Transmigrating Into A Sadistic Novel And Becoming A Master Of Painting Rosy Pictures - Chapter 113

“Mm-hmm.” Shang Qinghui responded flatly to Bian Yingning’s greeting, then ignored her, clearly unwilling to converse.

Bian Yingning, slightly stunned by her coldness, said, “You…”

Shang Qinghui didn’t give her a chance to speak, quickening her pace to increase the distance between them.

Bian Yingning paused, watching Shang Qinghui’s retreating back.

On the stone path, one side was the mountain, the other a ravine; the treetops in the ravine were covered in frost; the world seemed like a monochrome ink landscape paintin

1. Only white and dark ink colors filled the sky and earth. Only Shang Qinghui, a splash of green, appeared before her.

Many people were on their way to the temple. It seemed the world was full of unrequited desires.

Soon, Shang Qinghui and Bian Yingning were separated by other people.

Something felt off.

Usually, when Shang Qinghui was angry, she was boisterous; today, she was subdued.

Is it the silent treatment?

Bian Yingning frowned, wondering what she had done to upset her, and followed.

She pondered this the entire way.

After walking and stopping for half an hour, they finally reached the mountaintop. The world seemed brighter; a solemn temple stood before them, surrounded by an open space; the view was expansive; in the distance lay the snow-covered city of H City.

Nearby was an orange-red temple, half-hidden under the snow, surrounded by ancient trees, their branches swaying like umbrellas.

They stopped at the temple entrance; several monks in gray robes came to greet them.

Bian Yingning was still slightly breathless; the scent of incense filled her nostrils, bringing a sense of peace.

“Benefactors, this way,” a monk who seemed to be the abbot led them inside.

The area in front of the temple was large; no one separated them. Bian Yingning approached Shang Qinghui, who was also breathless; despite the cold, her face was flushed from the climb.

She pushed her hat up; her down jacket, which had been zipped up to her chin, was now unzipped to her chest, appearing slightly disheveled.

Bian’s father and Shang’s father followed the abbot, talking to him. Ouyang Fei and Bian’s mother were arm in arm, whispering to each other.

Shang Qingfeng carried someone’s bag, following behind; no one noticed them.

“Are you in a bad mood?” Bian Yingning asked again.

Shang Qinghui was lifting her collar to let the heat out; Bian Yingning noticed something red on Shang Qinghui’s neck, against her fair skin.

Bian Yingning’s heart skipped a beat; she wanted to look closer.

But Shang Qinghui’s movements were erratic; she only saw it for a moment; Shang Qinghui seemed to notice her gaze, fixing her collar and stopping.

“I’m fine,” she replied emotionlessly.

Bian Yingning frowned deeper. It would have been better if Shang Qinghui had told her to leave her alone or gotten angry; at least that would be better than this silent treatment, which was even more frustrating.

“Ningning, Qinghui, come in,” Bian’s mother called from inside the temple.

“Okay.” Shang Qinghui said, walking towards the temple entrance, passing Bian Yingning.

But Bian Yingning grabbed her arm.

Before Shang Qinghui could react, Bian Yingning pulled her back, lifting her collar.

A vivid kiss mark was on Shang Qinghui’s neck, near her collarbone, stinging Bian Yingning’s eyes.

“What’s this?” she asked softly.

Shang Qinghui pulled away, fixing her collar; seeing Bian Yingning’s pale face, she smiled, “You don’t know what this is?”

Bian Yingning’s lips tightened; her throat felt constricted; she felt like an invisible hand was choking her. She had guessed, so she didn’t want to believe it.

“Who… who did it?”

“You don’t know him.” Shang Qinghui straightened, a hint of triumph in her demeanor, entering the temple.

Bian Yingning watched her go, her nose tingling.

She had met someone else. Was this what she wanted?

Wasn’t this what she wanted?

She had achieved it; why was she upset?

“Ningning isn’t here yet?”

The abbot led them to wash their hands with mugwort water before taking them to the main hall.

Bian Jiageng gave Bian’s mother incense; when he tried to give some to Bian Yingning, she wasn’t there.

“She’s coming.” Bian’s mother looked around and saw Bian Yingning entering. Shang Qinghui casually glanced at Bian Yingning, who seemed absentminded.

A secret thrill and a hint of delight arose in Shang Qinghui’s heart.

She wasn’t indifferent to her.

Bian Yingning followed them in prayer.

Bian’s father and Shang’s father took Shang Qingfeng to talk to a master; Ouyang Fei took them to get fortunes, hoping to resolve any remaining worries and seek blessings for the new year.

The process was the same every year; Shang Qinghui was unenthusiastic; after praying, she wandered around, going to get a fortune last.

Her fortunes were usually about smooth sailing or great fortune. But the fortune teller seemed to have changed?

Shang Qinghui looked at the monk sitting behind the fortune-telling table. He seemed to be around fifty, holding a string of prayer beads, his eyes closed, rhythmically counting the beads.

