The first light of dawn crept through the paper windows, pale and silvery. The scent of wine had faded, replaced by the faint chill of morning dew.
Ling Xiuyuan stirred. His head ached slightly, but the heaviness of the night had passed. The robe he wore was half-loosened, his hair unbound over his shoulder — he looked uncharacteristically disheveled, though the quiet calm on his face remained.
He blinked once, then twice.
By the bedside, curled up on the floor, lay Shen Lianxiu.
The boy had fallen asleep sitting up, head resting on his arms. His robe was wrinkled. There was a faint smile on his face, as though his dreams were light and harmless.
For a long while, Xiuyuan simply looked at him.
It struck him how rare such peace was — in this sect full of ambitions, responsibilities, and rules, here sat a boy who could fall asleep in the middle of the night after worrying over someone else's well-being.
A small, unguarded laugh escaped him. "Foolish…" he murmured, his voice quiet and almost fond.
He rose carefully, taking care not to wake him, and adjusted his robe properly. Yet when he turned to leave, his gaze fell again on Lianxiu — hair messy, sleeve slipping off one shoulder, faint breath misting in the cold air.
He sighed and reached out almost unconsciously, pulling the blanket from the bed and draping it lightly over Lianxiu's shoulders.
The boy stirred, mumbling incoherently. "Shixiong…?"
Xiuyuan froze. "Sleep," he said softly.
"Mn…" Lianxiu's head lowered again, and within seconds he was lost to dreams once more.
Xiuyuan watched for another moment. A faint warmth pressed at his chest — something unfamiliar, quiet, dangerous.
He told himself it was gratitude. That was all. Gratitude.
And yet, as he turned and stepped toward the door, the faintest trace of a smile lingered on his lips — small, unwilling, but there nonetheless.
Outside, bells rang to welcome the new morning. Another day began on Jingshou Peak, bright and ordinary. But somewhere deep within, something small had shifted — so gently, he didn't even notice it yet.
The morning sun poured down bright and clean, melting away the thin frost on the courtyard stones. Disciples were sweeping the steps, the scent of pine smoke rising from the kitchens.
Shen Lianxiu walked down the path as if the world had suddenly become a far better place. His robe was half-tucked, his hair a little wild, but the grin on his face could have lit the entire mountain.
He hummed under his breath, a tune no one could quite recognize — perhaps something he made up himself. Every few steps he kicked at pebbles, almost skipping. His eyes sparkled like he was carrying a secret the heavens themselves couldn't steal.
Nie Xiaohuan spotted him from across the yard and frowned immediately. "Where were you all night?"
Lianxiu turned, startled — then broke into an enormous smile, cheeks pink. "Me? Oh, nowhere special. Just… helping someone. Heh."
"Helping?" Xiaohuan raised a brow. "Don't tell me you were sneaking around again.
At that, Lianxiu tried to suppress a laugh and failed miserably. He pressed his palm over his mouth, face burning red.
Xiaohuan stared. "What did you do this time?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Lianxiu said too quickly, shaking both hands.
He suddenly paused, remembering the blanket around his shoulders when he'd woken up, the faint scent of Xiuyuan's robe still clinging to him. His face flared crimson.
Xiaohuan stared for a long moment, then sighed deeply. "You look like a lovesick fool."
"Maybe I am," Lianxiu replied cheerfully, utterly unashamed. He spun once on his heel, laughing.
"He even covered me with a blanket! Do you know what that means?"
"It means," Xiaohuan said flatly, "he didn't want you to catch a cold and become my problem later."
But Lianxiu was too far gone to listen. He clasped his hands behind his back, eyes bright. "He's so kind, Xiaohuan. Even when he scolds me, he sounds gentle. And last night—he actually listened to me! He didn't push me away this time!"
"Uh-huh," Xiaohuan muttered, rubbing his temple.
"Do you think," Lianxiu whispered dreamily, "that maybe—just maybe—he likes me back?"
"I think," Xiaohuan said, "that you should eat breakfast before you faint from happiness."
Lianxiu only laughed harder. "Breakfast! Right! Maybe I'll bring some for him too!"
"Please don't," Xiaohuan groaned, but it was too late — Lianxiu was already half-running down the corridor, humming that same ridiculous tune, robe fluttering like a banner of pure joy.
From a distance, Roulan called, "What's wrong with him?"
"Love," Xiaohuan answered grimly. "The deadliest form of poison."
"Oh I'm not surprised. He said he always wanted one. I am happy for him." Roulan shrugged with a wide excited smile, "But he should have told me first." She pouted.
Xioahuan sighed.
Ling Xiuyuan sat by the window of his quarters, a book open before him and a cup of tea long gone cold. The morning light spilled across the floorboards, the faint chatter of disciples drifting up from the training yard.
His temples throbbed faintly — a reminder of last night's celebration and the wine that, against his better judgment, he hadn't refused often enough. He rubbed his brow and exhaled softly.
The knock came before he could close his eyes for even a moment.
"Shixiong! Are you awake?"
That voice — unmistakable.
Xiuyuan's eyelids fluttered. "...Shen Lianxiu," he murmured to himself, half-resigned, half-amused.
The door slid open a crack before he could answer, and there the boy stood — bright-eyed, flushed with the chill air, holding a tray piled high with food. Steam curled up from bowls of congee, dumplings, and a small dish of pickled radish.
"I brought breakfast!" Lianxiu announced proudly, stepping inside as though he'd been invited. "You must be tired from all that drinking yesterday, right? So I thought—well, I thought you might have skipped breakfast. You did skip breakfast, didn't you?"
Xiuyuan blinked, momentarily speechless. "…You barged into my room to interrogate me over breakfast?"
"No, no, no!" Lianxiu laughed nervously. "I barged in to help! See, I even got your favorite congee!"
He set the tray down on the table with care — though half the dumplings nearly rolled off in his enthusiasm.
Xiuyuan stared at the steaming bowls, then at the boy standing before him, cheeks flushed pink, hair still messy from sleep. "Who told you my favorite congee?"
Lianxiu froze. "...I might have asked Wei shixiong. And maybe Hna shixiong. And maybe the cook."
A sigh escaped Xiuyuan — quiet, but not unkind. "You didn't have to trouble yourself."
"I wanted to!" Lianxiu replied immediately, too earnest for his own good. "You always look after everyone else, Shixiong. So someone should look after you too."
For a moment, the room fell still. The only sound was the soft clink of porcelain and the distant wind chimes.
Xiuyuan looked down, hiding the faint warmth rising to his cheeks. "…You're far too talkative in the morning."
Lianxiu grinned, taking that as approval. "Then I'll be quiet while you eat." He sat cross-legged by the door, chin propped on his hands, watching with unconcealed delight as Xiuyuan reluctantly took a bite.
When Xiuyuan looked up again, intending to scold him for staring, he saw the boy's expression — that wide, radiant smile that carried no pretense, only pure happiness that he was there, eating, alive, before him.
Something in Xiuyuan's chest loosened.
"You're impossible," he muttered.
Lianxiu's grin widened even more. "But effective?"
"…Eat your own breakfast before I throw you out."
"Yes, Shixiong!" Lianxiu chirped, already reaching for a dumpling from Xiuyuan's plate.
This time, Xiuyuan didn't stop him.