The snow had not melted by dawn. Thin frost still veiled the courtyards, making every roof tile shimmer like silver. The mountain air was sharp enough to bite, yet inside the disciple quarters, a faint warmth lingered — from teapots, from half-slept breaths, from hearts that hadn't quite settled after the night before.
Shen Lianxiu woke late. His body ached, yet it wasn't pain that startled him awake — it was memory.The warmth of a thick cloak draped around his shoulders.The sound of Ling Xiuyuan's quiet voice in the snow.And that line, spoken before he could even think to stop himself:
"You did not."
Lianxiu pressed his palms against his face. "He really said that," he whispered into his blanket, voice half-muffled, half-delighted. His ears felt hot even though the room was cold.
Across the room, Roulan stirred first. "You're awake." She was pale, still sniffling from the cold night but smiling faintly.
From the next mat, Nie Xiaohuan raised his head, hair loose, eyes still sleepy but heavy with reproach. "You look fine — like a scarecrow beaten by thunder," he muttered. "Don't make me bandage you again."
"Aw, come on, Xiaohuan," Lianxiu laughed, leaning over. "You're still mad?"
"I'm—" Xiaohuan hesitated, then sighed, rubbing his temple. "Just don't do something that stupid again."
Lianxiu gave a salute, entirely unserious. "Aye, my sweet buddy!"
Roulan chuckled, shaking her head. The three shared breakfast together — simple porridge, laughter threading faintly through the quiet morning air.
But when training resumed later that day, everything felt different.
The sun climbed high, and the clang of blades echoed across the training ground. Ling Xiuyuan was back to his composed, distant self — his movements precise as frost on steel, his expression unreadable. The seven senior disciples sparred together under the supervision of Masters Pei Yunsheng and Yue Lan.
Lianxiu trained at the lower ground, repeating sword forms until sweat ran down his neck. Every time Xiuyuan walked past, he straightened his back, jaw set, as though sheer determination might be enough to earn even one approving glance.
But Xiuyuan never looked.Or if he did, his gaze passed through him — cool and brief, like a winter wind.
Still, Lianxiu smiled. He'll see me one day, he told himself. He'll see that I'm not just a troublemaker.
He swung his sword faster.
Later that afternoon, the masters gathered by the steps of the main hall. Pei Yunsheng held his folding fan open, shading himself from the pale sunlight, while Yue Lan stood beside him, calm and unreadable. Wei Jingyan and Zhou Qingrong had joined them for discussion — their posture relaxed but voices respectful.
That was when Lianxiu appeared, dragging Xiaohuan and Roulan along by their sleeves. "Masters!" he called, nearly tripping as he reached the steps. "We came to thank you for forgiving our punishment last night!"
Later that afternoon, the masters gathered by the steps of the main hall. Pei Yunsheng held his folding fan open, shading himself from the pale sunlight, while Yue Lan stood beside him, calm and unreadable. Wei Jingyan and Zhou Qingrong had joined them for discussion — their posture relaxed but voices respectful.
That was when Lianxiu appeared, dragging Xiaohuan and Roulan along by their sleeves. "Shizun! Shizun!" he called, nearly tripping as he reached the steps. "We came to thank you for forgiving our punishment last night!"
Pei Yunsheng smiled behind his fan. "Oh? So you can speak politely after all."
Lianxiu bowed, grin bright. "I'm very polite!"
Roulan nudged him, whispering, "Bow properly, idiot."
Yue Lan inclined her head slightly. "We only forgave you because you seemed sincere."
Wei Jingyan, who'd been idly turning a pebble between his fingers, looked up lazily. "Sincere, yes… but you do know why they forgave you, right?"
Lianxiu blinked, confused. "Because I was—"
Wei Jingyan interrupted, tone soft, almost careless.
"Because Ling Shixiong went to them himself and asked for your punishment to be lifted."
The words were quiet. But they struck like a bell.
Silence followed. Even the wind seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
Lianxiu froze where he stood, his mouth half-open, eyes widening with disbelief."Shixiong… did what?" he whispered.
Roulan gasped softly. Xiaohuan's brows lifted, glancing toward where Xiuyuan stood a little distance away, speaking to Han Yuejian.
Pei Yunsheng gave a faint, knowing chuckle. "Seems our Ling Xiuyuan has a soft spot for troublesome juniors after all."
Yue Lan's gaze flicked toward Xiuyuan briefly, then back at Lianxiu. "Be grateful, not noisy," she said, though her tone wasn't harsh.
Lianxiu nodded dumbly, still stunned, his mind replaying that sentence again and again.
He went to the masters… for me?
He turned slightly, eyes searching the training field.
Xiuyuan stood there — distant as always, the wind tugging gently at his robe sleeves, expression calm and unreadable.
But now, when Lianxiu looked at him, he didn't see only the cold, unreachable senior.