He reminded her of the large bell behind the temple; it would be struck by a young monk at certain times, echoing throughout the world. Ancient, heavy, and steady.

Shang Qinghui was about to randomly pick a stick. As her hand touched the container, the monk opened his eyes; he didn’t look at Shang Qinghui but at her hand, saying gravely, “Benefactor, be sincere.”

Shang Qinghui paused; how did he know she wasn’t sincere?

The monk closed his eyes again. This made Shang Qinghui more serious; she held the container, shook it, and a stick fell out. It had only a number.

She was about to go to the next hall to get her fortune interpreted when the monk said, “Benefactor, this is a very good fortune; no need for interpretation; follow your heart.”

“Follow my heart?” she asked, but the monk ignored her. No one else was there. The small room was on the edge of the temple, surrounded by a tree.

It felt eerie.

Shang Qinghui left with the stick. She went to the interpretation hall.

The interpreter gave her a small paper; it had only one sentence.

She pursed her lips.

…

After praying, Bian Yingning didn’t listen to the master; she went to her room. She told her mother she was tired and wanted to rest; her mother didn’t think much of it, telling her to tell her if she felt unwell.

Bian Yingning agreed, resting on the bed, lost in thought.

The room was simple; the bedding was gray; there was no TV; only a brazier; it was warm. Her body was warm, but her heart was cold.

Who was it?

Who had been with her without my knowledge?

Wang Yu? It was possible.

She couldn’t find an answer; she didn’t want to. She sat there for the afternoon, memories flooding back.

Childhood, past life, this life… She mostly thought about the time they had confirmed their relationship. Her pink car, her pool, her room, her bed…

In the evening, a young monk came to check on her. She snapped out of it, getting up.

She felt tired but calm.

The monk asked if she was hungry and told her about the temple activities. Getting fortunes, asking for auspicious dates, tying red strings…

“Get a fortune,” she remembered Ouyang Fei asking them to, but she hadn’t been interested.

“This way.”

The temple rarely allowed guests to stay overnight. As it got dark, fewer people were there.

“This is the fortune-telling hall.”

Bian Yingning looked at the small dark room and hesitated.

Winter, deep mountains, a temple, a dark room, only a flickering candle in the window.

She went inside.

The room was dimly lit; candles didn’t make it much brighter; it felt eerie. Seeing the monk, Bian Yingning asked, “Master, how much does it cost?”

The monk didn’t open his eyes, “Sincerity is key.”

Bian Yingning didn’t ask again; she took the container and shook it. Surprisingly, two sticks fell out.

She didn’t know which to take.

She looked at the monk, who had opened his eyes. His eyes were sharp, as if seeing into her soul.

He didn’t look at the sticks, saying, “One is very good; one is very bad. Which do you want?”

“Which is better?” Bian Yingning asked.

“Man proposes; God disposes.”

Bian Yingning chuckled, “I don’t want either.”

Mysterious and pretentious.

She turned to leave; the monk didn’t speak.

A young monk was waiting, “Benefactor, it’s time for dinner.”

Bian Yingning nodded and followed him to the dining hall. At the entrance, someone called out to her.

Another young monk, breathless, gave her a paper, “Benefactor, your fortune.”

Bian Yingning didn’t take it, “I didn’t get a fortune.”

“Master Kongwu said it’s yours, Benefactor Bian.”

The name was right; it couldn’t be a coincidence. Bian Yingning took it, thanking the monk.

“Ningning.”

Ouyang Fei and the others called out. Bian Yingning put the paper in her pocket.

Bian’s parents and Shang Qingfeng were approaching.

“We looked for you in your room.”

Bian Yingning smiled, saying she had rested and felt better. Shang Qinghui and Shang Qingfeng were at the back; Shang Qinghui avoided looking at Bian Yingning.

Only when they were about to enter the dining hall did she glance at Bian Yingning.

Bian Yingning wasn’t looking at her.

Shang Qinghui’s heart sank; the thrill was gone. She had been close to Bian Yingning on the mountain; she had seen the mark on her neck; why did she act as if nothing had happened?

Didn’t she care?

Anger welled up.

A small private room was prepared; the table was full of vegetarian dishes. Ouyang Fei gestured for Shang Qinghui to sit next to her.

Shang Qinghui realized they wanted Shang Qingfeng to sit next to Bian Yingning.

Heh, wishful thinking. She sat between them.

Ouyang Fei said to Bian’s mother, “Qinghui and Ningning are from the same school; do you hang out?”

She was waiting for Bian Yingning or Shang Qinghui to respond.

Bian Yingning sat between them, smiling, “Yes. During finals week, Huihui and I studied at the school café.”

Huihui? Shang Qinghui’s grip on her chopsticks tightened.

That nickname? Hypocritical. Only they knew what happened that day.

