The morning light spilled through the mist outside Ling Xiuyuan's study, glinting faintly off the scrolls spread before him. He had called Mingyue in for something trivial — or so he told himself. The brazier burned quietly; a pot of tea steamed untouched.
Mingyue entered, robes clean. "Sect Leader," he greeted softly, bowing.
"Come here," Xiuyuan said, tone casual. "Pour the tea."
As Mingyue moved closer, Xiuyuan's heartbeat grew uneven. He caught sight of a loose strand of hair brushing Mingyue's cheek and, absurdly, wanted to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Mingyue poured the tea with careful grace, then looked up — their eyes met, and something wordless lingered there.
"You've been working hard lately," Xiuyuan said, trying to sound composed.
Mingyue's smile was gentle. "It's my duty, Shizun."
The title, spoken in that soft voice, stirred something dangerously familiar. Xiuyuan lowered his gaze, pretending to study the tea's reflection.
Mingyue stood a few steps away, quietly dusting the shelves. The movement was soundless, precise — graceful, almost too graceful for a servant. Every now and then, Xiuyuan could feel it: the weight of Mingyue's gaze.
He looked up once, just in time to catch Mingyue glancing his way. The moment their eyes met, Mingyue lowered his gaze with calm politeness, as though nothing had happened.
Xiuyuan cleared his throat, forcing himself to read again. A few heartbeats later, he felt that gaze once more.
When he lifted his head this time, Mingyue was still watching him — not intently, not boldly, just quietly, like someone studying something fragile and distant.
Outside, the wind stirred faintly through the pines. Bells rang somewhere in the distance, echoing like faint laughter.
After a while, the quiet and the faint rustle of scrolls lulled the room into stillness. Mingyue turned from the shelves and saw that Xiuyuan's hand, still holding the brush, had gone still. His head had slightly tilted forward.
He had fallen asleep.
Mingyue hesitated. For a long moment, he simply watched — the way the sunlight touched Xiuyuan's face, softening the hard lines that grief had carved there. There was something achingly peaceful about him in sleep.
He moved closer, step by careful step, until he could see the faint strands of hair brushing across Xiuyuan's cheek. Without realizing, his heart began to beat faster — heavy, insistent, too loud in the silence.
He knelt slightly, his voice barely a whisper in his own mind.You don't know, Shizun… how much I've had to pretend.Pretend that I feel nothing when I stand near you — when the truth is my heart beats as if it might explode.
His hand rose, slow and trembling, fingers reaching to brush the stray hair from Xiuyuan's face.
Just as his fingertips hovered near his skin — Xiuyuan's eyes opened
Then Xiuyuan's hand shot up, catching Mingyue's wrist.
The air between them stilled.
Their faces were close — too close. Mingyue could see his own reflection in Xiuyuan's eyes, could feel the faint warmth of his breath. Neither spoke; the silence trembled with everything unspoken.
Then, as if suddenly realizing the impropriety, Mingyue drew back sharply. "Forgive me, Sect Leader—I was just—"
He stood too quickly, knocking against the desk. Ink spilled, splattering across parchment.
Xiuyuan straightened, expression unreadable but his heartbeat uneven beneath his calm. "Mingyue—"
But Mingyue was already bowing hastily. "I'll bring new paper, Shizun!" he blurted, and almost fled the room, his ears faintly red.
The door closed behind him.
Xiuyuan sat for a long while, staring at the rippling ink stain. His fingers still tingled faintly where he'd touched Mingyue's wrist. He pressed them together as if to erase the warmth.
Outside, the wind sighed through the pine branches.
Later that day, Mingyue walked down the inner courtyard with a broom in hand. The sun was beginning to dip, its light spilling gold across the flagstones. He was lost in thought, his mind circling back — again and again — to the moment in the study: Xiuyuan's eyes, his voice, the warmth of his hand.
He crouched to sweep the ground, trying to steady his heart — when a voice rang out, bright and teasing.
"Mingyue-ge!"
He turned.
It was Yun Xi.
She bounced toward him, robes fluttering, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Why do I always find you cleaning? Don't you ever rest?" she said, leaning a bit too close.
Mingyue straightened. "Someone must," he said mildly.
"Oh, but you look far too handsome doing it." Yun Xi grinned, twirling a lock of her hair. "Maybe that's why you do it? To make us all fall in love?"
Mingyue blinked, his composure unshaken. "I doubt sweeping has such power."
She laughed, undeterred, stepping closer. "Then perhaps it's your smile."
A faint irritation stirred somewhere deep within him — not his own, but something older, something like the ghost of Shen Liuxian rolling his eyes from within. Mingyue only smiled, polite and distant. "You should be training. Or master Zhou will scold you again."
"Then come train with me," she teased, tugging at his sleeve.
"I'm afraid I don't spar with disciples," Mingyue said gently, freeing his sleeve. "You should find someone your level."
Just then, a voice carried faintly from the upper corridor — firm, measured, unmistakable.
Ling Xiuyuan.
He stood with Han Yuejian, discussing something by the pavilion, his tone composed — until his gaze drifted down the slope and caught the sight before him.
Mingyue, standing under the afternoon light, Yun Xi leaning too close, smiling too brightly.
Xiuyuan's words faltered mid-sentence.
"Shidi?" Han Yuejian prompted. "What is it?"
"…Nothing," Xiuyuan said after a pause. But his eyes did not move away.
Below, Mingyue inclined his head to Yun Xi and turned to leave, calm as ever — yet for Xiuyuan, that faint smile of his lingered like a knife twisting gently in his chest.
Han Yuejian continued speaking, but Xiuyuan heard nothing. All he could think of was the warmth of Mingyue's wrist beneath his palm, the softness of his hair — and now, that same hand brushing aside another's touch.
He turned away sharply. "We'll continue this later, Shixiong," he said quietly, striding off toward the corridor, though he could not have said where he was going or why his heart beat so restlessly.