Despite her teasing, Song was like a pillar in her life, someone she had never needed to question. She sometimes wondered if he had been born this calm, or if years of polishing had simply worn away everything that could be stirred. She also didn't know what made him act so calm and mature, being 6-7 years older than her right now.
What she liked best, perhaps, was that he never asked more than what she gave.
He didn't pry into her secrets, and he didn't see her like she was fragile.
Because for Song, his world began and ended with her orders, and he was happy to serve. That was all.
That night, as moonlight flooded the dark garden, Ling Yu slipped outside with a blanket and a thermos of hot wine. She leaned against the old plum tree and looked at the stars, eyes following the familiar constellations.
