LUO FAN
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When I opened my eyes again, the world was cloaked in darkness. A fire crackled nearby, casting shifting golden light across the forest floor. I was lying on a thick blanket, another draped carefully over me, warding off the chill that clung to the mountain air. The scent of pine mingled with roasted meat, grounding me in the present.
"Luo Fan."
His voice was soft, close.
I turned my head.
Lan Feng sat beside me, his face half-lit by the fire's warm glow. His expression was quiet, steady—but there was something different in his gaze. A tension beneath the surface. His brows were faintly drawn, lips parted as though he'd been waiting a long time to speak.
"How do you feel?" he asked gently.
"I'm… fine," I murmured, attempting to sit up.
"Don't." He reached for me at once. His hands were warm, steady. "You're still weak. Let me help."
With careful movements, he guided me upright, propping me against a smooth rock. Then, without a word, he adjusted the blanket around my shoulders, as though I might break if left uncovered.
"I'll get you something to eat," he added, already moving toward the fire.
I glanced around. This wasn't the clearing where I'd collapsed.
"You… carried me all the way here?" I asked quietly.
He paused, then nodded. "I did."
A weight pressed against my chest. "I'm sorry," I said, guilt swelling in my throat. "For being such a burden."
At that, he turned toward me with a softness I hadn't expected—one that unsettled me more than any anger ever could. "I've been a burden to you for months," he said quietly. "Allow me to repay even a fraction of what you've given me."
I lowered my eyes to my hands. They trembled faintly, but my spiritual flow felt… balanced. Strange, yes—but whole. Not torn apart like it had been before I collapsed.
Then the realization hit me like a blade to the chest.
My breath caught.
"Lan Feng," I said, sharp with urgency. "Did you… did you drain my dark energy?"
He stilled. His back remained turned as he methodically shredded roasted meat onto a leaf plate. Slowly, he bowed his head.
"If I hadn't," he said, voice low, "you would have died. It was the only way I knew how to bring your core back into balance."
My heart pounded.
I already knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway. "How did you do it?"
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
There was only one way he could have absorbed my qi so directly.
My face flushed hot. "Through the mouth…?"
Still silent.
He wouldn't even look at me.
I drew a breath, forcing the heat down, trying to quiet my racing thoughts. "How did you know how to do that?" I asked, gentler this time.
He returned to my side and sat again, the firelight flickering in his eyes. "I don't know," he said quietly. "It just… came to me. Instinct. Maybe something Ruan Yanjun once did. Or told me. I'm not sure."
I stared at him.
Of course. That knowledge, the certainty in his actions—that was Ruan Yanjun. Even without his memories, something deep within him had remembered. The man he once was was seeping through the cracks, reshaping him in silence.
"…Thank you," I murmured.
His eyes widened slightly. I could see the surprise in his face. As if he had expected anger. Accusation.
But I smiled at him instead, a quiet reassurance. "It's not your fault."
His lips curved into a small, self-conscious smile. Wry, but touched with relief.
"Eat," he said, lifting a piece of roasted mushroom toward my lips.
I froze. "L-let me do it. I can eat on my own."
Without protest, he handed me the leaf plate and a pair of chopsticks.
As I took them, our fingers brushed—briefly. Just enough to send a ripple of something unnamed through me.
I said nothing. Neither did he.
But the silence between us had changed.
And we both knew it.
"Where did you find these mushrooms?" I asked, hoping to ease the quiet tension that had settled between us.
"On the way here," he replied. "I saw them growing near the base of a tree as I carried you up the hill. They looked safe… and I remembered you liked them."
I blinked. "You remembered that?"
He offered a faint shrug. "Some things stay with me."
I picked up a piece and tasted it—earthy, lightly seasoned, still warm from the fire. It melted gently against my tongue, comforting in its simplicity.
"And the meat?" I asked, lifting a sliver of roasted flesh between my chopsticks.
"I came across an injured pheasant," he said. "I showed it mercy… and wanted to honor it. So I roasted it for you."
His voice was quiet, but something in the way he said it tugged at my chest, stirring warmth I wasn't ready to name.
