Arriving back at his residence, Hei Long felt a rare flicker of satisfaction.
His timing couldn't have been better.
Just a few steps ahead, Ji Yao was stepping out of her own quiet courtyard.
Her long robes rustled softly in the breeze, and the golden light of the late afternoon framed her figure with an almost ethereal glow.
Hei Long raised a hand casually. "Yo."
His tone was relaxed, deliberately informal—but sharp enough to cut through the stillness.
Ji Yao's steps slowed.
Her expression remained composed, calm… but her eyes widened just slightly, betraying the faint surprise—and, buried beneath that, something warmer.
Despite her outward indifference, she was glad to see him.
Ever since Hei Long had saved her life, Ji Yao had found herself thinking of him far more often than she liked to admit.
He had stayed in her mind like a lingering note of a song, like warmth in winter that refused to fade.
