Chi Ruyan remained on her knees like a fallen deity stripped of divine grace, the floor around her scattered with overturned furniture and fragments of a shattered tea cup. Her hands pressed against cold stone tiles, shoulders trembling with the weight of accumulated failures. Tear tracks had long since carved rivers down her cheeks, but she no longer possessed the strength to wipe them away. She looked utterly defeated—an empress in tatters, weeping over a kingdom that had never been hers to claim.
Then came the sound of boots against stone—unhurried, deliberate, each step measuring eternity. A shadow stretched long across the floor like death's patient approach.
She raised her head slowly, breath catching in her throat.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and sharply dressed in black robes that seemed to swallow light itself. His eyes held frost colder than midwinter's deepest night. His presence was not loud, yet it consumed all air from the room. His expression did not change at the sight of his sister broken before him—but his gaze darkened with something more dangerous than anger.
"...Gege?" Chi Ruyan's voice cracked like thin ice. Her eyes, bloodshot and desperate, latched onto his figure with fragile hope that could shatter at the slightest touch.
Chi Wuwei.
Her blood brother. The man even demons whispered about with cautious wariness. Sharp-featured and ruthless as winter wind, he was known in the Demon Realm not for kindness, but for the surgical precision with which he dismantled his enemies—piece by careful piece, until nothing remained but dust and regret.
He had never raised a hand to Hua Ling, not once—not because he respected the young prince, but because he possessed the patience of serpents. He smiled at banquets, toasted with the court, and buried his envy so deep beneath cultivated indifference that not even his own reflection could glimpse it.
Until now.
Wuwei strode forward and yanked Chi Ruyan up by the wrist with bruising force. His voice was low, but it struck like physical blow.
"Stand up. What purpose do your tears serve?"
Chi Ruyan bit her lip until she tasted copper, wiping tears with trembling hands. She avoided his gaze like a child caught in unforgivable disgrace.
Wuwei released her, his tone sharpening to blade's edge. "You disgrace yourself. Always chasing after him like a tethered spirit, and for what return? Do you truly believe this pathetic display will earn his attention?"
Ruyan flinched as if struck.
He stepped back, smoothing the sleeves of his outer robe with deliberate calm. "I told you once: if you desire the Demon Throne, you must bear its heir. But you cannot even stand straight before a man who refuses to acknowledge your existence."
"I—I didn't mean to fail," she whispered, voice small as dying embers.
"You never mean to. Yet every time I return, you're weaker than before."
There was no cruelty in his voice—only ice. Ice that had frozen over disappointed affection, preserving it like a corpse in eternal winter.
Still, her eyes gleamed again, but this time with something beyond mere sorrow. Wuwei had come. He hadn't abandoned her to her fate. A shred of hope returned, pale but persistent as winter's last flower.
She lowered her head, voice trembling with desperate need. "Gege... will you help me again?"
Wuwei looked down at her with eyes like polished obsidian. "Of course. But this time, Ruyan... don't waste my efforts."
She nodded, clutching his robe as if it were her last anchor in drowning seas. The game, it seemed, was far from over.
---
The town square churned with chaos.
Voices rose sharp as clashing swords, and at the center of this storm, a girl stood with arms crossed and fire blazing in her eyes. Her opponent, red-faced and trembling with impotent rage, jabbed an accusatory finger at her. "You cheated! There's no possible way a girl like you could defeat me at chess!"
"'A girl like me'?" Lu Rourou snorted with magnificent disdain, grabbing the man by his collar and yanking him halfway across the table. "You lost. Admit your defeat and pay what's owed."
The crowd murmured with delicious scandal. A few snickered behind raised hands.
Just as Rourou raised her fist to settle matters the old-fashioned way, a hand seized her by the back of her collar and extracted her from the circle. She twisted violently, fury painting her features. "Who dares—?"
But when she saw her captor, she froze like a rabbit before a tiger.
Her eyes widened. Her entire face lit up like spring thaw after endless winter. "Yu-ge?! You're alive!"
