After the class was over everyone got dismissed.
Shen Yao was seething.
With a flick of his sleeve, he slammed open the carved wooden door and stormed down the walkway. His breath came out in white wisps. His boots hit the floor too hard for this hour.
He had had enough.
When he reached the small courtyard that belonged to Chen Xinyu, he didn't bother with subtlety. Knock. Knock. Knock. The door rattled under his fists.
"Chen Xinyu! You better open this damn door!"
Silence.
He knocked again, louder this time. "I know you're in there! You missed class again today—Shizun had to make up excuses for you! Everyone's already talking—"
The door swung open with a creak. But there was no one behind it.
Shen Yao stepped inside, heart sinking at the emptiness. Bedding unmade, books untouched. Dust gathered on a half-finished talisman.
His brow furrowed. Then he remembered.
The back of the mountain.
He sprinted down the familiar winding path, the night wind slashing at his robes.
There, amid the ghostly sway of bamboo and the cold mist rising from the ground, Chen Xinyu moved like a shadow among shadows. Sword in hand, he was no longer the sarcastic brat who bickered over steamed buns — now, he looked like a creature carved of obsession. Swing. Pivot. Thrust. Over and over. His breathing was shallow. His eyes empty.
Lingque stood nearby, arms crossed, saying nothing. Her brows were tightly knit.
Shen Yao stopped at the edge of the clearing and shouted, "Chen Xinyu!"
No response.
"Chen Xinyu!"
Still nothing.
Shen Yao stormed forward — and then, in one fluid motion, the tip of a sword gleamed before his throat.
He froze.
Xinyu's gaze locked with his for a second that felt too long. Then, slowly, Xinyu lowered his sword. His shoulders sagged.
"…What is it?"
"What is it? What is it?! You've been drinking, skipping class, disappearing for hours—acting like a lunatic!"
Xinyu exhaled a quiet laugh. "Isn't this what you wanted? Look—I'm training. I'm not slacking anymore. Shouldn't you be proud?"
He spread his arms wide like a performer presenting his final act. "Isn't this better than that spoiled young master you all hated?"
Shen Yao clenched his fists. "You—!"
"No need to worry about me, Shen shixiong," Xinyu added, that old sarcasm curled in the corner of his lips. "After all, I'm not anyone's responsibility."
Shen Yao's face twisted with fury — and something almost like hurt. "You're right. Worrying about a bastard like you is a waste of time."
He turned on his heel and disappeared into the mist.
Xinyu sighed and let his sword fall to the grass.
"…No one can help me."
Lingque said nothing. She had seen it all — the slow crumbling of her companion. She understood now that some griefs had no exit. So she turned and left quietly.
But behind the trees, a shadow lingered. Chi Ruyan watched with narrowed eyes. Her breath didn't fog in the cold. Her presence left no trace. Her gaze followed every movement of Xinyu, memorizing the tremble in his hands, the sadness in his voice. She needed only one weakness.
And she would find it.
When Lingque was gone, she followed silently as Xinyu made his way to the hot spring nestled in the folds of the mountain. He undressed without ceremony, skin marked with bruises and old scars, and entered the water like a ghost sinking beneath the surface.
The steam swirled around him. His breath slowed.
Chi Ruyan crouched in the trees, eyes narrowing. Then — a glow.
Faint. Pale. Emanating from his left shoulder, half-submerged in water. She couldn't see clearly what it was.
A mark? A spell? Something ancient?
But it was important.
She pressed it into memory.
Xinyu returned to his room sometime after. His body was weary, limbs heavy with the ache of effort. He sat on the edge of the bed, still damp, and rested his forehead in his palm.
He remembered Hua Ling.
The way the prince had looked at him that night.
The things he had said, drunk and bitter, and the way he had dragged Hua Ling down into bed with him, as if pain could become comfort if only he held on tight enough.
"I'm an idiot," he muttered. "A complete idiot."
He fell asleep like that.
Later, when his breathing slowed, Chi Ruyan crept in like a shadow given form. Her fingers brushed the collar of his robe aside. And there — just beneath the curve of his neck — was the mark.
A sigil, faintly etched into flesh.
She copied it to her arm and slipped away, lips curling.
In Hua Ling's pavilion, light still glowed beneath the carved lanterns. Books lay open before him, but the words refused to settle. He rested his fingers on his brow, heart beating fast — too fast — like a blade struck from the forge before cooling.
Chen Xinyu.
He hadn't been able to forget the feel of him — the warmth of that sleeping embrace, the way Xinyu had clung to him like a lifeline. He had said his name in a dream. He had murmured things that Hua Ling didn't understand.
But it had left an ache in his chest. One he couldn't soothe.
The night deepened.
Hua Ling stood and walked to Xinyu's room.
He didn't mean to. He just… did.
He knocked. Once. Twice.
Inside, Xinyu stirred — dazed, half-asleep, vision blurred. Without thinking, he opened the door and threw his arms around the person before him.
"…Lingling…"
Hua Ling stiffened.
"Xinyu?"
Xinyu only nodded lazily, his forehead resting on Hua Ling's chest. "You smell good."
"You're—still dreaming, aren't you…"
He led him back to the bed. Xinyu flopped down like a ragdoll, eyelids fluttering. "Sorry… I won't call you that anymore…"
Hua Ling paused. His heart twisted.
He crouched beside the bed, brushing damp strands from Xinyu's brow.
"I didn't say I hated it."
Xinyu smiled faintly, eyes still shut. His fingers found Hua Ling's face, cupped it with surprising tenderness.
Hua Ling's breath caught.
He leaned forward without meaning to. Their faces were too close. Their breaths mingled. His heart was no longer steady.
Then, Xinyu pulled him down and wrapped his arms around him. His grip was tight. Firm. Like he never wanted to let go.
Hua Ling struggled, but not seriously. He stopped.
The silence between them pulsed like a living thing.
Xinyu, still half-dreaming, mumbled, "I'm sorry… Your Highness…"
Hua Ling leaned in, breath trembling.
"…Xinyu?"
Then—
Xinyu's brows furrowed.
"…Wait."
His eyes opened.
He blinked.
"…Why does this dream feel so real…?"
And then his expression froze in horror.
He was very much awake.
And His Highness Hua Ling was very much in his arms.