Morning didn't break clean.
It crept in through cracks in the stone and thin curtains of cloud, a pale light that made the sect look like it hadn't slept either. Lu Yan woke before the bell, heart already steady, thoughts not.
Lin Yue's brief touch—forehead to shoulder—still lingered like a pressure point he couldn't massage away. Not heat. Not cold.
Contact withheld.
Restraint has aftershocks, the Manual murmured, unhelpful and pleased.
Lu Yan sat up, swung his legs over the bed, and breathed until the room felt like a room again. The mountain answered with a low sigh, settling its weight.
Outside, the corridors were busy too early. He stepped into them and felt it immediately—the attention sharpened overnight. People weren't whispering yet. They were counting.
He kept his pace even.
They're measuring proximity, the Manual said. Who you pass. Who pauses.
"And who doesn't."
Especially that.
The training grounds opened before him, ringed with stone and the soft scrape of feet. Lin Yue was already there.
Of course she was.
She stood alone at the far edge, arms folded, gaze fixed on the center circle. Composed. Distant. He didn't approach immediately. He took his place with the others and began the drills—slow, exact, nothing flashy.
She didn't look at him.
That bothered him more than if she had.
Mo Xian'er arrived late. Loud laugh. Loose posture. A glance that found him instantly and held, then slid—deliberate—to Lin Yue.
Ah.
Mo Xian'er sauntered over, stopped too close, spoke too softly. "You slept."
"Eventually."
She smiled. "I didn't."
Lin Yue's shoulder tightened. Barely.
Crosswinds, the Manual hummed.
The elder overseeing drills barked an order. Movement rippled. Lu Yan stepped away cleanly, giving space. Mo Xian'er clicked her tongue, amused, and followed her assignment. Lin Yue didn't move.
After the bell, the elder gestured for them to remain.
"Paired stability exercise," he said. "Names will be called."
Lu Yan's name came first.
Lin Yue's came second.
The pause that followed was… educational.
Mo Xian'er's laugh cut it. "Well. That's tidy."
Lin Yue didn't look at Lu Yan as she stepped forward. He met her at the center without touching.
"Rules," the elder said. "No force. No feeding. Hold alignment. Observe."
Then he walked away.
The circle felt smaller with her in it. Frost traced the stone under her boots, thin and controlled.
"We don't have to do this," she said.
"We were told to."
Her eyes flicked up. "That's not an answer."
He held her gaze. "Then tell me what you want."
The words landed softly. He didn't push them.
Silence.
She inhaled. "Stand there."
He did.
She closed her eyes and breathed. The frost steadied. The air thinned, then smoothed.
"Don't move," she said.
"I won't."
Minutes passed. Sweat gathered at his temples—not from effort, but from holding still while everything inside wanted to lean. He didn't.
Her breath wavered.
"Why is it easier when you're not touching?" she asked, eyes still closed.
"Because you don't feel invaded."
She opened her eyes. "And when I want you closer?"
He didn't answer right away.
"When you want," he said carefully, "I'll let you ask."
Her jaw tightened. She looked away. "You're infuriating."
"Yes."
The circle breathed. The frost receded. Something else filled the space—warmth without heat.
Golden text flickered and vanished.
—
[Shared Stability: Increased]
—
The bell rang.
They stepped apart at the same time.
Lin Yue exhaled, a little shaky. "This doesn't mean—"
"I know."
She nodded once and walked away without looking back.
Mo Xian'er intercepted him before he could leave the circle. "Interesting."
"Which part?"
"The part where you didn't touch her," she said. "And the part where she wanted you to."
He lifted an eyebrow.
She smiled. "Don't worry. I won't compete. Not today."
Her gaze lingered. Possessive. Curious. Then she turned away, braid swinging.
The rest of the morning passed without incident. Which meant it didn't.
At midday, a summons arrived—Su Mei's seal on the parchment. Lu Yan followed the attendant through quieter halls, into a chamber that smelled of ink and herbs and calculation.
Su Mei stood by the window, arms crossed.
"Sit," she said.
He didn't.
She glanced back, amused. "Still pretending."
"I prefer standing."
"Fine."
She studied him in silence. Long enough to be uncomfortable.
"You held alignment," she said finally. "Without escalation."
"Yes."
"And you refused contact."
"Yes."
Her lips curved. "You're not ignorant of what that does."
"I'm aware."
"Good," she said. "Because restraint is contagious. And destabilizing."
She turned fully. "The sect will test you."
"I assumed."
"They'll test her too."
He said nothing.
Su Mei's gaze sharpened. "If this fractures her discipline—"
"I'll leave," he said immediately.
That surprised her.
"You'd walk?"
"Yes."
"Even now?"
"Especially now."
A pause.
Then she nodded. "Noted."
She dismissed him with a wave.
Outside, the air felt thicker. He didn't go back to the dorms. He walked the perimeter paths until the mountain's breath slowed his.
Lin Yue waited where the stone dropped away into cloud.
"You said you'd leave," she said without turning.
"If you ask."
She faced him. "I won't."
He watched the way the wind tugged her sleeve, the way her hair strained against its tie.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"Because you didn't leave."
Her mouth opened. Closed.
"I don't want this," she said.
"I know."
"I don't want to want it."
He stepped closer. Not into her space. Close enough to be honest.
"You don't have to," he said. "Wanting isn't a command."
Her laugh was brittle. "You say that like it listens."
"Then let it speak," he replied softly. "Just once."
Silence stretched. The mountain held.
She took one step closer.
Stopped.
Her breath brushed his chest. Her eyes searched his face like a last check before a fall.
"If I touch you," she said, voice low, "I won't pretend it's nothing."
He nodded. "Don't."
She lifted her hand.
Paused.
Let it fall.
"Not today," she said.
He smiled, small and real. "Tomorrow's fine."
Her shoulders eased—just a little.
Footsteps approached. Mo Xian'er's laugh preceded her.
"There you are," she said. "I was wondering which cliff you'd choose."
Lin Yue stiffened.
Mo Xian'er stopped beside Lu Yan, close enough to be unmistakable. "You look calm," she said. "Annoyingly so."
"I try."
She leaned in, whispering for his ears alone. "You're going to break her. Or teach her to bend."
He answered just as quietly. "Or neither."
She pulled back, studying him. "You really don't force."
"No."
She smiled. "Good."
Lin Yue watched the exchange, eyes sharp, breath tight.
"Don't," Lin Yue said to Mo Xian'er.
Mo Xian'er laughed. "Relax. I'm not touching."
She wasn't.
That was the point.
The Manual purred, satisfied.
Restraint multiplies witnesses.
The sun dipped. Shadows lengthened. The sect rang the evening bell.
Lin Yue turned to leave. Paused. Looked back at him.
"Tomorrow," she said.
He nodded. "Tomorrow."
Mo Xian'er watched her go, then sighed theatrically. "You're exhausting."
"Still here?"
"For now."
They walked back in parallel, close but not touching.
Night gathered.
And somewhere beneath the stone, the waiting presence leaned closer still—drawn not by hunger alone, but by the shape of a promise that refused to be rushed.