Morning light filtered through emerald leaves like scattered gold coins, painting Verdant Cloud Sect's stone pathways in dappled warmth. A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of pine and distant jasmine as it ruffled the robes of a tall, strikingly handsome young man who strolled with the languid grace of a predator in no particular hurry.
Bai Mochen, disguised beneath the humble facade of a new disciple, moved through the sect like a shadow given flesh. His dark hair was bound loosely at his nape, strands catching sunlight like spun silk, while his eyes—half-lidded with calculated boredom—missed nothing of his surroundings.
He paused when an amusing scene caught his attention: a slender youth leaping up and down like an energetic sparrow, desperately trying to retrieve something lodged on a pavilion's curved roof tiles.
Mochen's lips curved in a smile sharp as winter's first frost. *Isn't that him?*
He approached with fluid steps, voice smooth as aged wine. "Excuse me... what exactly are you attempting?"
The youth startled violently, spinning around with wide eyes. "Wah—! You frightened me!"
He blinked at Mochen while brushing disheveled strands from flushed cheeks, looking for all the world like a startled deer. "Oh, I haven't seen you before. Are you new to our sect?"
Mochen tilted his head with feigned curiosity, tone gentle as silk hiding steel. "I witnessed your performance during the tournament. You were quite... impressive, shixiong."
Chen Xinyu rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassment painting his features in shades of rose. "Haha... thank you. I merely gave my best effort."
*So refreshingly simple,* Mochen mused with internal amusement. *I expected someone more... complex.*
Aloud, he asked with practiced innocence, "What's your name, shixiong?"
"Chen Xinyu. Pleasure to meet you."
Mochen's smile could have melted winter ice. "I'm Bai Mochen. Shall we be friends?"
Xinyu blinked in surprise. "That's... rather sudden." But faced with Mochen's hopeful expression—so carefully crafted to appear earnest—he relented with characteristic kindness. "Alright then."
"Might I call you Yu-ge?" Mochen's eyes glinted with hidden mischief. "I've never had an older brother before."
"Yu-ge?!" Xinyu froze, the intimate address sending heat rushing to his cheeks. Yet under Mochen's seemingly sincere gaze, he found himself nodding reluctantly. "I... suppose that's acceptable."
Their conversation flowed with suspiciously natural ease, as if they'd known each other for years rather than mere moments. Just as they turned a corner, Shen Yao's voice rang out across the courtyard.
"Aiya! Our little Xinyu is already up and causing mischief again?"
His gaze settled on Mochen with curious appraisal. "And who might this elegant gentleman be?"
Mochen offered a perfectly calibrated bow. "Bai Mochen. The pleasure is mine."
Shen Yao grinned with obvious approval. "Well-mannered indeed! Xinyu, you didn't mention acquiring such a handsome new friend."
"Nonsense!" Xinyu protested hotly. "We literally just met!"
---
Later, the unlikely pair made their way to the training grounds, where Mochen deliberately fumbled with his sword like a novice actor overplaying his role.
"Yu-ge," he sighed with theatrical frustration, "I'm hopeless with blades. Could you perhaps... teach me?"
Xinyu, ever willing to help those in need, stepped forward without hesitation. "Of course! See, you must grip it like this..."
He gently adjusted Mochen's hold, their hands touching in what appeared to be innocent instruction. Mochen watched Xinyu more intently than the weapon itself, drinking in every animated expression, every earnest gesture.
"Your stance should be grounded—here, like this..." Xinyu's hand found Mochen's waist, guiding his posture with unconscious intimacy. "There! Perfect!"
For a moment, something flickered behind Mochen's carefully constructed mask. "Ah... understood. Thank you, Yu-ge."
When Xinyu mentioned visiting the back mountain to check on his spiritual beast, Mochen's response came swiftly.
"Take me with you? Please?"
And so they walked together toward the secluded hot springs, though Xinyu could hardly summon Lingque with a stranger present. Instead, he simply said, "I think I'll bathe for a while."
Steam rose from the natural pools like incense offered to heaven as both young men disrobed. Xinyu's long hair cascaded over bare shoulders, his skin pale as moonlight against dark stone and crystalline water. Mochen settled at the pool's opposite end, eyes hooded in apparent relaxation—but watching with predatory intensity.
To his genuine surprise, Xinyu's expression suddenly contorted in agony.
"Ugh..." The youth pressed trembling fingers to his neck, breathing shallow and labored. A ghostly mark flared to life on his skin—just below the nape, glowing with otherworldly fire.
Mochen's carefully maintained composure cracked. *That's—!*
"Yu-ge? What's wrong?"
Xinyu doubled over as pain wracked his frame, cold sweat beading like scattered pearls across his skin.
Without conscious thought, Mochen splashed across the pool, catching the collapsing youth before he could drown. He cradled Xinyu against his chest, hands glowing with subtle spiritual energy as he cast a quick stabilization spell.
The mark on Xinyu's neck pulsed with ominous light.
