Ling Yu sighed softly. "You said you healed the World Tree's sorrow earlier," she began, her tone faintly bitter. "I didn't believe you. You don't seem like someone who'd care enough to heal anything."
Ji Xiulan smirked faintly. "I don't."
"Then why lie?"
"I never said I healed it," he corrected lazily, eyes glinting. "I said I ended its sorrow. There's a difference."
Her heart skipped. "You— what did you do?"
"I put its suffering to sleep," he said simply. "Not all pain needs mending. Some just need silence."
There was no remorse in his voice, no guilt. And yet, in that chilling calm, Ling Yu caught something, a fleeting flicker of fatigue behind his eyes, like the weight of centuries pressing down.
"…You really are the same," she whispered.
He looked at her then, eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "And you too, still reckless enough to carry the world on your shoulders when you know you can't so clearly."
