Night draped its velvet curtain over the Sky Kingdom, folding the city into shadows and muted silver light. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, their soft glow brushing the polished rooftops with flecks of warmth. Below, the halls of the Academy were quiet, save for the echo of footsteps — deliberate, careful, and full of unease. Everyone had returned from the land of beasts, weary and hollow-eyed, carrying memories too sharp to speak aloud, the lingering stench of battle heavy in their senses.
Everyone, that is, except him.
Wu Xin moved from chamber to chamber, each step measured, each glance precise. Even his own exhaustion did not weigh him down — only the responsibility of ensuring his students were safe. His robes were streaked with dried blood, his arms marked with shallow cuts and bruises, remnants of the battlefield. Yet still he pressed on, driven by a quiet, unyielding vigilance.
Finally, he arrived at Huo Feng's room — the one the Furnace Elder had ordered her to rest in, or perhaps, to hide until the world and its dangers had softened.
Huo Feng sensed him before he knocked. She turned, and the moment their eyes met, a surge of joy lit her chest, a bright, fluttering warmth that chased away the chill of fear. Yet her gaze fell to his arms, and the joy faltered, replaced by a sharp ache: dried blood clung to him like stubborn petals, relics of a battle not yet forgiven.
She said nothing. Words felt trivial against the rawness of the moment. Instead, she closed the distance, each step echoing softly against the wooden floor, her heart urging her forward faster than her feet could carry her.
Wu Xin sat at the edge of a chair, silent, his gaze seeking hers, searching for answers she had not yet voiced. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, each inhalation a faint rattle against the lingering pain.
She placed her hands gently on his shoulders, small and warm, and pressed softly, urging him to rise as one might help a child into safety.
"That's not how wounds heal… let me help you," she whispered, her voice trembling, delicate as the wind brushing the surface of a still pond.
Her insistence was tender but firm. She guided him toward the bed, toward warmth and peace, toward the rare comfort of surrender. He yielded, every movement slow, deliberate, as if letting go were both agony and relief. First he sat, then he sank into the bed, the fabric of the mattress rising to meet him like a soft exhale.
She adjusted the pillows, brushed a stray lock from his forehead, and murmured, "You'll heal better here…" Her hands lingered, gliding over his wounds, erasing dried blood as though undoing the violence etched into his body. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent — yet merciless toward the pain that lingered beneath the surface.
He remained silent, watching her, his eyes speaking in a language she understood without words: gratitude, trust, a fragile vulnerability rarely allowed.
Breaking the quiet, she let out a soft laugh, low and trembling, almost a song:
"Wu Xin… do you trust your little sweet one?"
He did not answer, did not even nod. His sleeve brushed against her brow, wiping away a thin line of sweat — an unspoken affirmation that resonated deeper than speech.
She smiled, a quiet, soft peace settling over her heart.
"I knew it… I knew you trusted me."
A pause lingered, long and intimate, before she whispered, almost conspiratorially:
"Do you want to know a secret?"
"No," he said with a feigned indifference, though the faint warmth in his tone betrayed him. Then softer, as if confessing something buried, "Huo Feng… I'm sorry. I don't want to press you. Maybe… you need to understand your secret first — before you can share it."
Her gaze dropped, torn between the weight of his presence and her own longing to bridge the distance.
"But… I want to explain what happened," she murmured.
"No." His voice cut through the air — sharp, firm, yet fragile like glass — a transparent wall that separated yet drew them closer.
"Wait… until your master, the Furnace Elder, commands it. Wait until…" His words faded into the rhythm of his slowing breaths. Sleep claimed him at last, each inhale a surrender, each exhale a soft surrender of the storm within.
Huo Feng stood beside the bed, watching his face soften in slumber. The rigid lines of command and stubbornness fell away, leaving only serenity. The first peace she had seen etched into his features.
"At last… you sleep," she whispered.
Her hesitation melted into resolve. She climbed onto the bed, letting her head rest near his shoulder, feeling the faint rise and fall of his breath beneath her ear. The night was no longer an expanse of shadows and danger. For the first time, it felt kind — warm and safe. Her eyelids drooped not from exhaustion, but from a comfort that had eluded her for years. She slept beside him, a fragile intimacy settling between them, the quiet of night wrapping them both in its soft embrace.
Days dragged heavily at the Academy. The corridors were thick with whispered judgment, glances heavy with envy and fear. Students avoided her gaze, skirting past her as though proximity could taint them.
All except three: Suo, Yue, and Master Li. Their faith in her remained untouched, their bond a quiet sanctuary in the storm of scrutiny.
The others carried their resentment openly, their expressions a permanent echo of disappointment — rekindled every time Huo Feng's shadow brushed against them.
And one made sure that wound never healed.
Mei.
Every dawn, she reopened it. Every night, she retold her narrative: Huo Feng's cowardice, her supposed failures in battle, twisting and embellishing until lies were indistinguishable from memory. Fear became myth, and the myth became legend.
When Huo Feng could bear no more, she wished to speak — to explain herself, though the truth was still half-formed within her.
Master Li stepped forward, voice soft as morning dew:
"Leave it… don't explain anything. The future will reveal your truth without your permission."
Without a thought, he took her hand, a gesture of reassurance and quiet strength. His eyes spoke volumes, far beyond words:
"I trust you, my sweet one."
Then, a sharp cry split the courtyard:
"Look! Look at her! Is this the pride of our academy?!"
All breaths froze. Eyes followed Master Li's hand — still holding Huo Feng's — the warmth of his trust visible to all.
His eyes flared, not with shame, but with fury barely contained. He opened his mouth to silence Mei — but another voice thundered first.
Wu Xin.
"Enough, Mei! Those who throw accusations carelessly only expose themselves first. Virtue isn't a banner to raise when it suits you — then trample when it doesn't!"
The weight of his words pierced her pride, leaving her trembling. Her voice broke, faltering before his gaze. And then, in front of everyone, she knelt — not from repentance, but as part of a carefully measured performance.
"I was wrong… I'm sorry, Huo Feng. Please forgive me."
Huo Feng remained still, her breath as cold as her gaze. She spoke nothing — for she did not believe the apology.
Mei's aim was not forgiveness. It was control. In that moment, she almost had it.