svetikya Chapter 87 Extra 2
Chapter 87 Extra 2
Dusk had completely fallen, the last rays of light swallowed by the bluish-gray clouds. No lights were on in the courtyard; the four figures were reduced to blurry outlines in the thick darkness, like stone sculptures suddenly lifeless, forgotten in the abruptly chilled silence. Only the sound of breathing—suppressed, uneven breathing—and the faint, indistinct barking of a dog from some distant house, amplified the deathly stillness of the small space.
Qingyuan was held tightly behind Sparrow Mother, her back pressed against her mother's trembling chest, her wrists aching from the grip. She could smell the familiar scent of cooking oil and a faint scent of soap on her mother, but now that scent made her stomach churn. She dared not move, not even breathe deeply, as if the slightest movement would shatter this eerie and fragile balance, leading to an even more terrifying collapse.
The old man, Sparrow's father, stood blocking the way like a silent mountain. He no longer spoke, but maintained the slightly raised arm posture, his broad shoulders tense, silently confronting the stiff shadow standing in the doorway through the dim light a few steps away. Qingyuan couldn't see his expression at this moment, but she could feel the almost tragic determination emanating from him.
The blue sparrow by the door finally moved. She seemed to sway slightly, and the small bundle in her hand slipped to the ground with a dull "plop." This subtle sound was amplified infinitely in the silence, startling the mother sparrow, who tightened her grip on Qingyuan's arm even more.
"Heh..." A short, dry sound escaped Qingque's throat, indistinguishable between laughter and a gasp. She raised her hand, not pointing at anyone, but vigorously rubbing her temples and patting her cheeks, the movements carrying a dazed air, an attempt to clear her mind. "I must be too tired... I'm hallucinating..." she murmured to herself, her voice low but each word clear, "Yes, hallucination. The mission report isn't due yet, I've been traveling for three days straight without a proper sleep... How could Mom and Dad not recognize me... How could there be a me in the house..."
As she spoke, she even tried to twitch the corners of her mouth, attempting a "this is absurd" smile, but the curve only distorted for a moment before freezing on her face. Because her parents remained motionless, standing there, looking at her with a completely unfamiliar, wary, and heartbroken gaze, as if she were the one who was the sudden, unexpected "abnormality" that needed to be guarded against.
That look was more lethal than any verbal accusation.
The bewilderment on Qingque's face slowly faded, replaced by a sharp pain and icy anger. She straightened her back, no longer trying to get closer, her gaze passing over her father's shoulder, and fixed on the "herself" behind her, whose pale cheek and panicked eyes were only partially visible.
"Who exactly are you?" Her voice turned cold, like crystal tempered with ice—clear yet cracked. "What method did you use to deceive my parents like this?"
"Sparrow!" Sparrow's mother's voice suddenly rose, tinged with sobs and deeper panic, "Don't talk like that! She is you! Look into her eyes, look at her..."
"Mom!" Qingque abruptly interrupted her, her voice finally trembling with barely suppressed grievance. "Look at me! I'm Qingque! The mark on my forehead, the little mole behind my ear, the scar on my left shoulder from falling down a tree as a child! Do you want me to point them all out to you?! She's only been here a few days! Huh?!"
Every question was like a red-hot knife, piercing Qingyuan's heart, and also piercing the absurd cognitive barrier that Sparrow's parents were trying so hard to maintain.
Sparrow Mother's body trembled violently. Her grip on Qingyuan loosened for a moment, then tightened again, as if letting go would cause this fragile being in her arms to vanish into thin air. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out; instead, tears flowed even more fiercely, dripping hot water onto the skin on the back of Qingyuan's neck.
Sparrow's father's jawline was taut, as if carved by a knife, casting a cold, hard shadow in the dim light. He still didn't turn around to look at his "daughter" behind him, his gaze fixed on the agitated girl at the door, heavy breathing escaping his throat. Every characteristic Qingque described struck him like a hammer blow, but what lingered in his mind was the image of his "future daughter" from their first meeting: her glaring "wounds," her bewildered, frightened eyes like those of a startled animal, and her silent obedience, the occasional glimpses of her longing for warmth, and her deep-seated fear... Those details were equally real, etched into his eyes and heart.
Two "truths" clashed fiercely in his mind, tearing at his reason. In the end, the instinctive pity and protectiveness for the "victim," mixed with a fear of "What if? What if it's true? The future sparrow suffered so much to come back, how can we hurt her again?" overwhelmed everything.
He took a small step forward abruptly, not as an attack, but with an even stronger sense of oppression. His voice was hoarse and low, emphasizing each word: "Qingque. I'll say it again, stop making trouble. She... needs rest, needs quiet recuperation. You just got back, you're tired too. Whatever it is, we can talk about it tomorrow."