He saw the man who had draped a cloak around his shoulders in the snow, tended his wounds in silence, and — without being asked — spoken for him when he couldn't speak for himself.
Something warm sparked beneath the laughter in Lianxiu's heart.
Not love yet.
But a quiet, glowing admiration — fierce enough to melt even the frost of Jingshou Peak.
...
The moon hung low above Jingshou Peak, its light broken by the rippling stream. Mist drifted along the water's edge, softening stone and shadow alike. Ling Xiuyuan sat half-submerged in the current, bare to the waist, his hair loose and dark against the silver light. Steam rose faintly from his skin.
He had sensed it long ago — the faint rustle behind the rocks, the quietest breath trying to keep pace with the wind.
With a tired sigh, he said, without turning,"Shen Lianxiu. Will you get out now?"
For a moment, silence. Only the chirping of crickets. Then came a small splash, followed by a sheepish voice.
"…Ah."
Lianxiu appeared from behind the boulders, scratching his head with a grin that was far too bright for the hour. "Shixiong, you really noticed?"
Xiuyuan opened his eyes, gaze steady and unimpressed. "You've been standing there since I sat down."
"I was… watching the mountains," Lianxiu said, trying to sound serious.
Xiuyuan raised a brow. "At midnight?"
"Yes, Shixiong," he answered earnestly.
Xiuyuan exhaled, closing his eyes again. "Then watch them somewhere else."
But Lianxiu, of course, didn't. He trudged closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. "To be honest," he confessed, "I was worried those perverts might do something to you. They were talking earlier—about sneaking to the stream and watching you bathe. So I thought I'd better stay guard."
There was nothing but the sound of running water for a long time. Then Xiuyuan said quietly, "...I can protect myself``. I didn't ask for a spy."
Lianxiu's mouth fell open. "I wasn't spying."
He pouted, indignant, and wandered toward where Xiuyuan's outer robes and sword rested neatly folded upon a stone. He crouched beside them, curiosity lighting his face. The sword gleamed pale in the moonlight, cold and flawless.
"What a beautiful sword," he murmured, fingers hovering before he let them brush against the scabbard. "So well balanced... I've never seen one made like this."
Xiuyuan's eyes opened at once, voice low and calm:"Don't touch it."
"Why, Shixiong?" Lianxiu asked, glancing back with that unguarded smile. "I'm only looking. Just seeing how good it is built."
When the night grew quieter, Ling Xiuyuan finally rose from the stream. Water slid down his shoulders in silver threads, tracing the hard lines of his back before falling soundlessly into the current. He reached the shore without haste, droplets still clinging to his hair.
Shen Lianxiu, still crouched near the stone, had been pretending to study the sword's engravings—but his eyes lifted before he meant them to.
For a moment, his breath caught.
The sight before him was too serene to belong to the mortal world: the cold senior of Jingshou, pale beneath moonlight, the faint mist curling around him like gauze. Every movement was unhurried—Xiuyuan drew his outer robe around his shoulders, the silk darkening where it touched damp skin, his hair falling loose against his collar.
Lianxiu's face went warm; he looked sharply away, ears turning crimson.
Xiuyuan noticed, of course, but said nothing. He simply fastened the inner ties of his robe and reached for the sash, expression calm and distant as always.
"Say, Shixiong," Lianxiu said suddenly, his voice too bright, too casual, "why do you bathe every night in this chill weather?"
For a moment, there was only the wind. Then Xiuyuan replied softly, without looking at him,"No reason. It's peaceful here."
He lifted a hand toward him."Give me my sword."
Lianxiu blinked, still lost somewhere between awe and confusion. When his eyes met Xiuyuan's again, he was struck by how utterly composed the man looked—the quiet grace in the slope of his shoulders, the faint sheen of water still glimmering along his throat. It wasn't the beauty of perfection that silenced him, but the kind that carried years of grief, restraint, and stillness.
He thought, helplessly, that there was nothing in this world more beautiful.
"Lianxiu," Xiuyuan said again, his voice calm but firmer this time.
Still, Lianxiu did not move.
So Xiuyuan stepped closer, extending his hand to take the sword from him. Their fingers nearly brushed—until Lianxiu's own hand lifted without thinking, closing around Xiuyuan's wrist.
The world stilled.
The stream murmured on, indifferent, while moonlight trembled across the surface of the water. Xiuyuan's gaze lowered to the hand holding his. His face revealed nothing—neither surprise nor anger, only quiet, unreadable calm.
Realization struck Lianxiu a heartbeat later. He flinched, releasing him as if burned.
"I— I didn't mean—" he stammered, coughing lightly to hide his embarrassment. Then, with both hands, he offered the sword back, head bowed low.
Xiuyuan accepted it in silence.
The water sang quietly between them, as though nothing had happened at all.