Morning light poured down the mountain slope, spilling like molten gold across the training courts of Jingshou Sect. The frost had melted into fine mist, and disciples' laughter rang faint and bright beneath the plum trees.
Shen Lianxiu was among them, his usual grin plastered across his face as he darted through the crowd with all the grace of a fox that had stolen something valuable.
"Shen Lianxiu! For the last time—hold your stance properly!"Nie Xiaohuan's voice cracked across the courtyard like a whip.
"I am holding it properly!" Lianxiu protested, wobbling with his sword half-raised. "See? Perfect balance."
"You're leaning on your left leg."
"That's called—style," Lianxiu said solemnly, before tripping on a loose pebble and nearly falling flat.
Half the disciples burst into laughter. Roulan sighed audibly beside him, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand."Shen Lianxiu, one of these days you'll embarrass our whole sect."
"I'm already its pride and joy," he said brightly.
But even as he joked, his gaze kept flicking toward the higher terrace — where Ling Xiuyuan stood, arms folded, watching the training with his usual cool detachment.
Xiuyuan looked as he always did — calm, poised, every movement controlled. His long hair was tied back with a jade clasp, and sunlight turned the ends of his robes to silver. He wasn't even doing anything — just standing there — yet somehow, Lianxiu thought, the entire courtyard bent around him.
He looked… untouchable.
Lianxiu remembered that night by the stream — Xiuyuan stepping in front of him, bare-chested, eyes sharp.
The image had been burned into his mind like an afterimage of lightning. He hadn't stopped thinking about it since.
Now, every time he saw his shixiong, a ridiculous excitement rose in him. It wasn't love — not yet. It was fascination. Worship. The thrill of a boy seeing a legend breathe.
If only he could make that Ling Xiuyuan look at him again.
So he threw himself into training with newfound ferocity. His sword arm ached, his palms blistered, his legs wobbled — but when Xiuyuan walked past, Lianxiu always straightened up and pretended not to be dying inside.
Sometimes, Xiuyuan glanced at him — but only to say, "Your footing is sloppy," or, "Focus, Shen Lianxiu."
Never well done.
Never a hint of praise.
Still, Lianxiu only grinned.
"Of course, Shixiong!" he'd reply, swinging harder — and usually making a complete fool of himself in the process.
To the seniors, it was nothing new.
Han Yuejian muttered, "That boy's energy could power a city."
Zhou Qingrong only sighed, "If he put half that enthusiasm into technique, he'd already surpass half the juniors."
Wei Jingyan stifled a laugh. "I almost envy him. Imagine having that much spirit."
And from Ling Xiuyuan — a soft exhale, something between annoyance and restraint.
He didn't hate the boy. But every time Lianxiu grinned up at him like an eager puppy, Xiuyuan's chest tightened with something that was neither irritation nor fondness — only confusion.
That night, when the courtyard had emptied, Lianxiu found himself wandering again — up on the rooftops, chasing the wind and the sound of distant bells.
From the terrace below, Xiuyuan's silhouette passed by — pale robes brushing against the lantern light. Lianxiu stopped, crouched, chin resting on his knees, watching quietly this time.
He didn't know what he wanted. Only that when Ling Xiuyuan was near, the night didn't feel so dark.
Morning light streamed through the lattice windows of Jingshou Hall, painting pale gold patterns across the polished floor.
At the head of the hall sat Sect Leader Su Zhengyuan, broad-shouldered and steady, eyes warm but incisive. Around him, arranged with quiet authority, were the four masters:
Pei Yunsheng, hands folded on the map, voice level and practical. "The wards at West Spur held through the last cold snap, but the readings were disturbed three nights in a row. Something — or someone — is testing our outer charms."
Yue Lan, sword at her hip and gaze like a sharpened fan, nodded. "I'll assign a mounted recon. If the mist deepens, we'll reinforce the boundary glyphs."
Mu Yichuan, fan tucked between his fingers, offered a small, calm smile. "A rotation of night-patrols would build experience among the juniors. They need practice seeing shadows."
Wen Yao, composed and precise, folded his hands in his lap. "Encourage watchfulness, not panic. We must keep the wards steady and the minds steady too."
The senior disciples knelt in two lines along the hall's sides, each a study in readiness and differing temperament:Ling Xiuyuan — quiet, measured; Zhou Qingrong — keen-eyed and dry-humored; Han Yuejian — calm as a river; Wei Jingyan — alert and teasingly energetic; Liu Shuhan — broad and warm-voiced; Ruan Yue — serene and observant; Chen Yuanqi — careful, precise. Each listened, adjusting robes, nodding when appropriate, their presence steadying the room.