Chen Xinyu smiled with gentle warmth. "It's me."
She allowed him to pull her aside without further protest. Like a cat plucked from battle, she purred instantly. "Yu-geeee, I missed you terribly! You won't believe the trials I've endured!"
Xinyu turned to the man still sulking behind his chessboard. "Sir, please. She won fairly. Let's settle this matter peacefully."
The man sneered with ugly satisfaction. "Who are you, pretty boy? Her lover?"
Before the insult could fully form, Hua Ling stepped between them with the fluid grace of unsheathed steel. His cold gaze landed on the man like winter frost. There was no anger in those dark eyes—only a stillness that hinted at depths of violence beyond mortal comprehension. The man went pale as death. His lips quivered, and he fumbled a pouch of silver onto the table before fleeing into the crowd without another word of protest.
Hua Ling turned to Xinyu with glacial composure. "Don't involve yourself in every petty dispute."
Xinyu frowned with stubborn loyalty. "That's Rourou. Of course I would defend her."
Hua Ling said nothing, merely turned on his heel and walked away with robes flowing like captured night.
Behind them, Mochen chuckled with lazy amusement, hands tucked behind his head. "Rou'er, you're truly remarkable. I suspect you would've knocked that man unconscious yourself."
Rourou grinned with unrepentant pride. "Obviously."
Xinyu grabbed her ear with brotherly exasperation. "Why are you picking fights instead of searching for the cave?"
"Ow, ow—stop, Chen Xinyu!"
"Don't address me so informally."
Rourou rubbed her abused ear and turned to notice the girl with delicate features standing quietly behind Xinyu. Her eyes widened again with curious delight. "Yu-ge, who is this? She's absolutely beautiful!"
Lingque blinked, toy still clutched in hand. She studied Rourou as if examining an odd new species.
Before Xinyu could explain, Rourou gasped with scandalized excitement. "Don't tell me—you've already acquired a lover?"
Xinyu nearly choked on air. "She's my new sister."
Mochen interjected perhaps too quickly: "Yes. She's definitely not his lover."
A flicker of jealousy darkened his gaze like storm clouds gathering.
Xinyu tapped Rourou lightly on the head with fond exasperation. "Now, tell me—where are the others?"
"Oh right! Yan Zheng's been worried sick over you. Come, come—I'll take you before he collapses from anxiety."
She glanced around with obvious purpose. "Where's His Highness? I miss admiring his pretty face."
She grabbed Lingque's arm with immediate friendliness. "Hey, jiejie, let's be friends!"
Lingque blinked again, somewhat bewildered. "Alright... young girl."
Xinyu looked around and spotted Hua Ling standing at a vendor's stall, staring at hairpins carved from green jade and gold filigree with unusual focus. The shopkeeper babbled enthusiastically, but the prince didn't seem to hear a single word.
People were watching him. A girl tripped while staring, nearly falling into a fountain. Another whispered to her friend with dreamy sigh, "Who is he? I've never seen someone so—so..."
"Like a pearl among stones," the other breathed. "I'd marry him in a heartbeat."
Xinyu overheard them and rolled his eyes, but in truth, he agreed completely. There was something unreal about Hua Ling, something that transcended mortal beauty and touched upon the divine.
He tugged at the prince's sleeve with gentle insistence. "Dianxia, what captures your attention?"
Hua Ling turned with fluid grace. "Hairpins."
His gaze lingered on one in particular—simple, carved with the motif of plum blossoms in delicate relief. His voice softened with rare vulnerability. "My mother wore one like this."
For one precious moment, the cold mask slipped, and those almond eyes looked warm enough to melt winter snow.
Xinyu, caught in that unexpected gaze, stammered like a fool. "W-we should return to the group..."
---
They walked through the town as sky turned to dusk, painting everything in shades of amber and rose. They found the others just as the first stars began their evening vigil.
Yan Zheng and Shen Yao rushed toward Xinyu, voices overlapping in relieved chaos.
"You complete idiot—we've been worried to death!" Shen Yao struck him lightly with his fan.
