Chapter Twenty-One: Only Emotion Is Hard to Escape, the Heart Wavers Subtly

Lin Qinghan became a frequent visitor at Anhe Hall.

She always managed to find the most appropriate reason. Sometimes, she would bring restored ancient book rubbings to “seek guidance,” sometimes she’d deliver interesting picture books or imported snacks for Yiyi, and at times, she’d arrive carrying groceries, smiling as she said, “Mr. Jiang, my cooking is passable—might I be fortunate enough to prepare a meal for you and your daughter?”

She was clever, never inquiring about my origins nor probing into the secrets of my medical skills. She merely observed quietly, blending in silently.

She would accompany Yiyi in the backyard, patiently teaching her how to mix colors for painting. She discussed with me the obscure passages in the Inner Canon of the Yellow Emperor, her insights always unique and profound. Sometimes, she would help me organize the mountain of medicinal herbs, deftly and without a trace of delicacy.

Gradually, even Yiyi grew fond of her; after school, she would eagerly ask, “Father, will Sister Qinghan come today?”

And I, meanwhile, found myself in a subtle predicament.

I could sense in her gaze the growing, unabashed admiration and affection—an ardent, pure longing, tinged with a moth-to-flame persistence.

Any normal man faced with the pursuit of such a beautiful, intelligent, wealthy, and gentle woman would find it hard to resist.

But I am not like them.

My heart, two thousand years ago, had already grown as calm and unmoved as an ancient well, alongside the collapse of that dynasty and the loneliness of decades on the Island of Immortals.

Immortality is both a blessing and the cruelest of shackles.

I am destined to watch those around me pass through the cycles of birth, aging, sickness, and death, like spring flowers and autumn leaves—welcoming and bidding farewell. How could I selfishly leave behind a bond destined for separation in a life so fleeting? That would not be fair to her.

So I chose the gentlest, yet most ruthless approach—indifference.

No matter how obvious her intentions, I always treated her with politeness, respectful yet distant. Her gaze was like fire; my response, like ice.

That day, she stayed again to cook dinner. In the kitchen, apron tied, she busied herself with preparing squirrel fish. The golden light of sunset streamed through the window, casting a warm halo around her; time seemed to stand still, as if captured in a painting.

“Mr. Jiang,” she spoke, appearing casual as she handled the fish, “you always seem to be alone. Haven’t you ever thought about finding a mother for Yiyi, or a companion for yourself?”

It was the most direct probe she’d ever made.

I was in the courtyard with Yiyi, guiding her calligraphy. Upon hearing this, my brush paused, a drop of ink blossoming on the rice paper—like a silent sigh.

I didn’t turn, but replied calmly, “In this life, having Yiyi by my side is enough.”

The sound of chopping in the kitchen halted for a moment.

Then, it resumed—though the rhythm seemed a little disordered.

Yiyi looked up at me, then glanced at Lin Qinghan’s silhouette in the kitchen, quietly asking, “Father, don’t you like Sister Qinghan? I think she’s wonderful.”

I set down my brush, gently stroked her head, and replied softly, “Sister Qinghan is indeed wonderful. But, Yiyi, you must understand—there are many kinds of liking. What I feel for Sister Qinghan is the liking between friends. All of the most important affection I have has already been given to you; there’s nothing left to give.”

My words were quiet, but clear enough for those in the kitchen to hear.

That evening, the dishes Lin Qinghan made tasted a little salty.

After dinner, she didn’t linger as usual, but took her leave hurriedly. I walked her to the door and watched as her red sports car disappeared into the night. There was no pride in my heart, only a faint, helpless regret.

Of all emotions, love wounds the most. I can cure any illness in the world, yet I cannot heal this feeling that has arisen because of me.

All I can do is cut the tangled threads with a swift blade.