Her words, said so simply, hit harder than any sword.
Shu Mingye stared at her, his breathing uneven, his vision flickering between darkness and light. "I'll remember that," he said softly. Then, with a faint curve of his lips, he added, "So come and find me later, alright? Dead or alive."
"Alright."
It was just one word—quiet, simple, unshaken. But for some reason, it made him laugh. Not loud or strong, just a soft, broken sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him. He wasn't even sure why. He was cold, weak and broken all over. But right now, he felt… happy. Like he might actually live. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make it.
For the first time in what felt like forever, something warm flickered in his chest. A strange, fragile comfort that spread through the pain. Then his laughter stopped and turned into coughing. Blood filled his mouth, then splattered across her shoulder and her dark robes. She didn't even flinch. Didn't move away or look disgusted. Instead, she calmly reached into her sleeve and pulled out a black silk handkerchief. Then she handed it to him.
He took it and turned it over in his hand. The fabric was soft and smooth, embroidered with golden thread. It looked expensive. But what really caught his attention was the strange pattern on it. Little twisty shapes. Kind of round. Kind of wiggly. Like worms.
He burst out laughing again, and another drop of blood slipped from his mouth. "What is this?" he asked, pointing to the odd design. "Worms?"
"I made it when I was young," she replied without emotion.
"Really?" he grinned, teasing. That actually made sense. It looked terrible. Was it supposed to be a dragon? A snake? A lion? A turtle?
She didn't answer. Probably offended. Instead, she grabbed the pie and shoved it right against his mouth.
"Eat this before you die," she said flatly, already straightening up like she was about to leave.
He quickly pulled the pie from his mouth and looked up at her with panic in his eyes. "Wait… are you going to leave?"
"Stay for a while," he said, giving her his best pitiful look. His eyes were wide, a little glassy, filled with silent pleading.
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
He smiled like a child, relieved. Slowly, he began to eat the pie she gave him. The crust was soft and warm, the filling sweet and slightly spiced. Not bad at all. The air around them was quiet, broken only by the soft howl of the wind and the crunch of snow under shifting weight. But strangely, he didn't feel that cold anymore.
She didn't say a word. Just sat there, still and quiet beside him.
Really… what a terrible talker, he thought, amused. A faint smile tugged at his lips, cracked and stained with blood. He never thought a moment like this would come—peace, strange company, and pie—just before death. Was it all an illusion? Just a dream his brain made up at the edge of dying?
He glanced at the drink. Suspicious liquid in a small glass bottle. Maybe it was poison. Or maybe it was just water. He drank it anyway, then took another bite of the pie.
Then he looked at her again.
"…"
She already dozed off??
As if the world wasn't ending. As if there weren't bodies somewhere in the snow. As if the person beside her wasn't a half-dead man who had just coughed blood on her shoulder. She looked peaceful. Her sleeping face held a stillness so perfect, it felt like she didn't belong to this world. Like she had stepped out of a painting and forgotten to return.
He watched her quietly, his body aching, vision still hazy, but he didn't want to look away. He stared, wanting to remember everything.
Her skin was pale like winter frost. Her lashes long and dark, casting gentle shadows on her cheeks. Even her blank expression seemed softer now. Her lips slightly parted as she breathed, slow and calm.
Her hair danced lightly with the wind—dark as ink, loose strands brushing her cheek. The robe she wore was black, deep and endless, like a starless night sky. It wrapped around her like a shadow. Only the silver threads at her collar and cuffs shimmered faintly.
She looked small. Fragile, almost. Her hands rested by her side, delicate and still. Long fingers curled just a little, as if she might wake at any moment to reach for a sword, or maybe… just another pie.
Even half-unconscious, bleeding, and unsure if he'd wake again, he couldn't look away. Just her side profile was enough to steal his breath.
She was beautiful. Too beautiful. Too unreal. Like a dream he wasn't ready to wake from.
Maybe this was a dream. Or maybe she really was a demon. But for now, she was his friend.
He began to feel sleepy. Maybe it was because he was really just tired, or maybe... he would never open his eyes again. That thought should've scared him. But it didn't. Not when there was this strange, quiet peace wrapping around him like a blanket.
His gaze drifted to her hair, dark and soft, slightly ruffled by the wind. He saw the black hair tie that held it in place—a beautiful piece, embroidered with golden thread in the shape of a phoenix. It looked precious. He didn't know why, but he reached for it. Slowly. Gently. Careful not to wake her.
The hair tie slipped free, and her hair tumbled down over her shoulder like a waterfall of ink. He stared for a moment, then let out a breathless chuckle. He had no energy to put it back. His hand was already shaking. So he just clutched it in his hand tightly and let his eyes fall shut.
He fell asleep like that. And when he opened his eyes again, she was gone. No trace of her anywhere. The spot beside him was empty, snow lightly covering the place she had sat. It was so quiet.
Had it all been a dream?
But when he looked at his hand, there it was. The black hair tie. The phoenix glinting in the light. And beside him, the black silk handkerchief with gold thread.
Not a dream.
Next to him, on the snow, sat another pie. And another bottle of that strange drink.
He chuckled. His body didn't hurt as much anymore. The sharp pain had dulled. The bleeding had stopped. His breath came easier. His fingers no longer felt like ice. There was something in the pie or more likely in the drink, maybe. Whatever it was… it worked. Maybe he'd live after all.
He stared at the pie, then at the empty space where she had been. "She didn't even say goodbye," he muttered, grinning weakly. "She really doesn't have friends, huh? What an anti-social weirdo."
His hand still held the hair tie.
She promised. She said she'd find him again.
Demon or not... he didn't care.
He smiled and closed his eyes again.