Yan Zheng grabbed his shoulders with desperate urgency. "Are you injured?"
Xinyu shook his head, smiling with genuine warmth. "I'm perfectly fine."
Qingze approached Hua Ling with respectful bow. "Young Master."
"Mm."
---
They gathered at a grand inn that night, one of the largest establishments in town. Inside, the air hung thick with perfume and wine, laughter and music weaving together like silk threads. A guqin player sat on stage, her slender fingers coaxing sorrow and longing from strings—hauntingly beautiful as moonlight on water.
At one table sat Xinyu, Mochen, Lingque, Rourou, Shen Yao, Lan Xueyao, and Yan Zheng—a constellation of youth and chaos. At another, Hua Ling and Qingze dined quietly, distant but watchful as guardian spirits.
Rourou piled her plate high, eating with the enthusiasm of a starved wolf. Lingque elbowed her with divine disapproval. "Slow down. Are you a pig?"
"She's perpetually like this," Lan Xueyao sighed with sisterly resignation.
Shen Yao flipped his fan open with theatrical flair. "She should learn elegance—from me, naturally."
Xinyu snorted with undisguised amusement. "We're discussing women, Shen Yao. Not men."
Yan Zheng shook his head in defeat, unable to control his unruly companions.
Meanwhile, Mochen drank wine like water seeking oblivion. Xinyu frowned with concern. "Shidi, slow down. You'll render yourself unconscious."
Mochen leaned toward him, eyes growing hazy with intoxication. "Yu'ge... stop being so unbearably pretty..."
Xinyu clapped a hand over his mouth with scandalized urgency. "Shh!"
Mochen struggled to remove the obstruction. Shen Yao laughed with delighted malice. "Aya... he's thoroughly in love with you, Xiao Yu."
"Don't joke about such matters," Xinyu muttered, cheeks warming. "I'm a man."
"So what?" Shen Yao raised one elegant brow. "Does that change anything?"
Yan Zheng stepped in with diplomatic intervention, waving a hand. "Enough, all of you."
Xinyu took one drink too many and went red in the face like ripe fruit. Mochen passed out entirely and was dragged off to his room by long-suffering companions. Lingque tried to support Xinyu upright with minimal success.
"Tch. What a weakling. How embarrassing."
They made it outside, near the inn's tranquil pond where moonlight shimmered across the surface like broken glass, transforming water into liquid silver.
"Wait here," Lingque commanded. "Don't move a single step. I'll return shortly."
Xinyu nodded, swaying like reed in gentle wind.
Left alone, he looked up at the moon hanging like a pearl in velvet sky. His voice was thick with drink and emotion. "I'm... really angry... really, really angry at someone..."
From the shadows, someone stepped forward like midnight given form. "Xinyu?"
He turned lazily. "Ah... Your Highness..."
He waved, grinning like a fool without care. "Hello, Dianxia..."
Hua Ling stepped closer with careful approach. "Who has earned your anger?"
Xinyu stared into those dark eyes for a long moment that stretched like eternity. "No one..."
He stumbled. Hua Ling caught him with practiced ease.
"Watch your step."
And then Xinyu wrapped his arms around him with drunken boldness.
"Dianxia... why are you always angry with me... I don't want that..."
Hua Ling froze as if turned to stone. His breath caught in his chest.
This fool.
He held him quietly as Xinyu's words faded into incoherent murmurs. The warmth of his breath slowed to peaceful rhythm. And then, with a soft sigh like surrendering to sleep's embrace, he passed out in Hua Ling's arms.
Hua Ling stared at his peaceful face—so different from waking hours, so vulnerable and trusting.
"...Foolish," he whispered, but his voice carried something softer than reproach.
He carried him back to his room with tender care, laid him on the bed as if handling precious porcelain. He pulled the blanket up to cover him properly, brushed a strand of hair from his cheek with fingers that trembled slightly, and stood in silence—watching, protecting, unable to name what bloomed in his chest like winter flowers defying snow.
Then he left without a word, closing the door as softly as falling petals.