The spirit's wails had long since faded, but the valley still hummed faintly with residue — an echo of the thing that had once lived within the frost. The mist thinned at last, revealing the outlines of the ravine beneath a quiet, starless sky.
Ling Xiuyuan stood motionless amid the dispersing light, sleeves fluttering faintly in the cold wind. Zhou Qingrong, Lu Zhaoyan, Meng Chuan and Wei Jingyan were restoring the last of the talisman wards. Fan Yongrui assisted them.
He sighed, long-suffering. "How many more talisman?"
Lu Zhaoyun turned. "If we leave it as it is, it will draw more spirits by dawn."
Fan Yongrui nodded gravely.
The moon rose — thin, silver, and cold — glancing off the snow and their faces alike.
Wei Jingyan exhaled softly. "Feels like the valley's breathing again."
Lu Zhaoyun opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "You've always been perceptive, Shixiong."
"Don't call me that," Wei Jingyan muttered. "We're the same generation."
Meng Chuan chuckled, stretching his arms. "And yet you sound older by decades."
Zhou Qingrong's glance silenced them both. "If you still have energy to talk, then circulate a little longer."
When dawn finally broke, the valley was quiet — not haunted, but cleansed. Pale sunlight spilled across untouched snow, the lingering chill now clean and still.
They descended the ridge together. The six cultivators — Jingshou and Tianyin alike — walked in near silence, save for the crunch of frost underfoot.
At the fork of the mountain road, Lu Zhaoyun paused and clasped his hands in parting. "Sect Leader Ling. Zhou Shijie. Jingyan-xiong. The valley will remain stable for now. Should the seal waver again, Tianyin Sect will assist."
Xiuyuan inclined his head. "My thanks."
Meng Chuan grinned faintly. "Next time, though, we'll arrive before you do."
Wei Jingyan snorted. "Keep dreaming."
Fan Yongrui sighed again. "They'll argue until the snow melts."
Lu Zhaoyun only smiled and turned away. Their figures faded into the white expanse until only Jingshou's party remained.
The journey back was long and silent. Zhou Qingrong rode ahead with Wei Jingyan, while Mingyue rested in the carriage with Xiuyuan.
Inside, the lamplight flickered over Xiuyuan's face — calm but strained. Mingyue's head had tilted slightly to one side, eyes half-closed, his pulse faint against the cold.
Xiuyuan shifted closer, his hand briefly brushing Mingyue's sleeve. "Stay awake a little longer."
"I'm only tired," Mingyue murmured.
Xiuyuan looked at him for a moment — then exhaled softly and allowed the silence to settle again. Outside, the wheels turned steadily over frozen earth, carrying them home through the thinning snow.
By the time they reached Jingshou Peak, the sun had set behind the clouds. The gates stood open, torches burning low, light glinting over snow-covered roofs.
Nie Xiaohuan was waiting at the courtyard steps. His breath caught when he saw them approach — and more so when he saw Mingyue, pale and still, supported by Zhou Qingrong's arm.
Ling Xiuyuan stepped down first. "He's exhausted. Prepare my quarters."
Xiaohuan hesitated — just for an instant — before bowing. "Yes, Shizun."
Inside, warmth returned in the glow of braziers. Mingyue was laid gently upon the bed, the lingering traces of cold dispelled by Xiuyuan's controlled qi.
Han Yuejian sat down beside Mingyue, placing two fingers against the young man's wrist. The faint blue light of spiritual energy shimmered between them, illuminating the curve of Yuejian's brow, the quiet concentration in his gaze. Everyone watched.
Yuejian's hands glowed faintly as he pressed two fingers to Mingyue's pulse. His expression remained composed, but his brows furrowed slightly as the energy flowed, searching—testing for the remnant chill of a spirit's touch.
Zhou Qingrong, Wei Jingyan, and Nie Xiaohuan stood nearby in tense silence, every flicker of light across Yuejian's hand reflected in their eyes.
At last, Yuejian exhaled softly and drew back. The glow faded.
"There's no trace of malevolent energy," he said. "His body is clear. He'll wake once the exhaustion passes."
A collective breath seemed to ease from the room. Wei Jingyan rubbed his neck with relief.
But Yuejian's gaze lingered a heartbeat longer upon Mingyue, his expression unreadable. Beneath the calm, he felt it—the quiet, impossible absence of spiritual current. The body before him held no qi at all.
He did not speak it.
When he rose, his tone was mild. "Rest him well, Shidi. The storm has passed."
Xiuyuan inclined his head. "Thank you, Shixiong."
Zhou Qingrong and Wei Jingyan excused themselves soon after, leaving the chamber hushed once more.
Nie Xiaohuan hesitated near the door, torn between concern and something sharper, quieter. "Shizun," he said softly, "shouldn't I take him to —"
Xiuyuan turned his gaze toward him— "It's warmer here."
Xiaohuan fell silent. His lips pressed tight, not in defiance but in surrender. He bowed.
When he turned to leave, his eyes flicked once toward Xiuyuan—who sat beside the bed once more, head bowed slightly, fingers tracing the edge of the coverlet.
Jealousy and affection twisted together in Xiaohuan's chest, indistinguishable. He bowed low, voice quiet. "I'll bring medicine, Shizun."
Xiuyuan didn't answer. The candlelight trembled faintly, casting long shadows over Mingyue's still face and the Sect Leader's pale hands.
When the door closed, only the sound of the brazier remained—steady and soft, like the slow beat of a heart.
The first light of dawn spilled through the latticed windows, touching the room with a faint gold glow. The incense in the brazier had long burned to ash; only a thin wisp of smoke drifted upward, weaving through the cold morning air.
Mingyue stirred beneath the layered quilts, breath shallow but steady. His eyelashes trembled before he opened his eyes—meeting a ceiling of pale sandalwood beams and the faint fragrance of lotus incense.
For a moment, his mind was blank. Then recognition struck like lightning.
This was Sect Leader Ling's room.
He bolted upright, the blanket slipping to his waist. His pulse thudded in his throat. "W-what—"
The voice that came from the window was quiet, measured.
"You're awake."
Mingyue froze.
By the open lattice, Ling Xiuyuan sat with one arm resting on the sill, a book in his lap and a cup of cooling tea beside him. The early light carved gentle lines across his face, the faintest shadows beneath his eyes betraying that he hadn't slept.
"Sect Leader…" Mingyue stammered, half rising from the bed. "Forgive me, I didn't—"
"Sit," Xiuyuan said, his tone mild but brooking no argument. "You're still weak."
"I—I can rest elsewhere," Mingyue said quickly. "This is the Sect Leader's room, I shouldn't—"
"Stay," Xiuyuan repeated, gaze steady, voice soft but final.
The single word stilled Mingyue more effectively than any command. He hesitated, then sank back down onto the edge of the bed, fingers twisting in the blanket.
For a long moment, the only sound was the wind sighing through the eaves.
Then Mingyue spoke again, quieter. "It's improper, Sizun. I shouldn't have… slept here."
Xiuyuan turned a page of his book, eyes lowering briefly. "Don't talk as if I didn't caught you sneaking inside before."
Mingyue blinked. "That—!"
The teasing caught him off guard, and his words tangled into silence. Color rushed to his face, pink blooming across his cheeks.
Outside, the winter sun climbed higher, setting the thin layer of frost on the window panes aglow.