She's a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist's Halo-Chapter 73

Yan’s desk was adorned with a wall of photos, large and small—a tradition preserved since childhood, untouched even after the house was renovated.

From infancy, the first full moon, the first birthday… all the way to the age of ten, when two smaller siblings appeared beside the two children holding ping pong paddles. Though group photos began to include this pair of brother and sister, the duo shots of Yan and Zhu Jue remained a constant.

From babbling babies to clueless toddlers, then school-age children, blossoming teens, and finally into adulthood at eighteen.

The old photos captured them on a boat in Beihai Park, holding certificates at home with scowling faces, and Yan in high school uniform laughing as she clung to Zhu Jue’s back…

Gu Jiasui gazed at the photo wall and felt as though she was tracing the imprints of their shared journey from childhood.

“How wonderful,” she murmured.

A closer look revealed that, even in photos from the age of five or six, Yan and Zhu Jue were always holding hands. The taller boy, his expression serious, would instinctively lean his shoulders and body toward the little girl.

This was true throughout their lives.

Through spring blossoms and autumn moons, summer heat and winter frost, their growth was marked by each other’s presence.

Yan smiled sheepishly. “When we were little, our parents took these photos. Later, it became a yearly habit—not planned, just spontaneous snapshots to capture the year.”

Sometimes, when Yan looked at the photo wall, she felt a sense of wonder. Every childhood moment seemed vivid, yet somehow, they had grown up without realizing it.

Even now, when Yan mentioned “our school,” her mind still defaulted to high school.

She often felt like she should still be a high schooler, though she was already in college.

At the bedroom door, Tan Xiaobao peeked in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she studied Gu Jiasui, clearly eager for gossip.

Yan noticed her just as Xiaobao was fiddling with her bangs. Caught in the act, Xiaobao immediately raised her hands.

“Report! Sis, my brother says we can head over for dinner whenever.”

Yan nodded and motioned to Jiasui. “We’ll come back later. Jiasui, no need to change—just slip on your sandals.”

The stairwell between their homes was lined with mats, making it just a few steps to the opposite door. In the summer, if someone was home, both doors were left wide open, separated only by a curtain. Stepping over for meals or play was as easy as lifting a foot.

At Zhu Jue’s place, the kitten Pengpeng had been freed from her carrier and placed on a blanket dug out from the house. She lay obediently, her paws twitching as Gu Jiasui approached.

Tan Dabao cautiously extended a hand, daring only the gentlest touch before retracting it, as if afraid he might somehow harm the tiny creature.

Xiaobao soon joined, and suddenly, Pengpeng was surrounded by four people.

Xiaobao reached out to pat the kitten’s paw, though her hands itched to do more.

Pengpeng studied the two with curiosity. Perhaps accustomed to humans, and with her parents nearby, her mismatched eyes—one like a blue ocean, the other a golden gem—seemed to glow.

Xiaobao clutched her chest. “Can I pet her? She’s too adorable—I can’t take it! How can a kitten be this cute?”

Gu Jiasui smiled softly. “Pengpeng, let these big siblings pet you, okay?”

The kitten’s expressive eyes seemed to answer. She stretched out a pink paw, and Jiasui guided Xiaobao’s hand to Pengpeng’s fur, while Xiao Qingnang nodded for Dabao to do the same.

The twins immediately softened their voices as they stroked the kitten.

“So well-behaved! Pengpeng is the best little cat.”

“Sis will only pet you for a bit—how can you be this pretty?”

In their residential complex, only Granny Huang on the first floor had ever kept a pet—a loyal dog that guarded the building like a sentinel.

Since Yan and Zhu Jue discovered their allergies early, and with their parents often busy, the idea of keeping a pet—which demanded companionship—never took root.

Their exposure to cats and dogs had always been limited. Even stray cats on Ning University’s campus were given a wide berth.

By high school, when Granny Huang’s dog, the “Huang Family General,” passed away peacefully, the thought of having a pet faded for Yan, Zhu Jue, Dabao, and Xiaobao alike.

