For several days after that night, Mingyue could barely meet Ling Xiuyuan's eyes.When they crossed paths in the corridors, he would bow too quickly and turn away; when Xiuyuan called his name, he would find some excuse to leave — sweeping courtyards, fetching water, polishing lanterns that had already gleamed enough to blind the heavens.
At first Xiuyuan said nothing. He merely watched in silence, his expression unreadable, though now and then his gaze lingered too long on Mingyue's retreating back.
It shouldn't have hurt — but it did.Every avoidance felt like a door quietly closing.
Nie Xiaohuan noticed, of course. He once found Xiuyuan standing by the veranda late at night, looking toward the servants' quarters where a single faint lamp still burned."Shizun," Xiaohuan said gently, "you should rest."Xiuyuan turned away. "I will."But he didn't.
One day, Mingyue was sweeping the outer training ground, the afternoon sun heavy and gold. He worked lazily, his sleeves rolled up, humming faintly under his breath. A few junior disciples from another branch passed by — notorious for their arrogance and boredom.
"Look at that one," one of them muttered.
Another snorted. "Must be nice, having a face like that. Sweep slow enough, and maybe the Sect Leader himself will praise you."
Mingyue raised an eyebrow but kept sweeping, utterly calm.
"Not talking back?" one boy taunted, stepping closer and kicking the broom from his hands.
The wood clattered against the floor. Mingyue looked at it, then at them, sighing as if they had ruined his peaceful afternoon nap rather than insulted him.
The taller one smirked, shoving him lightly. "What? No temper now?"
Mingyue brushed invisible dust off his sleeve, voice smooth as silk. "If I hit you now and make you disappear," he said mildly, "no one would know, would they?"
The disciples blinked, unsure if he was joking. His tone was light, but the calmness in his eyes made them step back without realizing it.
"W-what did you say—"
"Nothing," Mingyue said with a serene smile. "Just thinking aloud."
Before they could retort, a quiet voice cut through the air — calm, steady, unmistakable.
"What is going on here?"
The disciples froze.Ling Xiuyuan stood at the far end of the courtyard, robes white as frost, expression unreadable. His gaze swept once over them — a single glance that felt like judgment itself.
"Sect Leader," one boy stammered, bowing hastily. "We were only—only helping the servant clean the ground—"
"Were you," Xiuyuan said softly. His eyes shifted to Mingyue, who had immediately decided this was the perfect time to act like he'd been gravely wounded.
He groaned pitifully and clutched his side, dropping to one knee. "Ah— I was only trying to do my work, but they— they kicked me— I nearly died…"
Xiuyuan blinked once, the faintest line appearing between his brows. The disciples went pale.
"Enough," he said quietly. "Leave."
They fled faster than a gust of wind.
Once they were gone, silence settled over the courtyard. Mingyue, still kneeling, peeked up through his lashes to gauge Xiuyuan's reaction.
Xiuyuan sighed. "Stand up."
"I can't," Mingyue said, holding his ribs dramatically. "I think I've fractured something."
"Mingyue."
His tone was quiet, almost patient — which made Mingyue bite back a smile and look down again.
Xiuyuan walked closer, stopping before him. His shadow fell over Mingyue's bowed head. Without another word, he reached down and took Mingyue's wrist, pulling him gently to his feet.
Mingyue swayed exaggeratedly. "Ah— dizzy—"
Xiuyuan gave him a long, silent look. Then, to Mingyue's mild horror and secret delight, the Sect Leader simply said, "Come."
He followed him obediently to the medicine hall.Xiuyuan sat him down on a low stool, fetched a small porcelain jar, and rolled up Mingyue's sleeve with quiet precision. His fingers were cool, his movements deft — but when his skin brushed Mingyue's, a spark ran up the latter's arm all the same.
"This will sting," Xiuyuan said softly, dipping a cloth into the pale salve.
"It already does," Mingyue murmured under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Xiuyuan began applying the medicine carefully, dabbing along faint bruises that were, truthfully, far too minor to justify this much fuss. Mingyue winced dramatically anyway.
"Stay still," Xiuyuan said.
"I'm trying, Shizun. But your hands are cold."
Xiuyuan paused for half a second, then continued as if he hadn't heard. Mingyue watched him — the way his brows furrowed slightly in focus, the curve of his lashes, the faint crease near his mouth.
When Xiuyuan finally finished, he straightened, tone gentle but firm. "You'll be fine by tomorrow."
"Will I?" Mingyue leaned a little closer, smiling faintly.
Xiuyuan gave him that look again — the one that meant enough. But there was a softness at the edges this time, the faintest tug of a smile he tried to hide.
set the jar down with deliberate calm. "Go rest."
"Yes, Shizun." Mingyue stood, still smiling, and bowed. But as he turned toward the door, Xiuyuan's voice came softly again.
"Mingyue."
He stopped.
"Next time someone tries to bully you," Xiuyuan said, looking at him steadily, "you don't need to pretend. Just call for me."
Mingyue's lips parted — not with a teasing reply this time, but with something gentler. He bowed slightly, voice quiet. "Understood."
