The lantern's light quivered between them, swaying gently as the breeze tugged at her sleeve. For an instant, the entire sect—the shattered courtyard, the whispers, the bruised egos—seemed to shrink away, leaving only two figures framed by moonlight and falling petals.
Tian Lei stopped before her. His blade was already sheathed, but the air around him still carried the resonance of battle, like thunderclouds lingering long after the storm. Yue Xin's eyes softened, though the faint tremor in her hands betrayed what she had just witnessed.
"You…" she began, voice hushed, as if afraid it might shatter the silence. "You didn't have to hold back like that. They would have—"
Tian Lei's gaze lingered on the lantern flame, then lifted to her. Calm, steady. "I did not draw my sword to win. I drew it to remind them."
