The soft rays of dawn filtered through the woven bamboo slats of the house, spilling over the silk-draped bed. The faint fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood lingered in the air, a gentle reminder of the night just passed.
Mo Han stirred awake, his senses still heavy with the residue of cultivation. Warmth pressed against him—Chi Kai's slender form nestled within his arms, her breath steady against his chest.
Her black hair spilled across him like a river of silk, strands tickling his chin, while her fingers clutched the fabric of his robe as though afraid he might disappear if she let go.
For a long time, Mo Han did not move. Instead, he simply gazed at her, the veil of sleep still softening her features. Beneath the quiet-rhythm of her breath, he could feel the echo of her qi resonating faintly with his own—yin and yang essences bound together not just for the night, but imprinted into their very-dantians.
