord stringing a jade bead, with a small wooden plaque underneath.

 

The plaque was intricately carved with a single character: 琅 (Lang).

 

“Do you like it?”

Xia Wanshuang asked expectantly.

This was a gift she had prepared for a long time.

It was supposed to be given on Zhou Qinglang’s birthday, but due to her craftsman’s schedule, the item, which should have been ready a week before her birthday, only arrived a few days after.

She wasn’t angry, but Xia Wanshuang still felt regret.

Still, the gift had to be given, so Xia Wanshuang chose Christmas.

“I love it! It’s beautiful.”

Zhou Qinglang picked up the pendant, lovingly touching the jade bead, then the small plaque.

“The character on that small wooden plaque? I carved it myself,” Xia Wanshuang said with a smile, dropping another surprise on Zhou Qinglang.

“Really!”

 

Zhou Qinglang was overjoyed, cherishing the small plaque with her name on it even more.

 

She inhaled the scent of the wood, rubbing it happily.

 

“If you look closely, you’ll also find both your name and mine on that bead.”

 

The jade bead was small and delicate.

 

Carving on real jade was very difficult, and Xia Wanshuang had searched for a long time to find a master craftsman with this skill.

 

Xia Wanshuang was already skilled in carving.

 

She wasn’t an expert, but carving a small wooden figure or character wasn’t difficult for her.

 

She had used leftover pieces of high-quality agarwood for the carving.

 

Agarwood soothes the mind, and jade nourishes the body.

 

Though the object was small, the meaning was profound.

 

“Is that true?”

 

Zhou Qinglang focused on the small bead, indeed seeing tiny characters and carved patterns.

 

Her name and her sister’s name were carved together, and there was a plaque carved by her sister’s own hand.

 

This was an overwhelming surprise!

 

Zhou Qinglang unilaterally decided this was her sister’s token of love for her.

 

“Sister, I absolutely love it! Help me put it on!”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Yes!”

 

Xia Wanshuang took the red cord.

 

Zhou Qinglang lowered her head in front of her, obediently allowing Xia Wanshuang to tie the knot.

 

“All set.”

 

Zhou Qinglang lifted her head, fiddling with the small wooden plaque.

 

She thought happily, This is a token of love put on by Sister’s own hands.

 

“I’m going to take my shower now.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Until the sound of footsteps stopped in the bathroom, the smile on Zhou Qinglang’s face did not fade.

 

She alternately touched the small plaque, the jade bead, or grasped them together.

 

She just sat there, laughing silently, her joy completely unconcealable.

 

When she had touched them enough, Zhou Qinglang tucked the small wooden plaque inside her clothes.

 

Looking at her neck in the mirror, she could see a section of her collarbone and the small jade bead perfectly nested within it.

 

Zhou Qinglang again touched the small wooden plaque through her clothes, put the box away, and then picked up the bookmark on the desk.

 

She had seen the bookmark earlier, but the excitement of the pendant made her only just remember it.

 

This was not something that belonged on her desk, so it must also have been brought over by her sister.

 

Sure enough, when Zhou Qinglang turned the bookmark over, she saw Xia Wanshuang’s graceful handwriting.

 

It was a poem Zhou Qinglang had never read:

 

Six-petaled snowflakes fly into the house; sitting, one watches green bamboo turn to jade branches. Now is the time to climb a tall building and gaze afar, for all the wicked forks in the human road are covered.

 

Zhou Qinglang’s Chinese was quite good, and she roughly understood the meaning of the poem, but she didn’t quite grasp why Xia Wanshuang had written this poem for her.

When snowflakes fly into the window, you watch the green bamboo turn white with snow. If you climb a tall building and look far away, all the treacherous paths in the world are covered by the white snow.

Zhou Qinglang interpreted it but still didn’t understand.

She looked up the poem, finding that the explanation was similar to what she thought.

The poem was titled “Facing the Snow.”

Zhou Qinglang checked the author’s biography and the deeper meaning behind the poem, concluding that Xia Wanshuang probably didn’t intend any other meaning.

It was simply winter, so she had transcribed this poem for her.

Zhou Qinglang picked up the bookmark, intending to put it in a book.

When she looked at the front of the bookmark, she noticed something unusual.

The bookmark was entirely white, and the front featured landscapes and slender bamboo—she realized it was hand-painted.

There was no doubt who had painted it.

Zhou Qinglang exclaimed at her sister’s talent, kissed the bookmark, and tucked it into the book she hadn’t finished reading last night.

 

She lay on the bed, rolling around and hugging her pillow.

How could she love her sister so, so much? She truly loved her so much.

••••

While showering, Xia Wanshuang also thought of the poem she had copied for Zhou Qinglang.

She was a liberal arts student, with a touch of poetic sentiment in her soul.

The poem on the bookmark had a meaning, but she knew the recipient wouldn’t understand it.

It wasn’t a particularly profound meaning.

 

Xia Wanshuang only took the shallowest interpretation of the poem and added her own thoughts.

Zhou Qinglang’s name, “Lang,” often made Xia Wanshuang think of langgan (a type of beautiful jade or bamboo), a common word in classical poetry that signifies the meaning of Lang and represents beautiful things.

Zhou Qinglang was a beautiful thing.

Langgan can also refer to green bamboo.

Since it was winter, Xia Wanshuang thought of the poem “Facing the Snow.”

Xia Wanshuang felt that she was like the snow that turned the green bamboo white, appearing in Zhou Qinglang’s life, changing her original path, and covering all the wicked forks in the road of Zhou Qinglang’s first half of life.

The bathroom was foggy, with steam swirling upwards.

The moment Xia Wanshuang turned off the hot water, she immediately felt the cold air cling to her.

She hurriedly dried her body, shivering as she put on her pajamas, dried her feet, changed into cotton slippers outside the bathroom door, and hurried back to her room.

On her computer desk, she saw a neatly placed bound book, accompanied by a cute Christmas card.

Xia Wanshuang opened the card.

The handwriting was instantly recognizable—the gradually perfected running script she had watched develop.

When Zhou Qinglang was a child, she had held her naive hand and taught her to write, stroke by stroke.

The card’s message was simple: “To Wanshuang: Happy Christmas.”

 

Xia Wanshuang put the card away in a drawer.

 

Now she saw the title of the book, which the card had partially covered, and a look of surprise washed over her face.

 

It was a book published ten years ago that she had been looking for a long time but couldn’t find.

 

She never expected Zhou Qinglang to track it down.

 

“Sister, did you get my Christmas gift?”

 

Zhou Qinglang opened Xia Wanshuang’s door, half-peering into the room.

 

“Is this the Christmas gift? Didn’t you already give me one yesterday?”

 

“Yesterday was the Christmas Eve gift. Today is the Christmas Day gift.”

 

Xia Wanshuang understood the child’s intentions and didn’t expose her, flashing a smile at Zhou Qinglang.

 

“Thank you, Langlang, I love it. Where did you find it?”

 

At Xia Wanshuang’s smile, Zhou Qinglang’s speech became a little stuttered.

 

“A-as long as you like it. I-I-I saw someone selling old books they had piled up at home that day. I knew you were looking for it, and when I saw it, I bought it.”

 

“That’s truly fate.”

 

Xia Wanshuang touched the yellowing, crinkled book cover, her eyes soft.

 

“Did you see my card, Sister?”

 

This was what Zhou Qinglang really wanted to know.

 

When writing the card, she deliberately omitted the word “Sister” and Xia Wanshuang’s surname, as if this closeness was exactly what she imagined.

 

Wanshuang.

 

Wanshuang.

 

She tasted the name on her lips, wrote it on the paper, and embedded it in her heart.