Human lifespans are too long, while theirs are too short. Back then, still underage, they couldn’t provide enough companionship, and being too young, they couldn’t take on the lifelong responsibility for another living being.

From childhood, Yan and Zhu Jue had only ever kept dyed chicks (which died within days), tiny fish scooped up with nets at children’s playgrounds (overfed to death), and silkworms required for school (which turned into moths after a frantic search for oak leaves, leaving them traumatized). After that, they never kept any other living creatures.

As for other "pets," they once nurtured a windowsill full of colorful water beads in plastic bottles and Tamagotchi virtual pets. Later, they even painstakingly raised two penguins in a game, going so far as to "work" for their parents to earn virtual money—buying the most expensive rings for their wedding and curing their illnesses.

"I really want to raise one," Tan Xiaobao murmured, shaking hands with the kitten Pengpeng, utterly enchanted by its charm.

"Too bad we can’t take care of it in the dorm, and Mom doesn’t have time either. Guess I’ll stick to admiring cats online."

"If we did get one, we’d have to hire someone to look after it. You couldn’t possibly care for it as attentively as Brother Xiao and Jiasui do every day," Tan Dabao remarked, glancing at his sister.

Xiaobao shook her head mournfully. "I was just saying. If I can’t be there for it myself and have to pay someone else to raise it, it feels like the pet isn’t really mine."

Even though their family could afford to dedicate an entire room to a cat or dog and hire a caretaker—technically a responsible arrangement—Xiaobao couldn’t shake off a strange feeling. Wasn’t this just like those neglectful parents in dramas who only threw money at their kids but never gave them love?

After some quality cat time, they moved from the living room to the dining area, where an electric copper hot pot and an induction soup pot stood on the table.

Two different broths simmered—one a sour cabbage base for lamb hot pot, the other a clear broth with thinly sliced fresh beef.

The room was warm, the doors closed against the winter chill. As the pots came to a boil, steam curled upward, mingling with the vibrant reds and greens of the ingredients spread across the table.

Yan rummaged through a drawer and pulled out disposable aprons. Already wearing a regular one, she slipped another over it.

"Jiasui, put this on. You don’t want sauce stains on your clothes."

Her eyes lingered on Gu Jiasui’s light gray cashmere sweater. On most people, such a shade might appear dull or aging, but on Jiasui, it only accentuated her luminous, flawless complexion. The faint flush from the heat dusted her cheeks and nose like natural blush, the perfect adornment to her otherwise cool, makeup-free face.

She handed aprons to Jiasui and Xiao Qingnang, then gestured for them to take the center seats where they could easily reach both pots.

Yan’s gaze flickered over Xiao’s dark gray sweater. The two of them, one in deep tones, the other in soft hues, complemented each other effortlessly.

"Sis, tie this for me? My hair’s in the way," Xiaobao called.

Yan secured her hair with a clip and knotted the plastic apron at her neck. Xiaobao shot her a mischievous look, mouthing silently:

"Are they together? I think so."

Yan pressed a finger to her lips in a "shush" motion, then shook her head, mouthing back, "I don’t know."

After fixing Xiaobao’s apron, Yan twisted her own hair into a high bun with a chopstick—no one wanted strands dipping into their sauce.

To accommodate their guests, Yan and Zhu Jue sat separately at the table, one beside Gu Jiasui, the other next to Xiao Qingnang, ready to play host.

Each held an extra-long hot pot serving chopstick. "We got these from Hai Di Lao. They were so handy we wanted to buy some, but the staff just gave them to us," Yan explained.

She watched as Jiasui carefully removed her bracelet to eat, only for Xiao to produce a handkerchief from nowhere, wrapping it up with practiced ease.

Yan exchanged glances with Zhu Jue and Xiaobao. Well, wasn’t this a subtle but thrilling bit of gossip?

Just an hour ago, she and Zhu Jue had been speculating. Now, they were witnessing it live—an oddly exhilarating feeling.

"Jiasui, Xiao, hope you don’t mind the copper pot? Ours is a modified version—Mom loves adding pickled cabbage for flavor. But if it’s too strong, the clear broth is lighter."

