It began, as most trouble did in Jingshou Sect, with a whisper that reached Shen Lianxiu's ears at entirely the wrong time.
The morning air was crisp, the mountains veiled in pale mist. Disciples swept the courtyard, chatter rising with the scent of snow and incense.
"Hey," one whispered behind cupped hands, "they say Master Wen Yao and Master Mu Yichuan share the same quarters at night."
Lianxiu froze mid-stride, the bundle of scrolls in his arms nearly slipping."Same quarters?" he repeated, eyes widening with the kind of excitement usually reserved for treasure hunts. "You mean— like that same quarters?"
The whisperer flushed, waved his hands. "I didn't say that! But everyone knows they're… close. Always together, teaching together, drinking tea under the same tree, sword practice side by side—"
Lianxiu's grin spread slowly, dangerously. "Ah, so that's why Master Mu always fixes Master Wen's sleeve before lectures."He leaned closer, voice dropping theatrically. "Do you think they—"
"Shen Lianxiu!" Nie Xiaohuan's hiss cut through the gossip like a blade. "If Seniors catch you spreading rumors about the masters again, you'll be sweeping the entire training ground for a week."
"Not rumors," Lianxiu said with mock solemnity. "Scientific observation."
Roulan groaned. "Whatever you call it, don't drag us into it."
But it was too late. By the time the afternoon sun warmed the icy roofs, Shen Lianxiu had already begun his investigation.
From behind the plum garden wall, he crouched low. Ahead, the two masters sat beneath the snow-covered boughs, sharing a pot of tea.
Master Wen Yao, serene as a still lake, poured tea for his companion, and Master Mu Yichuan accepted it with the faintest, secret smile.
"They really do smile at each other like a married couple," Lianxiu murmured. He scribbled something. "Observation one: the look."
A breeze stirred the blossoms, scattering petals like snow. Mu Yichuan brushed one from Wen Yao's hair.
Next day.
The winter sun slanted low over the courtyard, scattering threads of gold across frost-rimmed branches. Between them, a soft voice carried—steady, unhurried—Mu Yichuan's.
"Junior disciples, remember—cultivation begins not with spirit power, but with restraint of the heart."
He stood tall beside Wen Yao, whose eyes were fixed on the horizon, cold and sharp as a drawn blade. Where Yichuan's tone soothed, Wen Yao's presence commanded. Together, they made an odd, magnetic balance—the warmth of dawn and the chill of moonlight.
From behind a half-collapsed wall of the outer corridor, Shen Lianxiu crouched with his hands on his knees, peeking through a gap in the tiles.Xiaohuan sighed beside him. "If you get caught, don't say I didn't warn you.""Caught doing what?" Lianxiu whispered back, eyes sparkling. "I'm only… studying human affection."
He watched as Mu Yichuan leaned closer to adjust the folds of Wen Yao's robe—gentle, deliberate, his hand brushing Wen Yao's wrist for a heartbeat too long.Wen Yao didn't move away. He merely glanced at him sideways, expression unreadable, and murmured, "There are disciples watching.""Then let them learn patience," Mu Yichuan said softly.
Roulan muffled her laugh behind her sleeve. "They really are—""—exactly like the rumors say," Lianxiu finished, delighted. "Our sect's legendary secret lovers."
Xiaohuan smacked the back of his head. "Stop talking nonsense. They're our Shizun!"Lianxiu grinned. "And that's what makes it so fascinating."
He shifted for a better view—just as a faint crunch sounded on the snow behind him.
"Shen Lianxiu."
The voice was low, clipped, and carried enough authority to freeze blood.
Lianxiu turned slowly. Ling Xiuyuan stood there, expression calm but eyes glinting like unsheathed steel.
Xiaohuan and Roulan immediately knelt, pale as ghosts. Lianxiu gave a sheepish laugh. "Senior Brother… we were only admiring the scenery—"
"From behind a wall?" Xiuyuan stepped closer, and the three of them instinctively straightened their backs. His tone stayed composed, but each word cut neat and cold. "Our masters' time is not for your amusement. You will apologize tomorrow."
