(Liang Yu's POV)
The morning after Feng Lian's quiet declaration, the house felt… different.
It wasn't louder or brighter, just warmer, as if the hearth had decided to keep burning even after the firewood turned to ash. Maybe it was just me—my thoughts still tangled in the way he'd looked at me last night. Those calm, unshakable eyes that rarely betrayed emotion had softened, just for a moment.
That one moment had stayed with me, like a thread tied around my heart.
I didn't know what to make of it. Feng Lian wasn't someone who said much, but when he did, his words carried a weight that lingered. "You're mine now." He hadn't meant it in a possessive way—I could tell. It was his way of saying, you're safe here.
Even so, the sound of it refused to leave me.
---
The children were already awake when I stepped into the yard. Weiwei, the youngest, was crouched by the pond, chasing her reflection with a twig. An'er was fussing over who got to use the bigger bucket to fetch water.
"Good morning," I called, and three heads turned toward me.
"Ge-ge!" Weiwei shouted, her little feet pattering across the damp ground as she launched herself into my arms. She smelled of rice and sunshine, even though the day had barely begun.
"You're early," I said, lifting her easily.
"Papa Lian said we can go pick berries if we finish our chores," An'er declared with a grin missing two front teeth.
I blinked. "Did he now?"
Feng Lian rarely promised outings. Maybe he was… trying. The thought made me smile.
By the time I looked toward the shed, I found him there, sharpening an old farming tool. His sleeves were rolled up, sunlight catching on the faint scars that traced his forearms. His eyes met mine briefly—a simple glance—but it sent an odd, pleasant flutter through my chest.
I busied myself with helping the children fill water jars, though my focus was far from perfect.
He said I was his. What does that even mean here? In this world?
I was still pondering when Weiwei tugged my sleeve. "Ge-ge, your face is red! Are you sick?"
I nearly choked on air. "N-No, just… warm."
Feng Lian's quiet chuckle from behind didn't help.
---
Later that day, the four of us headed toward the forest. Feng Lian carried a small basket slung over one shoulder, the handle worn smooth from use. I followed behind, holding Weiwei's hand while An'er darted ahead, pretending their wooden sticks were swords.
"Stay close!" I called after them.
"Yes, Ge-ge!" they chorused, vanishing between tall grass.
Feng Lian glanced sideways at me. "You're good with them."
I shrugged. "Children are simple. They don't ask for more than warmth and a bit of attention."
He made a low hum, eyes on the path. "Still, not many have the patience. They listen to you."
I looked at him, smiling faintly. "And they obey you."
His lips twitched—his version of a smile. "Fear and respect are different."
"Maybe," I said softly. "But you've given them both safety. That's rarer than kindness."
He said nothing, but I saw his fingers tighten slightly on the basket's handle. For a man who spoke little, words like praise seemed heavier than iron.
---
When we reached the clearing, sunlight poured through the leaves in thin golden threads. Berries glistened under the shrubs, small red jewels among green. Weiwei squealed in delight and ran forward, nearly tripping. I caught her mid-stumble, laughing.
Feng Lian watched us, one brow raised. "You attract chaos wherever you go."
"It keeps life interesting," I teased.
His gaze softened. "It keeps me on edge."
There was no irritation in his tone—just quiet amusement. That surprised me. The man who once lived like a shadow now spoke with warmth creeping into his words, uninvited but welcome.
The children's laughter filled the clearing, and for a while, everything felt untouched by worry.
Yet as I knelt to pick a few berries, a faint tingle sparked through my fingertips. The bush shivered, and a branch twisted toward me, leaves curling in recognition. I froze.
My powers again. I hadn't meant to use them.
Before I could hide it, Feng Lian noticed. His eyes sharpened—not with fear, but curiosity. He walked closer, crouching beside me.
"That wasn't wind," he said quietly.
I hesitated, then sighed. "No. It's… me."
"Explain."
I stared at my palm, tracing the faint glow still fading from beneath my skin. "I can feel life. Not like magic, not like mana—it's deeper. I can call growth, sometimes heal. I didn't mean to hide it, I just… didn't know how to tell you."