When he left, Xiuyuan stood alone by the window.
He pressed a hand lightly against his temple, as though trying to soothe something not quite physical — a quiet ache lodged somewhere deep.
Outside, Mingyue touched the faint smear of salve on his arm and smiled to himself."If I knew being pitiful worked this well," he murmured, "I'd have started sooner."
Some days later, when the fog over Jingshou Peak had begun to thin and the sect's affairs momentarily quieted, Ling Xiuyuan decided to descend the mountain.He said little of his reasons — only that there were herbs to be fetched from the city markets — but when he called Mingyue to accompany him, Nie Xiaohuan noticed the faint lift in his tone and said nothing more.
The morning was cool, the air scented faintly of pine and melting frost. Mingyue followed a few steps behind Xiuyuan down the stone path, watching the hem of his pale robes brush against fallen leaves. Neither spoke for a while. Since that night in the Sect Leader's chamber, something between them had shifted — quietly, invisibly — like snow melting beneath sunlight.
At the foot of the mountain, the world changed. The narrow road gave way to the hum of the city — the noise of merchants, the clatter of wheels, children chasing paper kites, the aroma of roasted chestnuts and sweet bean cakes filling the air. Mingyue blinked, slightly dazed by the color and sound.
"Have you never been to the city before?" Xiuyuan asked without looking back.
Mingyue shook his head. "Not like this, no. It's… lively."
They passed through streets lined with banners and shopfronts. Red silk lanterns swayed overhead, catching glimmers of sunlight. Mingyue's gaze lingered everywhere — on painted fans, on calligraphy stalls, on the strings of glazed candies glinting ruby-red.
At one stall, small jade pendants were arranged upon a silk cloth — cranes, lotuses, clouds, each carved with exquisite precision. Mingyue slowed without realizing it.
"You like those?" Xiuyuan asked.
Mingyue startled slightly, shaking his head too quickly. "Ah, I was only looking."
Xiuyuan stepped closer to the merchant. "Two of the same," he said simply.
"Shizun, that isn't necessary—"
But Xiuyuan was already paying. When he turned back, he placed one pendant into Mingyue's palm. It was shaped like a crane with wings outstretched, smooth and cold beneath the skin.
"Keep it," Xiuyuan said softly. "A token — for your trouble today."
Mingyue looked down at it, speechless. He wanted to refuse, yet something in Xiuyuan's eyes stopped him. The man's expression was calm, yet beneath that serenity lay something warmer — a rare trace of gentleness.
They walked on. The sunlight shifted, falling through latticed awnings onto Xiuyuan's face. He looked around as though the world were new to him again — his gaze tracing the crowds, the laughter, the rippling light over river stalls. Then, as Mingyue handed him a cup of warm tea bought from a roadside vendor, Xiuyuan accepted it with both hands.
"Thank you," he said.
The words were simple, but the tone — quiet, human, unguarded — carried warmth. And then, for the first time in seven years, Ling Xiuyuan smiled.
It wasn't wide; just a small curve of his lips, barely there, yet soft enough to still the air around them. Mingyue froze mid-breath.
His heart seemed to stop and then race all at once. He was seeing that smile after years now.
A rush of heat climbed into his cheeks, and he turned his head quickly, pretending to study a nearby stall. But the warmth in his chest wouldn't fade. He touched the jade crane in his sleeve, trying to steady himself, and failed miserably.
Xiuyuan noticed, of course. The way Mingyue's ears flushed pink, the awkward fumbling of his fingers. A faint, amused sigh left him.
"You're red again," he murmured, setting down his empty cup.
"I— It's only warm here," Mingyue stammered. "The sun, perhaps."
"Ah," Xiuyuan said, tone unreadable. "The sun."
They walked a while longer. A musician nearby plucked a guqin; the melody curled through the market like drifting mist. Children laughed, lanterns swayed overhead, and for a brief, fragile span of time, it felt as though grief had loosened its grip.
Then, amid that quiet, Xiuyuan turned to him.
"Mingyue."
"Yes, Shizun?"
Xiuyuan's gaze lingered on him — not as a master looks at a servant, but as a man searching the face of a memory. His voice was soft, unsteady, almost a whisper.
"You are very much like him."
The words hung between them — gentle, sorrowful, piercing.
Mingyue's breath caught. He lowered his gaze quickly, the pulse in his throat fluttering. "I don't know who you mean," he said, voice too calm.
"Don't you?"
Mingyue coughed lightly, forcing a smile, turning away to a fruit stall. "Sect Leader, these persimmons look ripe. Should we take some back for the others?"
Xiuyuan's hand, half-raised toward him, fell back to his side. For a moment, neither spoke. Only the crowd's hum filled the air, muffled and distant.
When Mingyue finally turned again, ready to hand him a paper bag of persimmons, he froze.
Xiuyuan was looking at him — eyes dark, unguarded, and glistening faintly. There were no words, only that expression — a man who had carried grief too long, who suddenly stood before the shadow of what he'd lost.
"Shizun…" Mingyue's voice trembled.