Pei Yunsheng pointed at the map. "If the southern line shows anomalies again, we'll close those paths for a fortnight. Assign Yuanqi and Liu Shuhan to oversee the talisman maintenance."
Chen Yuanqi inclined his head. "Understood, shizun."
Liu Shuhan rumbled, "I'll go with him. Two sets of hands are better than one."
Yue Lan tapped the map with a fingertip. "I'll take half the trained riders and strengthen the mountain passes tonight. Wen Yao, could you supervise the inner wards?"
Wen Yao's reply was measured. "I will. Mu Shixiong, would you arrange the rotational schedule?"
Mu Yichuan bowed slightly, the fan resting against his lips. "Of course. I'll have the list ready by dusk."
Sect Leader Su folded his hands, voice calm: "Good. We'll tighten vigilance but avoid alarm. The people below should sleep without worry."
A murmur of agreement passed through the hall. The discussion turned to lantern placements and rationing, to which senior disciples to send for instruction and which wards needed refreshment. Everything careful, everything methodical.
Then — an abrupt series of barks split the careful air.
"Grr— arf— hey, you! Come back!" A boy's voice, breathless and laughing, thundered down the corridor.
A small brown dog burst through the main doors, silk pouch swinging at its neck like a prize. It zipped between legs, skidded around a pillar and disappeared under the low table with a triumphant yelp.
Behind it came Shen Lianxiu in a white blur, hair wild, cheeks flushed from the run. "You little— give it back!" he cried, boots clattering across the polished floor.
For a long second, the hall simply stared.
Lianxiu's foot caught on the table leg; he spun and went sprawling across lacquered floorboards, arms flailing in a graceless bow that sent his robe fluttering. The silk pouch burst open; a shower of herbs and a single, very round candy spilled into a neat fan. The dog leapt out and, triumphant, bolted back into the courtyard.
A hush dropped again. Shen Lianxiu lay on his stomach, hair in his eyes, and peered up sheepishly at the masters.
"Ah—greetings, Sect Leader," he panted, face red. "We were just… testing the hall's—acoustics?"
Su Zhengyuan rose, hands clasped behind his back, and let out a warm laugh that filled the corners of the chamber. "Testing the acoustics, is it? A fine trial." His eyes twinkled. "Next time, take it to the yard. Council tables prefer calm."
Pei Yunsheng shook his head, smiling. "The boy has spirit. Let him be the noise we can afford."
Mu Yichuan's laugh was like silk falling. "Caution— the hall's lacquer is unforgiving."
Wen Yao finally loosened, dry amusement clear in his tone. "And you, boy, will owe the cleaners an evening."
Everyone just shook their heads and laughed it off.
But Ling Xiuyuan rose then, his expression unreadable. He looked at the sprawled newcomer with something like cold appraisal.
"Very unserious," he said simply, and for once his voice carried a chill that silenced the laughter more effectively than any rebuke.
He bowed to the masters with the exact form of their training, then left without another word, his figure tall and composed as he walked down the corridor.
The silence that followed Xiuyuan's departure lasted a breath — then the hall exhaled in relief and resumed its warmth. Laughter rose again, softer now, as the masters exchanged looks.
Yue Lan gave a small shake of her head. "He'll learn. He's young."
Pei Yunsheng's smile was indulgent. "All of us once tripped into more than meetings. Let the boy grow."
Mu Yichuan folded his fan closed. "He'll be useful yet. Courage is not a bad seed."
Wen Yao added, voice low, "Discipline will shape it." He looked at Lianxiu with more warmth than he'd let on. "We'll keep an eye on him."
Su Zhengyuan sat back down, amused and patient. "Youth's noise keeps the world honest. Send him a cup of tea when he returns; let him know he's forgiven."
Chen Yuanqi, who had been quietly tidying maps, rose to gather the scattered pouch contents. Liu Shuhan crouched to help, smiling easy and wide; Zhou Qingrong flicked dust from her sleeve and grinned; Wei Jingyan clapped an already-blushing Lianxiu on the shoulder with an exaggerated wink.
Lianxiu scrambled up, bowing clumsily, pocketing the remaining candy as if that somehow restored his dignity.
Outside, in the courtyard's sunlight, Lianxiu chased the dog once more, still laughing, still breathless — and when he glanced toward the hall's doorway, his smile dimmed for a fraction of a beat as he watched Ling Xiuyuan's silhouette disappear down the path.