They’d prepared two pots precisely for this reason. Xiao Qingnang was notoriously health-conscious, preferring mild flavors, while Gu Jiasui avoided greasy food for her figure and on-camera appearances. The clear broth suited them, but how could anyone visit Ning City without trying its iconic copper-pot lamb hot pot?

Hot pot is practically the most convenient group meal that requires little consideration for everyone’s tastes. With a variety of ingredients and enough sauces prepared, there’s always something for everyone—fresh and quick.

They started by dropping a batch of ingredients into the pot, waiting for the broth to boil. Steam curled upward as Yan happily sipped her iced cola. Watching Gu Jiasui clink glasses of barley tea, she finally spoke up, “Jiasui, is your show already over? That fast?”

Gu Jiasui nodded. “The filming at the Forbidden City and the official broadcaster is done, but I won’t be leaving just yet. Not sure if they’ll need reshoots. Sister Lin Lu and the production team mentioned some additional cameos.” She paused before adding, “Besides the show, there might also be a documentary.”

“Wow! That’s great! When does the show air? Will it be on TV and streaming platforms?” Yan asked.

“It premieres on the first day of the Lunar New Year and runs until the Lantern Festival. It’ll be on the official app and partnered streaming services,” Gu Jiasui replied.

“Sister Jiasui, what kind of show is it? Like those New Year’s specials? Did you meet any other celebrities?” Tan Xiaobao, ever curious about the entertainment industry, chimed in.

“*The Ages of National Treasures*. I’m in the first episode, collaborating with a few senior artists this time.”

“Wow, national treasures—got it! It must be about historical artifacts. Can you reveal which treasure it is?” Tan Xiaobao’s interest was piqued.

“Sure. The official trailer will be released later anyway. My episode features *The Imperial Scroll of the Zhou Dynasty*, which was donated to the Forbidden City last year.” Gu Jiasui’s gaze lingered subtly on Yan as she spoke.

At this, Yan visibly froze before earnestly saying, “That’s perfect. It suits you.”

Gu Jiasui’s eyes flickered slightly. She had only mentioned the artifact, not her role in the show, yet Yan had immediately said it suited her.

“Sister Jiasui, what exactly do you do in the show?” Tan Dabao, also curious, asked.

“We reenact the historical events tied to these national treasures. *The Imperial Scroll of the Zhou Dynasty* represents three emperors and one princess. We film the stories and scenes from the past,” Gu Jiasui explained gently.

“Oh! I remember now! I saw the news earlier—Sister Jiasui, you’re playing Princess Jianing, right? Aaaah, I’ve loved Princess Jianing since studying history! Her Jianing calligraphy style is so beautiful! We’ve all practiced writing with it as our goal since childhood, right, Sis?” Tan Xiaobao grew increasingly excited, waving her hands animatedly.

Yan’s lips twitched. *Kid, Princess Jianing is literally sitting right in front of you.* Suddenly, she felt a cold sweat forming.

She cautiously glanced at Gu Jiasui, only to find her smiling warmly at Xiaobao.

“What about the documentary? Is it about Princess Jianing? Now I can’t help but picture her face—Sister Jiasui, your image fits so perfectly!” Tan Xiaobao rambled on, and Yan’s body tensed further.

“Thank you for the praise, Xiaobao,” Gu Jiasui replied graciously, like any other entertainer.

As if oblivious to Yan’s stiffness, she turned her attention to the pot. “Looks like it’s boiling.”

Yan and Zhu Jue immediately stood up, using serving chopsticks to distribute food onto plates.

“Let’s see—the meat just needs a quick dip. Eat up!” The two of them worked in tandem, one tending to the copper pot and the other the side burner, dividing the cooked ingredients among the group.

“Sis, don’t serve me—I can grab my own,” Tan Dabao protested.

“Sister Jiasui, who’s playing Emperor Wen, Emperor Ming, and Emperor Zhao of Zhou—the three legendary rulers of the golden age? Oh, and is there any storyline about Imperial Son-in-Law Jianing? Please tell me they didn’t cast some random ugly guy!” Tan Xiaobao prattled on.

