Morning – Yuran's Garden
The herb garden was still wet with dew when Hei Long arrived. Yuran was already there, kneeling in the soil, her sleeves tied up, the sunlight catching the tips of her hair.
"You're early," she said without looking up.
"You're late," Hei Long replied, kneeling beside her.
She gave him a faint glare but handed him a pair of gloves. "We're transplanting moonleaf. It's delicate."
They worked side by side in silence for a while. Every so often, Hei Long's hand would brush hers as they reached for the same root, and she didn't pull away. Instead, her fingers lingered just long enough to register warmth before retreating.
At one point, she adjusted his posture, moving behind him, her arms lightly around his shoulders as she guided his hands into the soil. "Gentle," she murmured. "You're holding it like a sword."
He glanced back at her. "And if I am?"
"Then I'll make you unlearn it," she said — but her lips curved.
