The night hung low over Jingshou Peak, silvered with mist and quiet as a held breath. The lamps along the Sect Leader's corridor flickered softly, haloed by the faint scent of sandalwood that drifted from within his chamber.
Nie Xiaohuan entered in silence, holding a stack of scrolls in his hands. His expression was calm, though a trace of curiosity glimmered behind his composure.
Ling Xiuyuan stood by the window, his sleeves brushing against the sill as he gazed at the courtyard below. The night wind teased at his loose hair.
"Xiaohuan," he said quietly, not turning.
"Yes, Shizun."
"Send Mingyue to my room after the third watch," Xiuyuan said. His tone was even, but the stillness that followed the words betrayed a faint undercurrent of hesitation. "And… leave us alone."
Xiaohuan blinked once, setting the scrolls down. "Yes, Shizun," he replied, bowing his head. But when he left, his steps lingered at the door longer than usual, as though he was uncertain what to think.
When the hour deepened and the lamps outside guttered low, a soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," Xiuyuan said, his voice calm but faintly hoarse.
The door slid open with a sigh. Mingyue stepped in quietly, carrying the scent of moonlight and rain-damp robes. His hair was slightly disheveled, his sleeves rolled up from his evening chores.
"You called for me, Shizun?" His tone was respectful, but his eyes — dark, limpid — held a quiet warmth that always disarmed Xiuyuan.
Xiuyuan turned from his desk, regarding him for a moment. The lamplight made soft gold of Mingyue's skin, and the faint scar on his arm — the one Xiuyuan had seen before — glimmered like a secret half-revealed.
Xiuyuan nodded. "Come in. Close the door."
The door slid shut with a muted click, cutting off the faint sounds of crickets outside. Mingyue's white robes shimmered faintly in the candlelight. His hair was tied loosely tonight, a few strands escaping to brush against his cheek.
"Your robe is damp," Xiuyuan said quietly. "You've been outside?"
"I was cleaning the courtyard. The dew gathered fast."
"Change my clothes," Xiuyuan said.
Mingyue blinked once, surprised. "Now?"
"Yes."
For a heartbeat, there was silence between them — the kind that felt less like absence and more like an invisible thread being pulled taut.
Mingyue stepped forward without protest. His hands were steady, but his pulse betrayed him; he could feel it drumming in his throat. He began to unfasten the outer layer of Xiuyuan's robe — careful, almost reverent.
The soft sound of silk brushing against skin filled the room. Outside, the wind stirred the bamboo, whispering against the window.
Xiuyuan did not move away. His gaze followed Mingyue's every motion — the slight tremor of his fingers, the way he exhaled slowly as though reminding himself to stay composed.
Their faces were close — too close. Xiuyuan could see the faint shadow of fatigue beneath Mingyue's eyes, the stray strand of hair that brushed his cheek, the quick flicker of his lashes when he dared not meet Xiuyuan's gaze.
He should have said something — a question, an order, anything to break the silence. Instead, he simply watched.
When Mingyue reached to smooth the collar of his robe, his fingertips brushed Xiuyuan's throat. A tremor passed through both of them.
Xiuyuan's breath caught; Mingyue drew his hand back instinctively, murmuring, "Forgive me."
But Xiuyuan's hand lifted, almost of its own accord, catching his wrist lightly.
"Mingyue."
The sound of his name, spoken so softly, felt like a touch.
Mingyue's lashes fluttered. His pulse leapt under Xiuyuan's fingers. "Shizun…"
"You already call me shizun. Why don't you become my disciple?"
Mingyue remained silent.
"Tell me," Xiuyuan said, his voice low. "Why do you look at me like that?"
Mingyue froze. The lamplight swayed between them. "I don't understand what you mean."
Xiuyuan's eyes darkened, not in anger, but with something quieter, heavier. "Sometimes I think I've seen that gaze before. Years ago."
For a moment, the mask slipped. Mingyue's composure cracked — a shadow of sorrow, of affection, of something too deep to name flickered through his eyes.
But then he smiled, faintly. "Perhaps you remember wrongly, Shizun."
The word Shizun struck Xiuyuan like a bell.
He looked down, his hand still resting on Mingyue's wrist. "Perhaps."
Mingyue's heart twisted. He wished he could tell him — that he was not wrong, that the soul he searched for was standing right before him. But he could not. Not yet.
The lamplight swayed, catching their reflections faintly in the bronze mirror. Xiuyuan saw there — for just an instant — how close they were. His face calm, Mingyue's tilted slightly upward, his expression unreadable, his pulse visible at his throat.
"Mingyue."
Mingyue looked up, startled by the low, almost intimate tone.
Xiuyuan's hand rose slowly, almost hesitantly, and caught Mingyue's wrist before he could step back. His fingers tightened just enough to feel the faint flutter beneath his skin — a heartbeat, quick and unsteady.
The sound of it — or perhaps the memory of another heartbeat — pulled at something buried deep within him.
Xiuyuan's eyes darkened. "Your heart… it's beating very fast."
Mingyue's breath caught. "Shizun—"
"Why?" Xiuyuan's voice had gone quiet, almost tender, but there was an edge of desperation beneath it. "Why does it sound like this?"
Mingyue's lips parted. "Because—" he began, but his words faltered.
Because you're too close, he thought.Because you shouldn't know yet.Because I've missed you so much I can barely breathe.
Ling Xiuyuan's gaze searched Mingyue's face — the soft light across his cheekbones, the shadow beneath his lashes. Everything was so painfully familiar.
For years he had told himself not to hope. And yet, that same heartbeat beneath his fingers — it was too much like his
Xiuyuan leaned forward. His breath brushed Mingyue's cheek, his thumb resting lightly against his pulse.
Mingyue froze, eyes widening — his heart thrumming in his throat.
The world seemed to narrow — one breath, one gaze, one fragile line between them.
But before he could close the distance, Mingyue suddenly drew back. His voice broke through the tension, trembling but controlled.
"Forgive me, Sect Leader. I just remembered— I have something urgent to attend to."
He stepped away, his movements quick, almost clumsy. The loss of warmth between them left the air colder than before.
"Mingyue."
He didn't stop. "I'll… return shortly."
He bowed once — too low, too fast — and turned for the door. Xiuyuan didn't follow.
When the door slid shut, the quiet inside the chamber was deafening.
Xiuyuan stood where he was, hand still faintly raised, the warmth of Mingyue's pulse lingering on his fingers. His heart, usually so steady, had begun to beat unevenly — just like it once did, long ago.
Outside, Mingyue leaned against the corridor wall, breath shuddering out of him. He pressed a hand over his heart. It was still hammering, fierce and uncontrolled.
He closed his eyes, whispering to himself, half a laugh, half a sigh, "You're not a child anymore. Control yourself."
The night wind brushed past, cool against his flushed skin. His smile faded, leaving something tender and aching in its place.
"I missed you so much, Shizun," he murmured softly into the quiet.
Then he straightened, smoothing his robe, and walked away into the moonlight before his composure could slip again.
Inside, Xiuyuan sank back to his chair, unable to shake the image of Mingyue's eyes — wide, glimmering, the same eyes that haunted his dreams.
Was I wrong?