By the time we burst through the door of Mingzhu's house, my arms were trembling from the weight of him. His steps dragged, his skin pale beneath the dim glow of the lanterns.
I kicked the door shut with the heel of my boot, my chest heaving. For a moment, the silence inside was deafening after the chaos of the market.
Mingzhu collapsed into the nearest chair, his hand still pressed hard against his side. Blood seeped between his fingers, dark against the pale fabric
"Don't..." he started, his voice hoarse, as I reached for him. "Don't touch it."
Anger flared sharp in my chest, sharper than fear. "If I don't, you'll bleed out right here."
His eyes flicked up to mine, steady even through the pain. Cold. Defiant. Always the dragon.
I set my jaw and tore a strip of cloth from the hem of my sleeve, pressing it firmly against the wound. He hissed, his body jerking away, but I held fast. "Stay still."
The healer's training I had tried so hard to forget rose unbidden my mother's voice in my head, the smell of crushed herbs, the heat of fevered skin. My hands shook, but the movements came as if they had been waiting all along.
Dòu Dòu stumbled in moments later, half shifted still, blood streaked across his arms but none of it his own. His grin was back, though it was tight, brittle at the edges. "Well," he panted, "that was fun."
I shot him a glare. "Find water. Clean cloths. Now."
For once, he didn't argue.
My hands worked quickly, binding the wound as best I could. Mingzhu's breath came in ragged pulls, sweat beading along his brow, yet he didn't flinch away again. Only watched me with those unblinking eyes, as if measuring something he hadn't decided yet.
I swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze. The blood beneath my fingers was warm, too warm.
And as the night pressed in around us, one truth settled heavy in my chest: if he lived, it would be because of me.
The cloth darkened too quickly beneath my hands. I pressed harder, feeling the hot pulse of blood seeping through.
Mingzhu's jaw tightened, the line of his mouth rigid as stone. "Enough," he said, voice rough, as if carved from the same cold riverbed he guarded.
"Enough?" My voice cracked, sharp with anger. "You're bleeding like a man who thinks he can command death as easily as he commands me. Sit still."
His gaze cut to mine, steady, unreadable. But I didn't look away. My palms were slick, my breath short, yet I would not yield.
Dòu Dòu returned, arms piled with strips of linen and a basin of water that sloshed over his wrists. He set them down with an exaggerated sigh. "You know," he muttered, half to himself, "for someone who pretends to hate mortals, you do bleed like one."
I shot him a warning glance, but he only grinned, though there was a flicker beneath it...something tighter, something uneasy.
I dipped a cloth into the basin, wringing it out with shaking hands before cleaning the wound. The water turned crimson in moments, rippling like a tide pulling secrets away.
Mingzhu did not flinch. He sat rigid, his breathing harsh, every muscle in his body resisting the care he clearly needed.
"You're impossible," I whispered, almost to myself. My fingers brushed the heat of his skin as I worked, and for the briefest moment, I felt the strength coiled beneath, the raw power of the dragon barely leashed.
He closed his eyes, whether in pain or defiance I couldn't tell. "Dragons do not beg," he murmured.
I tied the bandage tight, my anger trembling against the knot. "Then you're lucky I'm not asking."
The room fell silent, save for the faint drip of blood into the basin and the shallow pull of his breath.
The bandage held, but only just. I could feel the warmth of his blood still seeping faintly through, stubborn as he was.
Mingzhu exhaled slowly, his eyes opening to meet mine. Even in pain, even pale as bone, his gaze carried that same sharp edge...unyielding, distant. "You shouldn't… waste your strength on me," he murmured.
My chest tightened. "If I don't, you won't last the night."
A shadow of something amusement, perhaps...touched the corner of his mouth. "You think dragons die so easily?" His voice was low, brittle, yet the arrogance in it burned as bright as ever.
I pressed the cloth firmer, anger knotting in my throat. "You're not invincible."
He held my stare, and for one fragile heartbeat, I thought he might argue. But then the color drained further from his face. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven.
"Mingzhu..."
His hand, cold and heavy, caught my wrist. The grip was firm, though trembling. "Do not… think this makes us equals." The words scraped out, hard as stone.
Then the strength left him all at once. His fingers slipped from mine. His body sagged against the chair, eyes shuttering closed.
The silence that followed was crushing.
I caught him before he slid to the floor, his weight almost too much for me to hold. "No," I whispered, my throat raw, "not like this."
Behind me, Dòu Dòu's voice had lost all trace of its usual lightness. "Lianyin…"
But I barely heard him. All I could feel was the weight of the dragon in my arms, the blood seeping through my hands, and the terrible certainty that the night had only just begun.