“Historical records say that idiot son-in-law was actually quite dashing, but how dare he marry the princess and still—”

Yan abruptly scooped a heap of beef and meatballs from the side pot onto Xiaobao’s plate and uttered three words:

“Just. Eat. Now.”

*Can’t even shut up with food in your mouth!*

She knew it wasn’t entirely Xiaobao’s fault, but this was clearly poking at the most sensitive topic possible. Yan’s eyelid twitched.

Meanwhile, Zhu Jue piled Tan Dabao’s plate high with pickled cabbage and mutton.

“Dabao, you’ve been craving this pickled cabbage hot pot for days. Dig in.”

*Better safe than sorry—shut this one up too.*

After Yan and Zhu Jue had privately confirmed Gu Jiasui’s identity, they’d meticulously combed through historical texts and academic papers, carefully avoiding any topics that might touch on personal wounds.

Centuries later, in the chatter of modern times, people still lamented the early death of Princess Jianing, praised her brilliance, sighed over her fate—and regretted her unhappy marriage.

In the accounts of many modern historians, Princess Jianing and her imperial consort grew to despise each other. Their thirty years together were split between a decade of unparalleled luxury and another of lingering illness. Some say her literary brilliance stemmed from this unhappy marriage, while others argue that had Jianing lived longer, she might have left behind even more astonishing masterpieces.

But these are all "what ifs" and "maybes"—history always leaves room for regret.

Everyone has a past they’d rather not revisit, and when it comes to matters of the heart and health, these are the landmines that can detonate memories year after year.

"There was an actor who played the imperial son-in-law," Gu Jiasui said slowly, watching Yan and Zhu Jue’s reactions as she picked up a small bunch of chrysanthemum greens with her chopsticks. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the man beside her freeze mid-motion.

"He’s known as a ‘pretty boy’ in the industry. We only had one brief scene together," she added casually.

Modern beauty standards, after all, differ significantly from those of the past. In her previous life, a man so frail and delicate would never have caught her eye.

"A pretty boy? Is it that Ling guy? Or Wei X? Is he handsome in person? One of my classmates is obsessed with them—their dorm walls are covered in posters, and their social media is flooded with ‘my idol this, my idol that,’" Tan Xiaobao chimed in.

"His name is Ling Hong. As for whether he’s handsome… well, he’s not really my type," Gu Jiasui replied.

The modern "entertainment circle" did have its share of award-winning actors and actresses whose looks and charisma were undeniably exceptional. With the help of modern grooming and skincare, their careers spanned decades. But in her opinion, many so-called "celebrities" couldn’t even compare to her university classmates—talent, looks, or moral character, most were lacking in at least two.

Thinking back to her brief encounters with Ling Hong over the past two days, she couldn’t help but frown slightly.

Tan Xiaobao, ever the gossip, pressed on: "Jiasui, who do you think is the most handsome in the entertainment industry? Without makeup, I mean."

The conversation had shifted to celebrity gossip, so Yan didn’t stop Xiaobao. Back in their dorm, they often indulged in such chatter. As the only one in their group with any connection to the industry, Gu Jiasui was their go-to source—even if her updates were sometimes slower than the tabloids.

Gu Jiasui hummed in thought. "Beauty is subjective, but the two most striking men I’ve met are Actor Chen and Zhao Xiaosheng. Their features are impeccable, fitting the conventional standards of attractiveness."

"Those two really are good-looking," Yan agreed.

The two actors Gu Jiasui mentioned were polar opposites—one a rugged, broad-shouldered leading man who had been popular since their mothers’ generation, and the other a refined, mixed-ethnicity heartthrob with sculpted features. Both were universally acknowledged as top-tier in the looks department.

Over hotpot, they traded gossip about celebrities, and though Tan Dabao and Xiaobao only got crumbs of insider info, they were more than satisfied. After all, such tidbits weren’t easy to come by.

After lunch, the girls gathered in the living room to play with the cat, Pengpeng, while Zhu Jue brewed tea at the side table.

Tan Dabao, meanwhile, was sprawled on the single-seater sofa as Xiao Qingnang worked on his spine adjustment, eliciting a series of pained yelps.