Ouyang Fei’s eyes lit up, “Really? Qinghui didn’t tell me.”

As soon as Bian Yingning sat down, Shang Qinghui felt tense; she regretted sitting there. Hearing them chat, she felt annoyed.

Shang Qinghui ate little; she said she was full and left.

Ouyang Fei looked displeased, “Qinghui!”

Bian’s mother said, “They climbed the mountain; Qinghui is fit; look at Ningning; she rested for a long time before coming out.”

Bian Yingning also left, saying she wasn’t hungry.

It got dark early; it was almost 6 pm. Reaching her room, she saw a light in the next room; she guessed who was there.

The temple was old; the doors creaked.

Closing the door, Bian Yingning took out the fortune slip. She wanted to know what it said. It had fourteen words:

——Like morning dew, the days are short.

Life is short, like morning dew, fleeting.

Bian Yingning unconsciously clenched the paper; the words felt like a dagger in her heart and a brick on her head; emotions and memories surged.

Life is short.

Her eyes welled up… would she have another life?

No one knew. She could only grasp this life.

Was this a good or bad fortune?

…

Shang Qinghui lay on her bed, shoes still on, looking at the fortune slip. She felt restless.

She took out her phone, using the front camera to look at the mark on her neck. It hadn’t faded; it looked like a kiss mark.

“Creak——”

The door to the next room opened, the sound echoing in the quiet night.

Shang Qinghui sat up. She had asked the monk; Bian Yingning was on her left; Shang Qingfeng was on her right.

She had heard Bian Yingning return.

It was dark.

Where would Bian Yingning go in the middle of the night?

Shang Qinghui looked out the window; seeing Bian Yingning leave, she followed. The monks were doing evening prayers; she could hear chanting.

Bian Yingning went to the main hall. It was brightly lit; candles and incense burned.

But it was quieter than during the day; it was empty and quiet.

Shang Qinghui stood at the entrance, watching Bian Yingning kneel before the Buddha, praying devoutly.

Shang Qinghui felt she was possessed.

Shang Qinghui walked in seriously. She remembered only going through the motions during the morning prayers.

Why was she so devout now?

She walked to Bian Yingning; Bian Yingning looked over, then looked away.

She didn’t look up.

Shang Qinghui couldn’t see her expression.

“What are you praying for?” Shang Qinghui’s voice was hoarse.

Bian Yingning didn’t answer.

“What are you praying for?” Shang Qinghui asked again.

Bian Yingning took a breath, looking at the statue, “For love.”

Shang Qinghui’s hand clenched; her chest heaved. “Whose love?”

Bian Yingning was silent.

“Whose love?!”

Shang Qinghui couldn’t hold back; she raised her voice; her vision blurred with tears.

She admitted she liked Bian Yingning.

After seeing Bian Yingning being dropped off by another woman, she had thought all night; she had thought Bian Yingning was a flirt, a bad woman; she always wanted to argue with her, yet she liked her.

Love had no reason.

Anger, frustration, resentment… emotions swirled in her heart.

Didn’t Bian Yingning like her?

Why did she act that way in the restroom?

Why did her face darken when she saw the mark on her neck?

But if she liked her, why did she always pull away?

Confused thoughts threatened to tear her apart.

Bian Yingning finally looked up; Shang Qinghui couldn’t see her expression through her tears; she blinked; her vision cleared.

She saw Bian Yingning’s reddened eyes; her face was also tear-stained, but her expression was firm, as if she had made a decision.

She said softly:

“I want to pray… I don’t know if it’s too late, if there’s still a chance, but I…”

Bian Yingning stopped, biting her lip, suppressing her emotions. After a moment, she said, “But I still want to pray… for… a… mm…”

Her eyelashes brushed against Shang Qinghui’s face, causing a tingling sensation.

But it was nothing compared to her lips.

Their lips touched; warmth and softness filled the air. Just the touch brought tears of happiness.

Bian Yingning knelt on the small cushion; Shang Qinghui bent down, kissing Bian Yingning’s swollen lip.

The candlelight reflected their intertwined figures. Their lips separated; Shang Qinghui looked up, smiling brightly despite her tears.

With her inherent arrogance and cuteness, she said, “Bian Yingning, pray to Buddha, or pray to me.”

“Just answer me. Will you be with me? Will you only like me?”

Bian Yingning also smiled; tears fell onto the cushion.

“I’ve only ever liked you.”

“No matter what happens, whether others support or oppose us, I want to be with you, Shang Qinghui.”

—I gave you a chance; you jumped into my pit. This time, we’re purely in love. No gratitude, no use, only because it’s you.

Like morning dew, the days are short. We’ve lost enough time; let’s not trap ourselves and torment each other.

The night deepened; the wind picked up. The wind blew the fortune slip on Shang Qinghui’s bed.

“Pick flowers when they are in bloom; don’t wait until there are no more flowers left to pluck.”

—The End.