By the time the cart reached the base of Jingshou Peak, dusk had begun to fall. The mist had followed them all the way down the mountain — pale ribbons curling over the wheel tracks and through the dark pines. Lanterns were already being lit along the path to the sect, their golden glow swaying softly in the wind like floating souls.
When the cart stopped before the outer courtyard, Nie Xiaohuan was already there.
"Shizun!"
The curtain lifted. Ling Xiuyuan stepped down first — steady, though faint color had not yet returned to his face. Mingyue followed, quietly, keeping one hand behind Xiuyuan's back as if ready to catch him.
Seeing the Sect Leader fine— that single sight unraveled something inside Nie Xiaohuan that had been held too tightly for too long. Relief and panic collided in him, leaving his voice trembling when he spoke.
"You're back safely… thank the heavens."
He stepped closer, eyes glancing quickly over Xiuyuan's form, searching for injuries. When he saw none severe, he exhaled softly, his lashes lowering.
Inside the main hall, the fire burned low. Shadows leaned long across the floor.
Xiuyuan sat on the upper dais, the same place he had once avoided for seven long years. The familiarity of it pressed strangely against his chest — half comfort, half ache. Nie Xiaohuan stood at his side, close enough to reach out but not daring to. His gaze lingered on the Sect Leader's pale hands, on the slight tremor that still came and went with his breathing.
"You should rest first," he said softly. "The report can wait until morning."
Xiuyuan nodded, but his eyes wandered to the door, where Mingyue stood silently with the kettle of water.
The young man poured tea without a word. His movements were steady — graceful, practiced — but Xiuyuan's mind drifted back again to the night on the mountain: the flashes of silver light, the voice in the storm, the shape that should not have been real.
Shen Liuxian…? No.
The thought flickered and vanished before he could stop it.
"Shizun," Mingyue said softly, placing the cup before him. "It's hot. Drink slowly."
Xiuyuan reached for it, their fingers almost touching. The faint warmth of Mingyue's skin brushed his knuckle — and just like that, something within him went still.
Nie Xiaohuan saw it. His hand tightened at his side, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying emotion he refused to voice. He stepped forward quietly, intercepting the next movement.
"I'll take care of it," he said, reaching for the second cup himself. "You've done enough, Mingyue."
The silence that followed was deep and uneasy. The tea steamed gently, untouched. Outside, the evening wind carried the scent of pine and rain.
Nie Xiaohuan turned toward Xiuyuan once more.
As Mingyue's quiet footsteps retreated into the hall's dim light, the Sect Leader's thoughts returned once more to that scar, that voice in the storm, and the truth he dared not yet name.
The bell outside tolled softly, marking the hour — a clear, distant sound that faded into silence.
And in that silence, every heart within Jingshou Peak carried its own unrest.
The night air over Jingshou Peak was cool and perfumed faintly with pine. After a long day of reports, healing, and far too many polite thank-yous, Mingyue finally managed to slip out of the main hall.
He stretched his arms above his head as he walked down the corridor, the lantern light glinting against the smooth surface of his nails. "Haaah…" he exhaled softly, looking at them in mock irritation. "Perfectly fine fingers—and all they ever hold is tea and bandages."
He turned his hand, admiring the faint shine on his nails, then made a face. "And Nie Xiaohuan always comes in between." His tone was mild, but the words were muttered under his breath, followed by a low chuckle. "He guards Shizun like a hawk. If I so much as pour another cup, he'll probably duel me with the teapot."
He laughed quietly at his own joke, amused despite himself, and continued down the path toward his quarters.
The night was still. Crickets hummed in the grass, and a single candle burned in the window of his small courtyard. Peaceful. Perfectly peaceful.
Or so he thought.
Because standing right at the door to his room—arms crossed, eyes bright, and grin far too wide—was trouble incarnate.
"Mingyue!"
Mingyue stopped mid-step. "…Not again," he murmured under his breath.
The girl was young, her hair tied in two glossy loops with crimson cords. She wore the light robes of a Jingshou inner disciple, though her sleeves were rolled up and her belt slightly askew as if she'd run the whole way there. Her name was Luo Yunxin, and she had an alarming talent for appearing wherever Mingyue happened to be.
Before he could even consider escape, she was already trotting up to him, eyes bright as spring water.
"Mingyue, you're finally back! I heard from Senior Sister Lin that you went to Tianyin Sect! Was it dangerous? Were there ghosts? You should've taken me!"
Mingyue blinked, took a half step backward, and said with practiced politeness, "Miss Luo, it was… fine. You would not have liked it—very dirty, lots of bones, screaming spirits. Not your kind of fun."
"You don't know what my kind of fun is," Luo Yunxin said with a grin, leaning forward just enough to make him retreat another half-step. "I might've liked it if you were there."
Mingyue smiled faintly. "I was, unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?"
"Mm." His voice was calm, but there was a glint of Shen Liuxian's old sharpness behind the eyes—a restrained twitch that meant he was suffering quietly.
Luo Yunxin pouted. "You're so cold, Mingyue! I made dumplings for you! I brought them all the way here—look!" She held up a small basket tied with a red ribbon.
Mingyue stared at it as though it contained explosives. "…Thank you. That's very kind. I'll eat them tomorrow."
"But they'll get cold!"
"I like cold food."
"You said last time you didn't!"
"…I've grown used to it."
She gasped. "You're impossible!"
He sighed inwardly, the polite servant mask still perfectly in place. Shen Liuxian's real reaction, however, was practically screaming inside his head: Why does she appear every time I try to rest?
"Mingyue," she said suddenly, lowering her voice, "you're not avoiding me, are you?"
He smiled thinly. "Avoiding you? Never. Merely… conserving energy."
"You mean hiding."
"That too," he admitted under his breath.
She blinked. "What?"
"Nothing."
For a heartbeat, there was silence—then Luo Yunxin sighed dramatically, tilting her head. "You're just shy. But it's fine. I like that."
"Do you?"
"Mm-hm. Makes you mysterious."
Mingyue gave a quiet laugh and brushed past her, finally reaching the door. "If mystery is what you want, I suggest the library. It's quieter, and fewer people follow you there."
He slid the door open, only for her to dart in after him, barefoot on the wooden floor.
"I'll help you unpack!"
"There's nothing to unpack."
"Then I'll help you… rest!"
"Heavens!!! I was better a dead man!!!"