"Ah—bro! Sis! It hurts, it hurts, it HURTS!!!"

With a lineup of family elders arriving later for consultations, Yan and Zhu Jue had brought out their finest tea leaves. The batch they’d gotten from Lu Chen at the dimensional convenience store had already been served to the older relatives, leaving only enough for two more servings.

Gu Jiasui watched as Zhu Jue measured the tea leaves into the lidded bowl. Yan picked it up and inhaled deeply.

"Want to take a sniff?" she asked.

Gu Jiasui nodded, studying the dry leaves in the celadon bowl. Her eyes flickered with recognition.

She pressed her lips together, holding back her thoughts as Zhu Jue poured hot water for the first rinse.

The aroma of the tea bloomed as the leaves unfurled, and when Gu Jiasui caught its scent, her lashes trembled slightly. After sipping the first two infusions, she savored the lingering sweetness and fragrance in her throat.

This was the Snow Mountain Silver Needle tea—reserved exclusively for the imperial family of the Zhou Dynasty. There was no mistaking it. Even her uncle, the emperor, and her cousins had rationed it, savoring it only once a year. Yet she had drunk it freely for years.

The first spring harvest of Snow Mountain Silver Needle was notoriously difficult to cultivate, and each year’s batch arrived in the capital with the coming of spring. After enduring the harsh winter, its arrival was always a cause for celebration.

The tea’s delivery meant spring had arrived, and the capital’s mood would lift instantly.

"This tea is exquisite. Is it still available for purchase?" she asked.

Xiao Qingnang studied her. He could tell the tea was exceptional, but her question carried an unspoken weight.

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Yan shook her head regretfully. "No, this was a gift from a friend. He didn’t have much to begin with, and we’re down to the last couple of servings."

"I see," Gu Jiasui murmured.

She didn’t press further, simply continuing to savor the tea.

Even from the same ancient tea tree, each year’s harvest carried subtle variations in flavor. And with time, its essence only grew richer.

After five or six steepings of tea, it had reached its optimal flavor.

Savoring the familiar taste from her memories, Gu Jiasui couldn’t help but narrow her eyes slightly.

Snow Mountain Silver Needle—classified as white tea by modern standards—was known to stir hunger if consumed excessively. Accompanied by pastries and snacks, the afternoon passed leisurely with cat cuddles, television, and casual conversation.

By evening, the adults had returned home one after another. Xiao Qingnang busied himself in the room, taking the pulses of each patient, carefully prescribing remedies, or administering impromptu acupuncture.

After his thorough diagnosis, Xiao Qingnang pinpointed even the subtlest symptoms, earning increasingly admiring glances from the three mothers.

"Qing, you’re absolutely spot-on," Yu Feiwan exclaimed, slapping the table in excitement.

"Could you make your uncle’s medicine a little less bitter? Otherwise, he’ll just compensate by stuffing himself with sweets."

Yan could only sigh inwardly at her mother’s affectionate nickname "Qing" for Xiao Qingnang, though she was immensely relieved she’d brought him over. Her parents, uncle, and aunt all suffered from the typical sub-health ailments of their age.

However, she noticed Xiao Qingnang weighing every word when writing Aunt Tan’s prescription.

By the time Xiao Qingnang and Gu Jiasui prepared to leave, it was already eight in the evening after another shared meal. Had they not firmly declined, Yan’s overly enthusiastic mother would have insisted on driving them home—along with a carload of gifts.

At the gate of the residential compound, Xiao Qingnang, holding the cat carrier, and Gu Jiasui finally relaxed as they boarded her car in the capital.

"Yan’s mother is truly… enthusiastic," Xiao Qingnang remarked.

Gu Jiasui nodded. "Their personalities really aren’t alike."

The car’s compartment was soundproofed, ensuring their conversation remained private from the driver.

"Did you see the photo of Yan and Zhu Jue?" she asked.

"I did. On Zhu Jue’s desk," Xiao Qingnang replied softly.

The cat carrier was slightly ajar, and the kitten Pengpeng peeked out at the world in an odd posture.