A soft laugh escaped me. "It's delicious. Thank you."
He didn't respond. He simply watched me eat—still, composed, eyes tracking every movement with quiet intensity. Not with hunger. Not amusement. Just… focus. Like I was something fragile he needed to study, to protect.
When my fingers wobbled slightly around the chopsticks, his brows knit with concern.
"Are you sure you don't want me to feed you?" he asked, voice gentle.
I shook my head, stubborn as ever. "I've troubled you enough already. The least I can do is eat on my own."
He sighed—soft, patient—but a smile ghosted across his lips. "We should stay here another day," he murmured. "You need more rest. I scouted the area earlier. There's no sign of pursuit. And from this elevation, I'll be able to see anyone long before they get close."
I glanced up at him, teasing lightly, "You're just as clever as Ruan Yanjun."
The smile vanished.
His entire body went still, his gaze turning distant—almost haunted.
"I don't like that name," he said quietly.
The change in his tone pierced deeper than I expected. My chest tightened. Without thinking, I reached out and patted his hand.
"Alright," I said softly. "I won't call you that again."
Silence returned, but it no longer felt heavy. The fire crackled softly between us, sending sparks swirling up into the night. His gaze lingered on the flames before it drifted slowly back to me—hesitant, uncertain.
"Luo Fan," he said at last, his voice low. "I want to ask you something. But I need you to answer truthfully."
I looked at him sharply, suddenly alert. His tone held weight. Not idle curiosity. This was something else. Something that had been gnawing at him for some time.
"What is it?" I asked.
He drew a slow breath, then hesitated—like the question itself was too fragile to voice.
"Was I… or was Ruan Yanjun the one who implanted the dark core inside you?"
The chopsticks in my hand froze mid-air.
My breath caught.
How…?
All I could manage was a faint, stammered, "H-how did you know?"
But even as I asked it, I realized the answer no longer mattered.
He stilled, his shoulders tense—but my reaction had already confirmed what he feared. And I watched as something inside him seemed to fracture, his expression shifting from cautious hope to quiet devastation.
The truth had reached him without needing to be said.
After a long pause, he let out a quiet breath, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I felt the connection," he said. "Deep inside. I knew… that your core was part of mine."
I looked down and resumed eating without a word, unsure how to respond.
Then he asked quietly, "Did Ruan Yanjun… force it into you?"
His voice was strained, laced with guilt. "Has he… been cruel to you? Did he torment you?"
I set my chopsticks down and looked up at him, heart aching—not just for myself, but for the grief twisting his features.
Reaching across the fire, I took his hand gently in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Lan Feng," I said softly. "Ruan Yanjun may be a devil, but he's not reckless. He doesn't act without purpose. Although he did force the dark core into me, it… saved my life. I was dying. My body had been ravaged by a destructive drug for two years, and if he hadn't done it, I wouldn't be here now."
I paused, then added, "I don't agree with how he does things, and I never will. But he doesn't move without reason. Everything he does is calculated—even when it hurts."
Lan Feng's expression softened. A quiet, knowing smile touched his lips. "It sounds like you don't hate him as much as I thought."
I exhaled. "I never hated him."
His eyes widened slightly.
"I was disappointed," I continued, voice low. "Hurt. Maybe even furious at times. But hate? That's a poison I chose not to drink. Hatred eats you from the inside. And I've had enough darkness in me—I couldn't let it grow."
He looked at me, eyes reflecting the firelight—filled with disbelief, with admiration.
"I don't know what kind of man I was as Ruan Yanjun," he said slowly. "Or how I became that version of myself. But right now, as me, I couldn't bear the thought of betraying you."
A flicker of emotion stirred in my chest. I offered him a small, genuine smile.
"I know, Lan Feng. I trust you."
His eyes brightened. He smiled back, and his fingers curled around mine, squeezing gently. "Thank you."
He didn't let go.
The warmth of his hand wrapped around mine lingered, firm and grounding. I felt the heat rise to my face, creeping across my cheeks and ears.
But strangely… I didn't want to pull away.
And the realization embarrassed me even more.
