The river's song was soft and steady—almost peaceful in its eternal flow. Chen Xinyu shivered as evening breeze cut through his damp robes like invisible blades. Without a word, without ceremony, Mochen removed his outer robe and draped it around Xinyu's trembling shoulders with surprising gentleness.
"Thank you, Shidi," Xinyu said quietly, fingers brushing the still-warm fabric.
Mochen settled beside him, expression unreadable as ancient stone. "Yu-ge... thank you. For defending me back there."
"I merely took the side of fairness," Xinyu replied softly, voice carrying the weight of sincerity. "You helped me when no one else could reach me."
The words landed deeper than Mochen had anticipated, striking something in his chest that had long ago calcified into ice. Strange heat bloomed there—unfamiliar, unsettling, dangerously addictive. His gaze fell unbidden to Xinyu's neck where the mark lay hidden beneath silk. He could still remember the taste of skin, the way that body had trembled beneath his lips like wind-touched water.
I want to feel that again...
Suddenly flushed with unwelcome heat, Mochen stood abruptly as if burned.
Xinyu blinked up at him with innocent confusion. "Shidi?"
"I... need to handle something," Mochen muttered, turning away before his expression could betray him further.
He strode to the river's edge with purposeful steps, pulled off his boots, and stepped into water so cold it stole breath. The icy current bit into his skin, grounding him back to earth.
What's wrong with me...? His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged beast. Why do I desire him like this?
---
The forest path narrowed into a winding trail thick with pine scent and moss perfume. The sun hung low behind scattered clouds like a dying ember, casting long shadows that transformed trees into reaching giants.
Xinyu's steps grew increasingly unsteady. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead like scattered pearls, and even his breathing came labored—each inhalation rattling faintly in his chest like autumn leaves.
"Yu-ge," Mochen said softly from behind, voice carrying genuine concern, "you cannot continue walking like this. Allow me to carry you."
Xinyu hesitated, but the bone-deep ache in his limbs left no room for wounded pride. "...Alright."
Mochen crouched without another word. Xinyu climbed onto his back—hesitant, awkward as a fawn learning to walk—and Mochen lifted him effortlessly as though he weighed nothing more than morning mist.
Ahead, Hua Ling turned at the sound. He said nothing, merely cast a glance cold as winter's first frost before striding forward without waiting.
They continued through the forest in silence profound as temple meditation until trees began to thin, replaced by cobblestone paths and low walls of whitewashed stone.
They had reached mortal civilization.
The streets thrummed with life—merchants hawking goods beneath colorful awnings, children laughing as they darted through narrow alleys like schools of fish. Lingque's eyes went wide as a child's at festival time. Her steps slowed, then broke into aimless wandering as she marveled at everything: the intoxicating smell of fried buns, the glitter of trinkets catching sunlight, a fortune-teller rattling a bamboo cup full of red sticks that promised fate's secrets.
As Mochen set Xinyu down with careful gentleness, the boy stumbled slightly but caught his balance.
"Thank you, Shidi," Xinyu said with a tired smile that could still melt winter ice.
Mochen gave a small nod, but his gaze lingered on Xinyu's back with faint trace of reluctance—as if separating from that warmth cost him something precious.
Before either could speak further, Lingque tugged at Xinyu's sleeve with childlike excitement. "Look, Xinyu!" she chirped, holding up a wind-up toy bird made of lacquered wood. "Buy it for me!"
Xinyu frowned with practiced patience. "That's far too expensive. No."
Lingque jiggled his arm with shameless persistence. "Please, please, please!"
Hua Ling approached at that precise moment. "What is the price?"
The vendor—an older woman with sharp eyes honed by years of reading faces—took one look at him and beamed like sunrise breaking. "Ten taels normally, but... oh my, young master is so extraordinarily handsome. For you, five taels only!"
Xinyu laughed despite his exhaustion. "See, Your Highness? Even your face earns merchant discounts."
Hua Ling gave him a look sharp enough to shave ice from winter mountains. Without dignifying the comment with response, he paid and turned away with flowing robes.
Lingque cradled her toy like sacred treasure. "His Highness bought this for me. I must treasure it for all eternity."
They moved through the bustling town, past food stalls releasing heavenly aromas and silk merchants displaying rainbow fabrics, through crowds of chattering villagers whose lives knew nothing of cultivation wars or demon realms.