This is a clear order to leave. To his own biological daughter.
The color drained from Qingque's face, leaving her frighteningly pale in the twilight. She stared in disbelief at her father, then at her mother, tears streaming down her face as she desperately protected those behind her, and finally at the "imposter" who never dared to meet her gaze, cowering under her parents' wings. A chill ran through her, rising from her feet and spreading to every limb. Anger, resentment, confusion, absurdity… a torrent of emotions exploded within her, burning her eyes until they reddened, yet she was frozen stiff by her father's unprecedentedly stern gaze.
She understood. At this moment, in the home where she grew up, in the safe haven she thought would always be warm and secure, she became the "unwelcome," "immature," and "needing to be comforted" outsider.
How ridiculous.
She, Qingque, was a rising star in the Cloud Cavalry of the immortal ship "Luofu." Lively and unconventional, she had never truly worried or troubled her parents. Each time she returned from a mission, she was greeted by her mother's steaming hot meal and her father's silent yet concerned gaze. But now…
She slowly, very slowly, bent down and picked up the small, dusty bundle from the ground. Her movements were steady, but her fingertips were icy cold. She straightened up and took one last look at the familiar yet strange "family of three" who had kept her at bay, her gaze lingering on Qingyuan's face for a moment. That look was complex, containing a cold scrutiny, a sharp questioning, and a fleeting, almost imperceptible, sense of bewilderment and pain.
Then, without saying anything more, she turned around and pushed open the courtyard gate that she had opened herself but couldn't walk through.
"Squeak—Clang."
The sound of the door closing wasn't loud, but in the deathly silent courtyard, it sounded like a muffled thunderclap, or a declaration of some kind of end.
Sparrow's mother swayed, as if all her strength had been suddenly drained, and she almost collapsed. Qingyuan instinctively reached out to support her, her hand touching something cold and damp, unsure whether it was cold sweat or tears.
Sparrow's father remained standing there, his back to them, staring at the closed door, motionless for a long time. His tall figure appeared unusually stiff in the deepening night, even... slightly hunched.
The darkness in the courtyard completely engulfed them. There were no stars, and the moon was hidden behind the clouds.
"...She's gone." Sparrow's mother's voice was hoarse and almost incoherent, as if squeezed from a broken bellows, carrying the weakness of someone who had survived a catastrophe and a deeper, more unbearable heartache. She turned around, and in the dim light, her red, swollen eyes gazed eagerly and greedily at Qingyuan's face. Her fingers trembled as she touched Qingyuan's cheek, her cold fingertips brushing against warm skin. "Sparrow...my Sparrow...don't be afraid, don't be afraid...Mom's here, Dad's here, no one can bully you..."
Her caresses were gentle and tender, filled with endless pity, but this pity felt like boiling oil poured on Qingyuan's already overburdened conscience.
"I..." Qingyuan's throat was dry and sore. She wanted to say "I'm not," "You've got it wrong," "Go after her!" But the almost overflowing fear in her mother's eyes—the fear of losing something again after regaining it—and her father's silent yet unwavering protectiveness, like a mountain pressing down on her, blocked all her words, crushing them between her teeth. She could only stand stiffly, letting her mother's cold hand stroke her face, feeling that heavy, misplaced love, like shackles, wrapping around her layer by layer, tightening more and more.
Finally, Sparrow's father turned around. His face was hidden in the darkness, his expression unreadable, only his eyes seemed to gleam faintly in the deep shadows, or perhaps it was just an illusion. He walked over, his steps heavy, and stopped in front of Qingyuan. He looked at her for a moment, then raised his large hand, as if to pat her head or shoulder as usual, but his hand froze in mid-air, finally falling stiffly to pull down the collar of the oversized pajamas that belonged to the real Qingyuan.
"...Let's go back inside." He only said these three words in the end, his voice extremely tired. "It's cold outside."
As if only then realizing what was happening, Sparrow's mother nodded hastily, wiping away her tears haphazardly, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace: "Yes, yes, go back inside, go back inside. Mom will light the lamp and heat up some soup for you... You haven't eaten anything all night, you must be starving!"
She practically half-carried, half-lifted Qingyuan into the house, her movements hurried, as if a raging flood was chasing her—perhaps, the real daughter who had just left was more bewildering and frightening to her than any flood or beast in her confused state of mind and emotions.
Qingyuan was ushered into the room where she had stayed for several days, a room filled with traces of "Qingque". Sparrow's mother deftly lit the oil lamp on the table, its dim light spreading to illuminate the training wooden sword hanging on the wall, the few rough but charming little wooden carvings on the table, and the neatly folded clothes belonging to the young girl. Every item silently testified to the presence and aura of the true owner of this place.
