[Gold Powder GL] True Elegance Comes with Knowledge - Chapter 19

The person beside her on the love line suddenly leaned in, startling Leng Qingqiu. Instinctively, she shifted to the side—but she forgot they were physically connected. Her attempt to put some distance between them only backfired. Off balance, she tumbled backward onto the bed, dragging Yan Hui with her.

The mattress dipped beneath their weight, pulling their already close bodies even closer. Qingqiu could feel Yan Hui’s cheek graze the side of her neck, and the warm breath tickling her skin sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Heat crept along her skin and quickly reached her cheeks.

That uncomfortable sensation she’d nearly forgotten reemerged, unbidden.

She wanted to pull away, to remove herself from the situation, but feared that struggling would draw attention to the awkwardness. In the end, she could only lie stiffly in place, her thoughts tangled and at war with one another.

“Don’t overthink it,” Yan Hui said softly. “We’re not like them.”

She didn’t seem to find anything unusual about their closeness.

That thought made Qingqiu pause. A strange feeling stirred in her chest.

This wasn’t even the first time they’d been in such proximity. Their friendship had deepened over time, erasing boundaries, and they’d often shared moments even more intimate than this.

So why did it feel different now? Why the sudden discomfort, the sense that something was off?

Qingqiu’s thoughts were a mess. She hadn’t sorted through them yet, and already, unfamiliar feelings had begun to surface—ones she instinctively tried to suppress.

Yan Hui made no move to get up, and Qingqiu didn’t feel like asking her to.

She forced herself to think about something else. Anything else. Then, after a moment’s silence, she spoke.

“I’ve noticed a lot of people still oppose women attending college,” she said slowly. “They think it’s pointless for girls to study.”

Though she didn’t drop names, her meaning was clear. Even Jin Yanxi—who had always encouraged her to pursue education and often spoke of studying abroad—seemed to hold this belief deep down.

And truthfully, the Jin family’s three well-educated daughters-in-law were now idle at home, their degrees seemingly just a formality to make them more “marriageable.”

It wasn’t just the Jin family. Many held the same view. Even some of her classmates were already engaged or married.

“If they think it’s pointless for girls to learn, then who exactly should be learning?” Yan Hui said with a slight scoff. “Men. Men hold all the power, exclude women entirely, and then blame them for being useless.

It’s classic thug logic.”

She let go of Qingqiu’s hand, rolled onto her back, and gestured lazily toward the ceiling. “But half of the population—400 million people—are women.”

Qingqiu sensed an unshakable confidence in her tone.

Yes. Half the world is women. So why, from ancient times to now, have women always been confined to the home, made into mere appendages to men? The moment a woman tries to step out and make something of herself, it becomes a struggle. Even now, in this so-called “new era,” Qingqiu was beginning to see that things were far from ideal.

But that was just her nature. The more resistance she faced, the more she wanted to push forward.

Oddly enough, Yan Hui hadn’t said anything explicitly encouraging, yet the confusion and unease in Qingqiu’s heart had largely dissipated.

“You’re right,” Qingqiu said, turning to look at her. “Let them say whatever they want. I’ll do what I believe in.”

“Exactly.” Yan Hui mirrored her position, resting her head on one arm and smiling. “These outdated ways of thinking will eventually be swept away—not by any one person’s grand speech, but by countless women who step out and challenge the status quo. That’s how real change happens.”

She extended her hand. “It won’t be easy, but—let’s support each other.”

Qingqiu looked at her. After a brief pause, she reached out and took Yan Hui’s hand.

In that moment, she felt as though she’d grasped something solid—like armor wrapped around her, giving her strength to face whatever storm lay ahead.
…
Back when they visited the Forbidden City, Qingqiu had toyed with the idea of writing a story inspired by those experiences. Yan Hui had encouraged her, saying such a story would surely resonate with people.

That confidence had lingered in Qingqiu’s mind, but with no clear direction and a busy schedule, the idea had remained just that—a concept.

But that morning, standing in the courtyard and inhaling the crisp autumn air, inspiration struck her like lightning.

She wanted to write a story set in the capital.

The main “characters” wouldn’t be people—but treasures. Exquisite toys, antique calligraphy, and paintings once housed in the imperial palace. Now, these priceless items had been carelessly removed and sold for a pittance in pawnshops and shady markets.

The sellers thought they had made a profit. The buyers did too. But no one heard the voices of the treasures themselves.

Each treasure held a story.

And connecting all these stories would be a single person.

She was born into nobility but had fallen on hard times. She had endured hardship and seen life’s many twists, so much so that by a young age, she had grown distant from the world—watching life pass by like clouds drifting in the sky.

Then one day, she encountered these lost treasures.

Qingqiu rushed back to her room and began scribbling furiously. As her pen flew across the page, she suddenly froze.

“What are you writing?” a voice asked behind her.

Startled, Qingqiu quickly covered her notebook. Her heart raced, as though she were protecting a secret she didn’t want anyone to see.

Yan Hui noticed her reaction and smiled gently. “Alright, I won’t peek. You’re so diligent this morning—I’m guessing it’s not schoolwork, is it?”

“I’m brainstorming a new story,” Qingqiu replied. “But it’s still just a draft.”

“Take your time,” Yan Hui said warmly. Noticing Qingqiu’s unease, she smiled and quietly stepped out.

Qingqiu exhaled in relief, then looked down at her hastily scribbled words, her thoughts beginning to wander again.

Halfway through, she realized something—the protagonist resembled Yan Hui.

The realization sent a jolt through her.

Was this really how she saw Yan Hui?

On the surface, Yan Hui seemed passionate and kind. She always put Qingqiu first, always thoughtful. But in her story, the character inspired by her felt cold and untouchable, as if nothing in the world could move her.

But such a person—

Qingqiu grabbed the paper, crushed it into a ball, and tossed it into the wastebasket. Still unsatisfied, she retrieved it, tore it into shreds, and threw it out again.

Then she picked up her pen and started over.

A person like that was too lonely. It made one hope she might someday find something—someone—that could anchor her to the world and give her a place to belong.

So Qingqiu decided to split the protagonist into two.

One was a young girl—naive and just beginning to encounter society’s complexities. The other was her guide—a thirty-year-old woman with a calm and composed demeanor, shaped by a lifetime of experiences. She lived in a secluded courtyard, surrounded by her collection of treasures.

One day, they would meet—because of a treasure.

After finishing, Qingqiu stared at the page for a moment, then added a note for the second protagonist’s profile: Age – Thirty.

To a seventeen-year-old girl, thirty felt far away—mature, alluring, and full of depth that could captivate anyone.

Surely no one would recognize the inspiration, right? She hesitated. But even if someone did, she didn’t want to change it.

With a hint of recklessness, Qingqiu called out, “Yan Hui!”

“What is it?” Yan Hui appeared at the door almost instantly.

“I finished the story. Want to read it?”

“Already?” Yan Hui teased. Earlier, she’d backed off out of politeness, but now she eagerly lowered her head to read.

She read quickly, skimming line after line with practiced ease. After a short while, she looked up. “This is a great setup!”

“Really?” Qingqiu watched her face closely, searching for any deeper reaction.

Yan Hui nodded. “But—there’s one thing. Why are there two female leads? I think if the older one were a man, it’d be even more popular. And it’d make the emotional arc easier to develop.”

She said it casually, thinking in terms of typical online fiction patterns. But those three words—“emotional arc”—set off a storm in Qingqiu’s heart.

“Emotional arc?” she asked, clutching the edge of the table, stunned. “You think there’s… love between them?”