Dawn had barely brushed the sky when Yujin stood again in the Yeyan Clan's quiet training yard.
Morning breeze tugged at pale robes, stirring half-healed wounds beneath.
Seven days.
Seven dawns since he'd left that hurried note in the Pavilion:
"I'll be back later… don't wait."
Yet "later" had rotted into a week.
And every hour, the scarred man's words curled colder in memory:
"Even lotus roots rot…"
Yujin traced them in thought, searching meaning among the pain.
What would rot? Himself? His resolve?
Or something....someone....he'd only begun to reach for?
Far across Yinshi, red lanterns still swung in the smoky dusk of the Pavilion.
Laughter rose around velvet screens; wine gleamed in porcelain cups.
Yet to Xiao, everything felt thinner, like painted silk cracking beneath wet brush.
He caught himself absently sketching a flute in air ...slim, curved, polished by unseen hands.
Wei Kumsun had played one, they whispered in gutter alleys.
Could I? Would Yujin notice?
Yet pride burned bitter on his tongue:
"He didn't even keep his promise. Why should I care if he sees me or not?"
But truth hid in softer corners of the heart:
"Because I want him to see me... truly see me."
Back in the Clan hall, a junior's voice cut into Yujin's thoughts:
"Lan-Hun… are you certain about returning?"
Yujin's answering smile felt thin, like porcelain painted over cracked clay.
"If we stop moving, shadows catch us faster."
Inside, guilt hissed its answer:
"What if you fail again? What if you drag him deeper into danger?"
Yet silence... not knowing.... was worse.
That night, he packed under silver lamplight: travelling cloak, fresh talismans, the pale sash hidden beneath darker cloth.
By dusk, Yujin stood again at the Pavilion gates.
No Lan lavender moon embroidery marked him now... only common cloth, travel‑dusted at the hem.
He told himself it was to blend in. Yet truth whispered sharper:
"I fear what his eyes will show.... anger? hurt? or something softer I can't name?"
Inside, Xiao spotted him instantly. Yet he kept the smirk, voice curling like smoke over old embers:
"So the Lan flower returns."
"Careful, Xiao," Yujin shot back, mask slipping into place,
"Some flowers have thorns."
Xiao's gaze softened....a crack in painted pride.... before teasing rose again:
"And some thorns… are worth the blood."
At a corner table draped in wine red and silver silk, wine sat untouched between them.
Silence weighed heavier than any words.
Yujin caught himself glancing....not at the painted walls, but at the thin red ribbon still tied at Xiao's wrist.
"Why do I notice? Why does it matter?"
But questions stayed unspoken.
In their place: the slow, shared stillness of two hearts beating too close, yet not enough.
[ End of Chapter 13 ]