He was silent for a long moment. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, he said, "In these lands, people with mana are born from lineages. They're rare in this village. What you have—it's different. Wilder."
"Is that bad?"
His gaze lifted to mine. "No. But it means you're not from here."
I swallowed hard. "I'm not. At least, not fully."
Feng Lian didn't press further. He simply nodded, eyes softening. "Then we learn. Together."
That simple sentence—it undid me. My throat tightened. I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear those words.
---
We stayed in the forest until evening, gathering what we could. The children sang as we walked home, their voices bright against the dusk. I watched Feng Lian ahead of us, his figure steady, shoulders broad, hair catching the last light.
He didn't reject me. He didn't look afraid.
That realization bloomed in my chest like the first green after a long winter.
---
Back home, dinner was loud with chatter. The children compared the sizes of their berry-stained hands while I tried to clean them. Feng Lian cooked, stirring a pot over the fire with practiced ease. The smell of wild herbs and roasted grain filled the small room.
When we finally sat to eat, An'er looked up with a mischievous grin. "Papa , did you know Ge-ge can make plants grow?"
I nearly choked again. "An'er!"
Feng Lian arched a brow but said calmly, "I did notice."
The boy's eyes widened. "Really? Then can Ge-ge make the peach tree in the yard grow faster? I want peaches now!"
Weiwei clapped her tiny hands. "Peaches!"
Feng Lian's lips curved faintly. "Maybe someday, when Ge-ge has learned control."
I glared at him playfully. "You're encouraging them."
"Children need dreams," he replied evenly. "Even small ones."
Something in the way he said it made my heart twist. This man, who'd known hardship and loneliness, spoke of dreams like they were sacred.
---
After dinner, I stepped outside to wash the dishes. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of wet grass. Behind me, the door creaked, and Feng Lian joined me, carrying a wooden cup.
"You're quiet," he said.
"Just thinking," I replied.
He stood beside me, arms crossed. "About earlier?"
"Yes." I rinsed a plate, watching ripples dance on the surface. "You didn't ask how or why I have these powers."
"I will," he said. "When you're ready to answer."
His patience disarmed me. No demand, no fear—just quiet trust.
"I was scared," I admitted. "That if I told you, things would change. That maybe you'd see me as something… unnatural."
He turned slightly, his gaze steady. "I've seen what's unnatural. You're not it."
The words hit deeper than I expected. I looked down, blinking fast.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. "You've brought life into this house. The children laugh again. I sleep without expecting war outside my door. If that's because of your power—or just you—it doesn't matter."
"Feng Lian…"
His eyes met mine. Calm, unflinching. "Stay. As long as you wish."
The night hummed softly around us. For a long while, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I whispered, "You're not afraid that I'll leave?"
He gave a faint smile. "If you do, I'll find you."
That simple statement sent a strange warmth rushing through me—half comfort, half ache.
---
Later, when the children had gone to sleep, I sat by the window, watching moonlight spill across the floor. My heart was restless, a storm of gratitude, confusion, and something tender I dared not name.
I remembered my old world—the endless noise, the loneliness that came with it. Here, things were quieter, but somehow louder inside me.
Maybe this was what belonging felt like—not an anchor, but a shared rhythm.
I glanced at Feng Lian across the room. He was sitting with his back to the wall, eyes half-closed, pretending to rest. But when I shifted, his gaze flickered toward me instantly, alert, protective.
A small smile tugged at my lips. "You don't have to stay up for me."
He didn't answer for a moment. Then, softly: "I want to."
My chest tightened. Words failed me, so I only whispered, "Good night, Feng Lian."
He nodded once, eyes lingering on me. "Good night, Liang Yu."
---
That night, I dreamed of roots and rain, of a hand catching mine before I could fall.
And when I woke, the first light of dawn spilled across the floorboards, warm and golden—like the echo of a promise.
Maybe I still didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But for now, surrounded by laughter, quiet strength, and a warmth I never thought I'd earn…
I wanted to stay.
No longer as a stranger, but as part of a home I hadn't meant to find.