With tender silence, both Lànhuā and Xio kept walking.
Their boots echoed softly against the stone, filling the corridor with a rhythm almost too steady for the weight they carried. Her heart pressed with worry and ache, his with the heaviness of unspoken truths. Yet Xio—ever the one who could fix a moment—hid it all beneath his playful coldness, an image he showed to the world but never to her.
Abruptly, he stopped. Lànhuā bumped her forehead against the back of his head, startled. He nearly laughed but bit it back, mischief already tugging at his lips. Whatever shadows haunted her gaze, he knew teasing would pull her out.
"Ow—why stop like a spooked horse?" she scolded, rubbing her brow. Still, her tone slipped into fondness, and the hollow in her pale blue eyes flickered away. "Come on. You've still got to eat after the shower."
Xio pressed his hand dramatically to his head, pouting. "I'll shower by myself. A woman inside the washroom with a man? You want Uncle to kill me? No, right? So—you'll wait outside. Just help with my bandages after."
"But, Xian Xio, you're—"
"No, no. No buts, Miss Xuě. Lànhuā." His tone was firm but gentle. He could feel her mood slipping again, so he leaned down and poked her cheek, catching the blush that warmed it. One of her eyes snapped shut in irritation. She looked like a sulking little sister—too cute to resist.
"Got it??" he repeated, softer this time, like coaxing a child.
She sighed, her eyes betraying her stubborn wish to care for him. "F…fine. Do as you want. I'll go back to Dad."
But suddenly, his palm cupped her head, holding it as though it were fragile glass. She gasped, her eyes widening. His grin curved sharp and teasing. "Ah ah ahh~ not so fast, little rabbit Lànhuā."
Her breath caught. "X…Xio!" she huffed, gripping his wrist.
He chuckled faintly through his nose, wetting his lips before whispering, "If you don't smile while you wait, I'll ruin that pretty hairstyle I gave you. Then you'll look like a monkey~"
Her hands flew up to protect her hair. "No! Never! I liked it! And I didn't even learn the tutorial from you yet!"
"Then stay here," he sighed, softer now, lifting his towel. "And keep my food ready. Breakfast, lunch—whatever. You didn't let me eat because of this stupid shower."
She gave him a look equal parts annoyed and fond. "Fine. I'll wait here—with your food. But call me if you need anything. Understood?"
"Yes, madam Xuě," he said with a mock bow, eyes glittering. "As you command~"
Her chuckle broke free despite herself. Others might see only his mischief, but Lànhuā saw the loyalty, the care, the silent language of his eyes. To her, that was worth more than gold.
The door closed behind him.
Inside, Xio leaned against it, shoulders sagging. His hand found the ruby pendant at his throat—the one Yuzai had given him long ago. Whenever he felt hollow, he held it.
"I still wasn't able to find them..yuzai... I'm sorry. But I'll keep going until that day."
The words fell like a vow. He pressed the gem to his forehead, then to his lips, just as Yuzai once kissed his eyes in an unspoken code. A tender ritual, repeated even now.
As the pendant dropped back to his chest, his fingers drifted to the faint bite marks on his neck. Kuradome. Kirihito. Yǐngluò. Each scar a memory. His body was no longer his own—it was a canvas etched with others' hands.
Still, a quiet smile tugged his lips as he thought of Lànhuā's stubbornness… and Kirihito's too. He could still see the snake parting its mouth to bite, no matter how many times he told him not to. Somehow, Xio had tamed him, at least a little.
"Ah… stubborn people always have the best hearts. Too sweet to forget." The words slipped out without thought.
He stripped down carefully, wincing as cloth scraped wounds. Lowering himself into the cold tub, the water seared him like knives. His hiss cut the silence. "God… maybe skipping the shower was the best decision." But beneath the sting, relief lingered.
It felt as if spices had been rubbed into torn flesh. He inhaled sharply, letting the sunlight fall across the marble floor, tracing every jagged edge of his wounds. The blood had dried to black, brittle shards, hard as stone. Ugly. Dead. He was thankful Lànhuā had not seen it—she might have fainted.
A low sigh escaped him, weighted with the memory of risk. The gamble he had taken against Kyoren pressed on his chest like iron. He had nearly died—but his Kagetsu Jutsu had held, turning Kuradome's own attack back against him, and he had slipped through by a thread thinner than a spider's silk.
"That Kyoren… only a perfect mask for his father, but to me, pure chaos." His lips curved in a humorless shadow of a smile. Then softer, to himself: "Or maybe the chaos is mine. Stained by demonic cultivation, untethered to any single place… all gray, all in-between."
He turned toward the window. Golden sunlight spilled across his pale skin, brushing over the raw marks that told a thousand stories. His dark gray eyes, in the light, washed to the color of storm clouds before rain. The bites on his neck, the bruises along his arms, all spoke of Kirihito's untamed venom, Kuradome's wrath, and now a new wound—fresh, searing—left by Yǐngluò.
Each scar, each bruise, each burn was etched into him like brushstrokes on a vast canvas. His body had become a gallery of memory, painted by every hand that had touched him—pain and love intertwined, bitter and tender, impossible to separate. He pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly.
"Yǐngluò… I will repay you. When I am whole again." His whisper was soft but absolute, a promise carried on the hush of the room.
The chamber exhaled with him. It was no longer cold. It was filled with a quiet warmth, gentle as rain tapping against silk screens, a reminder that even amidst the gray, life—tender, living, fragile—persisted. And his canvas of memories stretched across him, unbroken, waiting.