Sparrow's mother didn't dare look any longer and hurriedly turned and went to the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a bowl of reheated soup, a few specks of oil and chopped scallions floating on the surface. "Quick, drink it while it's hot, it'll calm you down." She shoved the bowl into Qingyuan's hands, her eyes darting away, avoiding eye contact, only muttering, "Drink it and get a good night's sleep, don't think about anything... Tomorrow, tomorrow will be better..."
Qingyuan held the warm bowl, but the warmth from her fingertips could not dispel the chill in her heart. She looked at the dark circles under Que Ma's eyes and her swollen eyelids, and watched her unconsciously turn around in the room, touching and pressing here and there, before finally standing bewildered at the door, hesitant to speak.
"Mom," Qingyuan heard her own voice, dry and emotionless, "you should go and rest too."
Startled, Sparrow's mother nodded quickly, "Okay, okay, Mom will go now. Drink your soup and go to sleep early." She left and gently closed the door behind her.
The moment the door closed, Qingyuan's shoulders slumped, the soup bowl in her hand wobbled, and a few drops of soup splashed out, scalding the back of her hand, but she was completely unaware.
She was left alone in the room, surrounded by the dim light and the ever-present traces of the real Bluebird. Outside the window, the night was so thick it seemed to swallow everything up, like a giant maw that had devoured the absurd and sharp confrontation, and also the figure of the real daughter who had stormed off in a huff.
She slowly walked to the bedside and sat down, placing the bowl aside. The soup had gone warm, and its aroma had become cloying.
She lied to them. She comfortably enjoyed a few days of warmth and care that weren't hers. And now, the real owners have returned, only to be kept out of their home by her lies and the couple's misplaced obsession with her.
The look Qingque gave her before leaving flashed repeatedly before her eyes. Besides anger and doubt, was there also a hint of… hurt? The deep hurt of being rejected by someone you love most?
Qingyuan suddenly clutched her head, her fingertips digging deep into her hair.
What should she do? Should she rush out now, catch up with Qingque, and tell her everything? And then what? Watch how Qingque's parents face this cruel truth? Watch them fall from their protective stance into deeper regret and self-blame? She couldn't imagine what would happen to Qingque's mother, or whether Qingque's father's silent spine could still stand straight.
But must things continue like this? Let the real Bluebird wander outside? Let this mistake snowball until one day it explodes completely, shattering everyone to pieces?
No, she couldn't do it. Continuing to deceive or confessing now both seemed to point to a worse outcome.
Her stomach began to convulse again, but this time it wasn't hunger; instead, it was a nauseating, churning sensation. She rushed to the washbasin in the corner of the room and dry-heaved a few times, but nothing came out; only the cold, acidic water burned her throat.
The oil lamp's flame snapped with a "pop," and the light flickered.
Qingyuan raised her head and looked at her blurry reflection in the bronze mirror. In the dim light, her face was still exactly the same as Qingque's, only pale, with empty eyes and bloodless lips. She raised her hand and touched her cheek, where the cool touch of her mother's fingertips and the hot tear stains still seemed to linger.
She remembered how her father, with his rough, large hands, carefully controlled the force when he taught her self-defense; she remembered her mother, humming an off-key song, mending a small tear in her pajamas in the sunlight; she remembered the bowl of soft, fragrant porridge and the plate of sweet, soft, and sticky cloud cakes...
The warmth was real. The concern was real. And that clumsy, unreserved care was real too.
But none of them should belong to her. They were stolen, borrowed, a mirage built on the pain of another girl and the cognitive dissonance of a pair of parents.
The image in the mirror gradually blurred, enveloped by the steam.
Qingyuan blinked hard, took a deep breath, and straightened her back. This couldn't go on. The mistake had to be corrected, the sooner the better, no matter how unbearable the consequences.
She needs to find Qingque. She must find her. Before things get too bad.
She glanced at the tightly closed door and listened intently. The outside was completely silent; it seemed that Sparrow's parents had already returned to their room. But she dared not imagine the turbulent emotions suppressed beneath that silence.
She gently blew out the oil lamp, plunging herself into complete darkness. Qingyuan lay on the bed fully clothed, her eyes wide open, staring at the unseen void above her.
The night is still long. And tomorrow... tomorrow there must be a resolution.
Outside the window, the sky, obscured by thick clouds, finally let through a few pale rays of moonlight, coldly illuminating the empty courtyard and the tightly closed wooden door that separated the inside from the outside world. In the distance, the faint sound of a night watchman striking his clapper could be heard, lingering and carrying the chill of the night.
This "home" has never been so quiet, nor so suffocating.