By dawn, the fire was out. Only smoldering beams and blackened snow remained where half the village had once stood. The storm clouds had broken, a pale sun cutting through the mist, but the air was heavy with grief.
The villagers gathered what they could—food, blankets, the broken frames of carts and tools. Their eyes, when they turned to Ruo Han, were not ungrateful… but not simple either. Awe mingled with fear, reverence with unease.
He felt it like a weight pressing on his back.
The way whispers clung to the edges of the square:
"That light… did you see?"
"No cultivator should hold such power."
"Blessing—or curse?"
Ruo Han lowered his gaze, tugging his sleeve down over the burn on his palm.
Ling Han, always less subtle, muttered under his breath, "They'll start calling you a spirit or demon soon if you keep that up."
Xiyue shot him a look sharp enough to cut. Ling Han shut his mouth, but not before giving Ruo Han an unreadable glance—half-concern, half-warning.
When an elder came forward with trembling hands to offer them what little rice and dried meat was left, Ruo Han almost refused. But Xiyue stepped in smoothly, accepting with a nod so formal and commanding that the elder bowed in return, as though it had been an honor instead of charity.
Later, when they sat by the remnants of the hearth, Ruo Han finally spoke. His voice was low, fragile in the hush of the ruined village.
"They look at me like I don't belong."
"They look at you like they don't understand," Xiyue corrected, eyes on the faint glow still lingering in Ruo Han's hand. "But power is not a crime, Ruo Han. It's only the people who covet it that turn it into one."
Ruo Han glanced at him—at the hard set of his jaw, the unwavering certainty in his voice. Something inside his chest twisted painfully. "And if it's too dangerous for you to stay close?"
Xiyue's gaze finally met his, sharp and unyielding. "Then I'll stand closer, so it can't reach you."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The village's whispers faded into nothing, drowned by the pulse pounding in Ruo Han's ears.
He had no answer to give. Only the faint tremor of his fingers as they curled tighter around the fabric of his sleeve, hiding the light before it could betray him further.