*The Soul Seal...* Mochen's mind raced. *No wonder Hua Ling watches him like a guardian hawk. This mark—it's from the Soul Box!*
For one treacherous moment, he considered abduction. *If I took him to Uncle now...*
But pragmatism won over impulse. *Too obvious. Everyone here has seen me. I must bide my time.*
He carried Xinyu back through quiet corridors, the unconscious youth cradled bridal-style in his arms, body limp as a broken doll.
At Xinyu's quarters, Lu Rourou appeared like a summoned spirit.
"Yu-ge! What happened? Who are you?"
Mochen's smile was perfectly crafted innocence. "Bai Mochen. Yu-ge felt unwell, so I brought him home. Please care for him well."
"O-of course..." Rourou stammered, momentarily dazzled. *He's incredibly handsome. But who is he?*
As Mochen turned to leave, Lan Xueyao materialized in the corridor like an avenging spirit. She studied the tall stranger with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
Her instincts screamed warnings.
"Who was that man?" she demanded of Rourou.
"Bai Mochen. He carried Yu-ge back—said he'd fainted..."
Lan Xueyao's gaze narrowed to dangerous slits. "There's something... wrong about him."
---
Sandalwood incense drifted through Prince Hua Ling's pavilion like captured ghosts, wreathing the elegant chamber in aromatic veils. The young prince sat by his window, pale robes trailing across polished wood as he sipped tea with mechanical precision, expression unreadable as ancient stone.
A shadow approached with silent footsteps. Qingze knelt in perfect submission.
"Your Highness. Intelligence confirms—Bai Mochen has infiltrated the sect."
Hua Ling didn't raise his gaze from the tea's surface. "Let him play his games."
"But..." Qingze hesitated like a man walking on thin ice. "Young Master, I observed him today—with Chen Xinyu."
The teacup froze halfway to pale lips.
"I followed discretely," Qingze continued carefully. "He spent the entire day with Xinyu. Earlier, I witnessed him carrying the young master back to his quarters. Chen-gongzi was unconscious. Soaked, as if he'd fallen into the springs."
Porcelain met wood with delicate precision, but Hua Ling's knuckles had gone white as winter bones around the cup's rim.
*Had Mochen seen the mark?*
"Bring him to me," Hua Ling commanded, voice soft as falling snow and twice as cold.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Before Qingze could move, the door creaked open. Warm air carried the scent of plum wine as a familiar figure leaned against the doorframe with languid elegance.
"Well, well," Bai Mochen drawled, smile lazy as a hunting cat. "Long time no see, Qingze."
The retainer stiffened like a struck gong.
Mochen strolled forward with hands tucked in his sleeves, eyes bright with barely contained amusement. "No need for formal summons. I was already planning to pay my respects."
He entered as if the pavilion belonged to him, casual arrogance worn like expensive silk.
Hua Ling's gaze turned glacial. "Still shameless as ever."
Mochen offered an exaggerated bow, mockery dancing in every gesture. "Your Highness remains unchanged—cold as mountain peaks in winter. How you wound this humble heart."
"Spare me the theatrics." Hua Ling rose like winter storm given form, eyes sharp as unsheathed blades. "Why are you here?"
Mochen shrugged with infuriating nonchalance. "Nothing dramatic. Simply passing through. Making new... friends."
Hua Ling's disbelief hung in the air like morning frost.
The tension between them stretched taut as a bowstring ready to snap.
Then Mochen's smile turned poisonous. "I met Yu-ge today."
Something indefinable flickered across Hua Ling's marble features.
"Oh yes," Mochen continued with false thoughtfulness, "your precious little attendant. Or should I say... something more intimate? I can see why you keep him so close."
Motion blurred faster than lightning. Hua Ling's hand shot out, seizing Mochen's collar and slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the entire pavilion.
The impact echoed like thunder in the suddenly stifling chamber.
"Watch your tongue," Hua Ling snarled, each word dripping lethal intent.
Mochen's smirk never wavered. "Why so tense? We merely practiced swordwork together. Bathed as well, if you must know every detail."
The temperature plummeted. Hua Ling's pupils contracted to needle points while spiritual energy flared around him like crimson flames, deadly power bleeding into his gaze.
"Leave," he commanded, voice trembling with barely restrained murder. "Whatever scheme you're plotting—he has no part in it."
Mochen tilted his head, eyes gleaming with quiet triumph. "Doesn't he? It appears you're the one who's become... overly invested, Your Highness."
The moment cracked like breaking ice.
Hua Ling released him with violent suddenness, stepping back as if Mochen's touch burned. Mochen adjusted his robes with theatrical care, brushing away imaginary dust while his grin widened.
"Such beautiful possessiveness," he murmured, half to himself. "So that's how things stand."
He turned toward the door but paused at the threshold, voice carrying the promise of future storms.
"I'll be seeing you around, Your Highness," he said with a mocking wink. "And Yu-ge as well."
Then he vanished into the corridor like dissipating mist, leaving behind only the cold scent of night air and tension that refused to dissolve.
Hua Ling remained frozen in place, hands clenched into fists, his heart twisted by emotions he refused to acknowledge or name. the secluded inner chambers of the Verdant Cloud Sect, the air was thick with quiet anticipation. A warm summer breeze stirred the white gauze curtains, casting gentle shadows on the figure lying motionless on the bed.