"Was there something unusual about that tea?" he ventured.

"It was a favorite of mine, my cousins, my uncle and aunt, and my mother… long ago."

At her answer, Xiao Qingnang’s brow twitched.

"Are you suggesting Yan and the others deliberately served that tea?"

Gu Jiasui shook her head, her voice quiet. "No."

"Even back then, this tea was exceedingly rare, bestowed only as a precious gift. What I do know is that before my cousin ascended the throne, there was a year when even he couldn’t obtain it. Rumor had it he traded with a mysterious merchant for all sorts of treasures—Western timepieces, glass mirrors, and even obscure formulas I knew nothing about—all stored in his private vault. Later, much of the military funding for the dynasty’s campaigns came from the profits of those very items."

"Modern unofficial histories speak of Emperor Ming receiving divine gifts. Official records note that in his later years, he mentioned meeting an extraordinary figure in his youth, from whom he gained immense insight," Xiao Qingnang mused, his own thoughts unsettled.

"Exactly," Gu Jiasui agreed, their emotions mirroring each other.

"Perhaps they don’t realize the significance of the tea—they simply served it because it’s good," she said wistfully.

"Tea from a friend, a fan bought from a friend," Xiao Qingnang added with a touch of exasperation.

Gu Jiasui immediately grasped his meaning and nearly laughed. "Those two couldn’t even bother to come up with a convincing excuse."

"If I asked Yan where she got those phantom-glaze teacups, or her clothes and fans, the answer would undoubtedly be ‘from a friend.’"

As the saying goes, when most people claim "a friend" did something, they usually mean themselves.

Even if such a "friend" truly existed—one who had supposedly lived centuries ago—yet was also a friend to Yan and Zhu Jue now… what did that make the young couple? How were they any different from that elusive, legendary figure?

"If it’s not immortality, nor a case like ours, then it must be reincarnation. Folktales often speak of deities descending to endure mortal trials, life after life," Gu Jiasui mused, recalling popular modern TV dramas.

She’d once dismissed such stories as embellished fragments of history and rural legends. Now, she wondered if there might be truth to them after all.

"They were born on the exact same day, hour, and minute," Xiao Qingnang noted.

Both had confirmed this while scrolling through Yan and Zhu Jue’s social media posts—their shared birth certificates even matched down to the minute.

"It’s as if they were destined to be together," Gu Jiasui said, thinking of the couple’s countless affectionate photos.

Xiao Qingnang’s lips curved faintly. "If reincarnation and trials are real, perhaps theirs is a trial of love?"

Gu Jiasui met his gaze and replied slowly, "That makes perfect sense."

…

After seeing off Jiasui and Xiao Qingnang, Yan and Zhu Jue were subjected to their mothers’ eager gossip about the two young visitors before finally being allowed to retreat.

By middle age, people either avoid doctors out of fear or commit to healthy living—fortunately, the elders of the Yan and Zhu families fell into the latter category. Dabao and Xiaobao had gone home to study the prescription and notes Xiao Qingnang had written for Auntie Tan, while the adults continued chatting. At the moment, Yan was sprawled across the sofa like a starfish.

She stared at the message on her phone: "Yi Zhi asked for my address, saying he wants to send New Year’s fruits."

"Hmm, there are only ten days left till the New Year."

"Eh?" Yan suddenly sprang up from the sofa.

Zhu Jue, who was tidying the tea table, froze at her sudden movement.

"What’s wrong?"

Yan looked utterly bewildered. "Xie Zhen—no, wait, it should be Lan Ruo—asked if we could meet up?"

Why would this famously body-swapped couple suddenly reach out to her?

"And Jiaojiao just asked me which day I’m free to go shopping. Ding Ling also sent a message!"

Yan scratched her head as she stared at the flood of notifications. "Our days are just one thing after another—how is this any different from enduring a tribulation?"

"Even Tang Sanzang only had to go through eighty-one ordeals!"

Yan took a deep breath. If the Tang Monk’s pilgrimage only required eighty-one trials, surely the number of extraordinary people she’d encountered in her life couldn’t possibly reach that same count—could it?