Lianxiu ducked his head, biting back a retort.When Xiuyuan turned to leave, he muttered under his breath, "Still, you must admit… Shizun Mu really looks at Shizun Wen like he'd guard him from the whole world."
Xiuyuan paused mid-step. For a moment, silence fell—only the wind through the plum branches. Then, despite himself, a faint twitch of amusement touched the corner of his lips.
He didn't look back, only said quietly, "You should cultivate your sword before your tongue, Shen Lianxiu," and walked away.
Behind him, Lianxiu watched his departing figure, chin resting on his hand, a mischievous glint in his eye."Strict, humorless, terrifyingly perfect…" he murmured, "and still kind of handsome."
Xiaohuan groaned. "You're hopeless."
The evening bell rang through Jingshou Peak—deep, serene, carrying through frost and mist. Above, the plum blossoms trembled faintly, scattering pale petals into the snow.
Mist coiled low over the walkways that led to the back courtyard. Lanterns burned faintly beneath the eaves, their glow trembling in the breeze. Wen Yao stepped out from the Hall of Records, a pile of bamboo scrolls tucked under his arm. The wind lifted the edge of his white robe, carrying with it a trace of sandalwood from the library's incense.
"Still working?" a voice murmured from behind him.
Mu Yichuan stood by the stone railing, his sleeves loose, hair unbound from its crown. The lamplight struck across his calm profile — gentler than usual, his eyes half-smiling.
"The accounting records for the disciples' provisions were incomplete," Wen Yao said, glancing away as if the matter itself might cool the warmth creeping up his neck. "Someone had to correct them."
"Someone?" Mu Yichuan echoed, walking closer. "Or you, who refuses to sleep before all the ink dries?"
Wen Yao's fingers tightened slightly around the scrolls. "If you think flattery will make me hand these over to you, you're mistaken."
"Flattery?" Mu Yichuan leaned against the pillar beside him, lowering his voice. "I meant to scold you for working too late. You never let me do that, though — scold you."
"Then perhaps you should learn restraint."
Mu Yichuan's smile deepened. "You'd prefer me restrained?"
The question hung in the air — too bold, too soft, and yet not improper enough to censure. Wen Yao froze for half a heartbeat before turning sharply away, the tips of his ears red beneath his tied hair.
"Mu Yichuan," he said warningly, "you speak as if we were junior disciples idling by the stream."
"Then forgive me," Yichuan replied, stepping aside so the moonlight fell between them. "I sometimes forget how long it's been since we last idled by the stream."
Wen Yao stilled — the tone was quiet now, touched by memory. He set the scrolls down on the stone bench, gaze softening despite himself. "You haven't changed."
"Neither have you." Mu Yichuan's eyes lingered on him — steady, fond, unhurried. "Still pretending not to hear what you like to hear."
Wen Yao turned to leave, robes brushing the stone steps. "If you have so much time for nonsense, then go make sure the northern wards are closed."
Mu Yichuan's laughter followed him into the darkness, low and genuine. "Yes, Master Wen."
As Wen Yao disappeared beyond the corridor, the faintest smile tugged at his lips — the kind that never reached his eyes when others were watching. Behind him, Mu Yichuan tilted his head toward the moon, looking utterly pleased with himself.
Perched precariously on the thick branch of an old locust tree, Shen Lianxiu pressed both hands over his mouth, eyes wide and glistening with unholy delight.
"Did you see that? He blushed!" Lianxiu whispered, half-squealing, half-weeping into his sleeve. "This sect is blessed! The heavens themselves bear witness to such beauty—"
Nie Xiaohuan, crouched beside him and regretting every decision that had led to this moment, seized him by the collar. "Quiet! If they hear you, we're both dead!"
Lianxiu sniffled dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded by love itself. "To witness such tenderness and yet be forbidden to applaud—truly, the path of cultivation is cruel!"