Winter mist wrapped the Pavilion roofs, softening lantern light into red haze.
At his usual table, Yujin sat silent, fingertips damp from tea gone cold.
Across from him, Xiao poured another cup — though neither truly drank.
"You look worse than before," Xiao said lightly, though worry pricked his voice.
"Didn't catch your ghost?"
Yujin's eyes flicked up, weary. "It's not just a ghost. Someone's stirring old grudges — the sort that killed better men than me."
"And yet," Xiao teased, trying to soften the air, "here you are, drinking bad wine with me instead of hiding behind your clan walls."
"Lan don't hide," Yujin murmured — then paused.
"…At least, we shouldn't."
Outside, a shape drifted past the Pavilion gate: grey robes, hidden blade, patient eyes.
Watching. Counting every time Yujin came here.
And each time, noting Xiao's name.
"The courtesan is the weakness," the watcher recorded.
"Strike the wound, and the blade enters easier."
Inside, the musicians changed tune; low flute notes curled between silence.
Xiao traced a pattern on the table lacquer: a single lotus petal.
"You never said why you keep coming," he said, voice low enough the words barely reached Yujin.
"I don't owe you an answer," Yujin shot back — too quickly, too sharp.
But Xiao only tilted his head, black hair slipping forward, and smiled: "Then don't answer. Just sit here."
Yujin did.
And in that quiet, the truth burned his chest: I can't stay away.
And I can't watch him stay trapped, either.
Later that night, Yujin walked Xiao back to his small upper room.
On the stairs, Xiao stumbled — half real, half teasing — and Yujin's hand caught his wrist, grip firm.
For a breath, they stood too close: Xiao's hair brushing Yujin's shoulder, breath warm at his neck.
"You're too careless," Yujin muttered, voice unsteady.
"And you," Xiao whispered back, "are too gentle for a Lan."
"Don't mistake concern for affection," Yujin warned — but the words trembled, softer than threat.
Xiao's eyes searched his: "And if I do?"
Yujin didn't answer.
That night, alone in his borrowed quarters, Yujin wrote a single line in cramped hand:
"If he is part of this trap — cut him free before the blade turns."
Then burned the note to ash.