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
The next morning, my legs still felt unsteady, forcing us to remain at camp for another day. As much as I wanted to press forward, Lan Feng had been right—rest was necessary.
I spent the morning meditating beneath the trees, drawing spiritual energy from the land. The air was crisp and quiet, the faint hum of nature's pulse surrounding me. Slowly, the gentle flow of light qi wound through my meridians, settling the storm that still lingered in my core. The opposing forces within me—light and dark—began to find a fragile equilibrium.
When I finally opened my eyes, the sun had risen high. Lan Feng sat a few feet away, cross-legged and relaxed, a small, secretive smile tugging at his lips as he carved something with a dagger, utterly absorbed.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice hoarse from hours of silence.
He glanced up, his smile widening. "Finally, you're done. You've been meditating for so long, I thought I'd have to entertain myself by talking to squirrels."
I chuckled weakly. "Sorry. Meditation's the fastest way for me to heal."
"No need to apologize," he said lightly, slipping the dagger into his belt. "It gave me time to finish something."
"Finish what?" I asked, curious.
He stood and walked over to me, kneeling beside where I sat. With a quiet confidence, he opened his palm.
Nestled in his hand was a sleek black hairpin, carved from wood that gleamed like polished obsidian. Its elegant design flowed like water, with wave-like patterns etched delicately along its length.
I stared in wonder. "Is this… for me?" I asked, breath catching.
"Who else would it be for?" he said, cheeks tinged pink despite his casual tone.
I reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and picked it up. The craftsmanship was impeccable—balanced, sturdy, yet light. Something like this in a city market would sell for a fortune.
"It's beautiful," I said softly, unable to hide the joy in my voice. "Truly. Thank you."
"Let me put it on you," he offered.
My heart fluttered.
Wordlessly, I turned around, gathering my hair into a loose bundle. I held my breath as his fingers brushed against my nape, warm and steady. He slid the pin into place with slow, deliberate care.
"There," he murmured. I could feel the quiet pride in his voice. "Perfect."
I reached up to touch the pin, fingers grazing the smooth wood. My lips curved into a wide smile. "Thank you," I whispered again, more tenderly this time.
He waved off my thanks with a soft shake of his head. "No need. After all, you made me a hairband."
I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. "How did you even know I made it?"
He gave a smug little smirk. "Who else would stitch something so… uniquely?"
My glare sharpened. "Are you being thankful or insulting me?"
He laughed—a low, melodic sound that sent an unexpected shiver through my spine.
"I'm joking," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I've been wearing it the entire time, haven't I? That's how much I appreciated it."
My irritation melted instantly, replaced with reluctant amusement. "Alright, I forgive you. But where did you get the wood for this pin?"
He pointed toward a narrow pathway shaded by trees. "There's a small tree growing just down the trail. I only took what I needed so it could continue growing. There's probably enough left to make another one. We could sell it, or trade it for supplies when we reach the next village."
I nodded, impressed. "That's a good idea."
He straightened, pride radiating from his face like sunlight. "I'm good with business. My father taught me well. So from now on, let me worry about money."
I laughed, surprised by how easily it came out of me. "Deal," I said, holding out my hand.
He reached out and clasped it—firmly, warmly. His calloused fingers lingered against mine longer than necessary.
Then I realized.
Calloused?
His hands, once soft and pampered, were now roughened from work—coarse pads at the fingertips, hardened lines along his palm. My heart gave a small, inexplicable jolt.
When Ruan Yanjun came back and realized what had become of those delicate hands he used to slather in expensive creams, he'd probably kill me.
But just as quickly as the thought came, it vanished.
Because when I looked up… our eyes met.
Something passed between us—something quiet and uncertain. His gaze held mine, steady and warm, like the lingering heat of a hearth fire in winter.
And it stirred something inside me. Something fragile. Something dangerous.
Did he feel it too?
For a moment, I thought he might say something.
But then he looked away, the faintest blush rising across his cheeks.
It felt… odd.
Because with Ruan Yanjun, I had always been the one to avert my eyes whenever things grew too close.
But this time, he did.