A soft voice broke the silence.
"Look, Yu-ge is awake!"
Rourou's cry stirred everyone into motion. Shen Yao was the first to rush forward, followed by Lan Xueyao, Yan Zheng, and finally Master Zhou, whose brows were deeply furrowed with concern.
Master Zhou sat down beside the bed and placed a steady hand on Xinyu's shoulder.
"Why are you this weak? What happened to you?"
Chen Xinyu slowly sat up, his movements strained, his skin pale as paper. He offered a small, strained smile.
"Shizun… I'm alright. Don't worry yourself."
"You collapsed near the hot spring," Master Zhou said, his tone low and stern. "That young man said you were in pain. Has that happened before?"
There was a pause.
Xinyu looked down, lashes trembling.
"This is… the second time."
Master Zhou's expression darkened. "Qingze!" he called outside. "Bring the sect physician. I want the best one, now!"
"Shizun," Xinyu said hoarsely, "no need to trouble—"
"Why would you say that?" Shen Yao interrupted, frowning deeply. "I've never seen you this weak before. You're not fooling anyone."
Yan Zheng nodded in rare agreement. "You always hide things. This time, don't."
Xueyao, who had been quietly watching him, finally spoke. "By the way… xinyu, that new friend of yours—Bei Mochen or something—are you sure he's alright? He gives me a strange feeling. Like he's… not from around here."
Xinyu blinked in surprise. "No, no. He's not like that. He asked me to teach him a few techniques. That's all. And besides… the flare-up started before I met him. So don't worry, Shijie."
Though unconvinced, Xueyao didn't press further. As the physician hadn't yet arrived, they all gradually filed out to let Xinyu rest.
Alone, Xinyu tried to sit upright. His body ached, but he forced himself to stand. He walked slowly out of the room, bare feet brushing against the smooth wooden floor, and stepped into the quiet corridor bathed in morning light.
The distant sound of birdsong filled the air.
His gaze drifted upward toward the cloud-dappled sky. A fleeting image stirred in his mind: long dark hair like flowing silk, a figure beneath the moon, expression unreadable.
Hua Ling… what is he doing now?
He sighed softly.
"Gongzi!."
Qingze appeared out of nowhere and bowed politely.
"You're awake. That's good. But—His Highness says there's no need for you to return to the pavilion until you're fully healed."
Xinyu blinked.
"Oh. I see…"
Xinyu's chest tightens, but he covers it with a grin. "Hah! Good! Now I don't have to listen to his 'discipline' lectures."* His laugh is too loud. The disappointment lingers like a bruise.
Something inside him trembled faintly. The words were simple, even caring, but somehow they stung.
He really doesn't want to see me?.
Later, the physician arrived and took Xinyu's pulse in silence. Master Zhou remained beside him, his expression unreadable.
"How is he?" the master asked at last.
The physician furrowed his brows and checked again.
"…Strange. His pulse… it's unstable. Not in a way I've seen before. I'll prescribe some medicine, but… he must rest. No cultivation. No stress."
Xinyu lowered his gaze, trying not to let his disappointment show.
So I won't be able to see Lingque for a while.
Elsewhere in the sect, Bei Mochen roamed lazily through the garden paths. Dressed in clean disciple robes, he looked no different from any other youth—save for the subtle glint in his eyes and the effortless elegance of his movements.
He stopped a passing Rourou.
"Excuse me, have you seen Yu-ge?"
"Oh! You mean Xinyu? He likes to sit by the pond near the bridge. You'll find him there."
"Many thanks."
He found Xinyu kneeling in the grass by the water, carefully picking a small cluster of star-shaped flowers. The sunlight filtered through the trees, turning the moment into something nearly ethereal.
Why is he so carefree?
Mochen tilted his head, amused.
"Yu-geeee."
Xinyu startled, jumping up with a blush. "Aiya! You scared me! Oh—it's you, Shidi. What are you doing here?"
Mochen approached, his steps unhurried.
"I was looking for you. You weren't in your room." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You look pale."
Xinyu forced a smile. "I'm fine, really."
Mochen reached forward suddenly and took his wrist. "Your heartbeat is weak."
"Don't worry…" Xinyu mumbled, trying to pull back.
Before he could, he noticed a single flower petal caught in Mochen's hair. He leaned forward instinctively, brushing it away with gentle fingers. Their faces were close for a fleeting moment—too close.
Mochen stared at him in silence.
Xinyu quickly stepped back. "Ah—I didn't mean to get too close."
Mochen smiled faintly, then turned away. "Yu-ge, I have to go. Take care."
"Okay," Xinyu replied, then hesitated. His gaze softened.
"…And thank you. For carrying me back at the mountain."
Mochen paused mid-step.
He didn't turn back, but his voice dropped just slightly—quiet, almost unreadable.
"You remember that?"
Xinyu says "i barely remember it okay then take care".
as he walked away, something tightened in his chest—an unfamiliar feeling, like guilt and something else altogether.
A petal drifted down from his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner.