Ling Xiuyuan's lips did not move. His gaze remained fixed on the doorway. Nie Xiaohuan turned, glancing at the servant standing just inside the entrance, waiting. The servant carried a small lantern; snow clung to his shoulders from earlier tasks.
Xiuyuan's head lifted slightly. The presence of the servant — the young man — struck him like a sudden wind. The servant stepped forward, pause between him and Xiuyuan heavy as winter air.
Nie Xiaohuan stilled.
He knelt, set down a teapot and then his bowl and chopsticks. He bowed deeply. "Master Ling, your dinner …" His voice was soft, respectful, steady. He raised his eyes, just for an instant. Xiuyuan's heart jolted: the eyes were calm, dark, unassuming — not Liuxian's fire, but not vacant either. Something in them held a stillness, a reserve, as though hidden under layers of frost.
Xiuyuan's breath caught. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for something lost. The world narrowed to the space between him and the man: the lantern's glow, the steam drifting upward, the hush of the hall.
He rose, unsteadily. His robe rustled faint. He walked forward, closing the distance. Nie Xiaohuan stepped back, unsure.
The servant bowed again. Xiuyuan came close, halted. He reached out — though his limbs had grown stiff — and grabbed his forearm. The servant's sleeve, simple and dark, contrasted with Xiuyuan's pale hand.
"Tell me your name." Xiuyuan's voice was raw as winter wind. His eyes searched the man's.
The servant's head lifted slowly. He met Xiuyuan's gaze. In the lantern light, his face was young: composed, modest, with something unguarded in his eyes. He swallowed once, then said, "My name is Mingyue, Master Ling."
The two locked eyes. In Xiuyuan's heart, a flicker of hope ignited — unreasonable, terrified, luminous. But that belief clashed with the hollow emptiness around him. He searched Mingyue's countenance for recognition, for warmth, for familiarity—and found none. Only quiet neutrality, a servant's restraint.
"Right." Xiuyuan's voice broke. "How could the dead deceive death?" He released Mingyue's arm with an abruptness born of sorrow and shock. Mingyue's back snapped upright, expression calm, patient, though a flicker of surprise passed.
Xiuyuan staggered back to his chair. He sank heavily, breath ragged. He closed his eyes. Pain pressed on him, heavier than snow on pines.
Nie Xiaohuan knelt behind him, heart heavy. He dared not approach. He felt like a reed bending under wind.
Mingyue stood in the doorway, lantern in hand. He dared not step closer. His face was steady but reserved. He bowed again, quietly: "Master Ling, if you wish, I will serve in the hall tonight. I will not disturb you."
Xiuyuan did not respond. The words hung between them like frost.
Mingyue withdrew, leaving the hall. Lantern's glow receded. Only faint light remained. Nie Xiaohuan closed the door quietly.
Xiuyuan did not eat that night either. He did not move from his chair. He sat in silence, wrapped in regrets and memory. Beneath the plum tree and before the shrine, the world was still, save his heart's thunder and the wind in the eaves.
Later, daytime passed. Mingyue stayed inside the temple precincts. Attended chores. Silent. No praise, no recognition from Xiuyuan. Just presence.
That evening, as dusk settled, Nie Xiaohuan brought dinner into the hall again. He stepped in behind Xiuyuan, tray in hand. But Xiuyuan did not look up. The weight of days, the ache of hope that proved false, had hollowed him further.
Nie Xiaohuan placed the tray quietly. "Master… dinner is here." He waited, eyes anxious.
Xiuyuan's voice came, flat and brittle: "Take it away. I will not eat." His eyes did not move from the empty space ahead.
Nie Xiaohuan bowed his head, pain in every angle of him. He turned and left the tray behind. The footsteps echoed.
Night came again. Snow drifted. Moonlight filtered through clouds, faint, pale. Xiuyuan went to the shrine, knelt, fingers trailing over the wooden nameplate Shen Liuxian. Tears threatened, froze, melted. The ring he held earlier lay beside him, cold as regret.
Footsteps behind. He did not turn.
Mingyue entered quietly, lantern in hand. He knelt at a distance, respectful. Eyes lowered, but occasionally lifted — watching Xiuyuan's silhouette, the quiver of his shoulders, the tremor in his chest.
After long silence, Xiuyuan's voice barely more than a whisper: "Why do you serve here, Mingyue?"
Mingyue's voice was calm, respectful: "Master Ling, I wish only to serve. To assist Nie Xiaohuan. To fulfill what is asked of me."
Xiuyuan's voice cracked: "You do not know me. You do not know this grief I carry."
Mingyue bowed, head bent low. "No, Master. I will not pretend."
The lantern light flickered. Shadows danced. Snow drifted into courtyard corners.
Xiuyuan pulled his cloak tighter, but cold was neighbor to his heart. He said: "Do not come near the shrine anymore tonight."
Mingyue nodded, rose, backed away. He paused at the threshold: "Master Ling…"
Xiuyuan did not respond. He stared at the shrine. His eyes closed. The world collapsed inward.