A small crowd had gathered around a raised platform near the town square. A storyteller in grey robes stood on the stage, his long beard swaying as he spoke with sweeping gestures worthy of opera performances.
"The Demon Lord," he announced with theatrical gravitas, "was a man of unmatched grandeur—powerful, victorious in war, loved by heaven itself and feared by all beneath it. He married his beloved and ruled with iron might. But listen well, honored listeners! It is said... that in the early years of the great war, he was inseparable from the revered Master Zhou Yuanzhen. They were comrades, brothers-in-arms... some even whisper they were soulmates. Had he not married, perhaps..."
The crowd erupted in excited whispers. Some scoffed with disbelief, others nodded knowingly as if they'd always suspected.
"That's pure nonsense!" someone declared.
"No, no, I've heard that rumor from multiple sources!"
"But the Demon Lord loves his wife devotedly. They're famous for their deep affection!"
Xinyu's face flushed red with righteous indignation. "What are they saying about Shizun?! That's—!"
Before he could step forward to defend his master's honor, a firm hand grasped his wrist with unyielding strength.
"Dianxia...?" Xinyu faltered.
"Don't be foolish," Hua Ling said coldly, voice brooking no argument. "Don't reveal your identity here."
"I wasn't planning to," Xinyu muttered, though he allowed himself to be pulled back. "I merely wanted to correct their false claims..."
Lingque remained engrossed with her toy, making it flap wooden wings in her palms. Mochen leaned slightly toward Xinyu, speaking just loud enough for nearby ears.
"To think the Demon Lord harbored such feelings... rather surprising, wouldn't you say?"
A shadow fell over him like death's wing.
Hua Ling shot Mochen a glare sharp enough to freeze blood in veins. Mochen closed his mouth with a slight, knowing grin.
---
Not far from there, another group entered the town through different gates.
Lan Xueyao led the way, her sleeves fluttering as she attempted to keep Lu Rourou from darting toward every jewelry stall they passed.
"Shijie, look! That jade bracelet is exquisite—"
"We're here to find someone, not indulge in shopping expeditions!"
Behind them, Yan Zheng and Qingze walked in quiet companionship.
"I hope Xinyu is here," Yan Zheng murmured under his breath, worry creasing his noble features. "I've been concerned."
"He's stronger than appearances suggest," Qingze replied with small smile. "I'm certain he's safe." He glanced sideways, thinking to himself, His Highness is by his side, after all.
Yan Zheng returned the smile—brief, rare as spring rain in winter.
The town buzzed with vibrant life, unaware that two threads—once separate—were about to cross again.
---
The air in the town had grown louder with commerce and conversation. Laughter, bartering, the musical ring of coins against porcelain bowls.
Xinyu walked through crowded streets alongside Lingque, Mochen just behind him like a protective shadow, and Hua Ling further back—silent and watchful as winter's moon. The four of them had drawn more than a few curious stares—one pale youth barely managing to walk, a lively girl with a wind-up bird clutched like treasure, and two men who stood out too sharply to be mere locals.
They turned a corner and were met by the sound of heated argument.
A crowd had formed, half in curiosity, half in entertainment. In the middle stood a young girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen summers, small in stature but radiating energy that could fill entire halls. Her sleeves were rolled up for battle, her chin held high, eyes fierce as untamed fire.
"I won the round fairly!" she shouted with absolute conviction.
The man she glared at—a bulky, red-faced merchant—slammed the chess board with meaty fist. "You little brat! There's no possible way you beat me without cheating. No girl plays chess with such skill!"
The girl seized him by the collar, practically lifting him off his feet despite their size difference. "Give me my money. Now."
Gasps rippled through the onlookers like wind through wheat. A few whispered in amused laughter. One old man clapped with appreciation.
Xinyu blinked at the sight, startled recognition flickering across his features. "Huh... that's—...?" Before he could finish, Mochen interrupted.
Mochen tilted his head with fox-like interest. "Fascinating girl. She can do that as well."
Lingque leaned close to Xinyu's ear, whispering with mischievous delight, "That one reminds me of you when anger takes hold."
"She does not," Xinyu muttered, though his lips twitched with barely suppressed smile.
As for Hua Ling—he glanced once at the scene, then looked away with complete disinterest, as if mortal squabbles were beneath his notice.