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Lin Xin tilted his head slightly as he repeated his question. "The firewood. You keep poking it like it did something to you."
Han Yan froze, caught off guard. "I… uh… just wanted to make sure it's… burning properly."
Lin Xin blinked, a faint crease forming between his brows. "Burning… properly?" he echoed softly, as if unsure he'd heard right. His brows knit for a moment before a quiet, helpless laugh escaped him.
"You…" He shook his head, still looking faintly baffled, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You're impossible. Forget it."
The faint laughter lingered in the air as Lin Xin walked toward the window again. The night breeze slipped in through the wide opening, cool and gentle, stirring the edge of the curtain.
Resting on a woven bamboo tray set near the window were a few strips of fish and a good handful of shrimp he had cleaned and laid out to dry earlier in the evening, their pale surfaces glinting softly in the lamplight.
He crouched beside the tray, running his fingers lightly over one of the fish. The surface was beginning to firm, the air drawing out the moisture just as he hoped.
He turned a few pieces over, careful not to tear the delicate flesh, then brushed away a few fine droplets that had gathered at the edges, his fingertips grazing the cool, drying scales.
The faint scent of sea and smoke lingered in the air clean, earthy, almost comforting. He adjusted the bamboo tray slightly so it caught more of the warmth from the fire inside, his movements unhurried.
He murmured under his breath as he rose to his feet. "They should be ready by morning…"
From behind him, the quiet crackle of the fire stirred. Han Yan glanced up at the sound of his voice, tone faintly curious. "You prepared those yourself?"
"Mm." Lin Xin nodded. "It's the ones we can't cook today. I thought we could use them for tomorrow's meal."
Han Yan's lips curved slightly, his tone soft. "You really plan ahead for everything."
Lin Xin glanced over his shoulder and nodded shyly, the corners of his lips curving just a little before he turned back to the tray.
Han Yan rose from where he'd been sitting by the fire, brushing off his hands. "I'll head to the countryside tomorrow," he said casually. "Maybe I'll ask that hunter Wei something, where I can find a good bow."
Lin Xin looked up at him, brow knitting slightly. "Wei Jun," he corrected softly. "And you shouldn't be thinking about bows right now. You're still recovering from that fall down the mountain."
He turned back to the tray, his tone faintly reproachful. "You went out hunting even when it was raining that day… it scared me half to death when you didn't wake up right away."
For a long moment, Han Yan remained silent. The memory was not truly his, yet the faint sting of guilt twisting in his chest felt real enough. The real Han Yan had always been diligent, never the one to complain, quietly carrying the burdens placed upon him.
At that time, Madam Wei had demanded fresh meat. When the rain had been falling hard enough to drown the sound of one's own breath, yet when she spoke, there was no room left for refusal. He wanted to stay inside and wait out the storm, but in the end, he could only bow his head and obey.
The forest had been slippery with mud, the trees shivering beneath the weight of the heavy downpour. His steps sank deep into the earth. Still, he pressed on, stubbornly chasing a faint trail until his footing slipped. The world tilted as he could only hear the sound of rain swallowing his breath as he fell into the cold, wet ground.
Now, standing in a body that once belonged to another, Han Yan felt the remnants of that man's life clinging to him.
He forced a small smile, stepping closer. "Hey," he said lightly, coaxing. "If I promise not to run off in the rain again, will you stop looking like that?"
Lin Xin didn't answer immediately. His lashes lowered, casting faint shadows over his pale cheeks, the corners of his mouth tightening as if holding back something unsaid. A few damp strands clung to his temple, making him look even more fragile in that moment.
Han Yan let out a quiet chuckle, lowering his head until their gazes met. "I'm serious," he said softly, voice dipping low, warm enough to melt the unease between them. "Now that we have our own home, things will be different. What happened before… it won't happen again."
Lin Xin's eyes wavered at his words, hesitant. He stayed silent, leaning slightly back, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, keeping a small distance.
Han Yan's smile eased, warm and steady, yet he did not push. Instead, he stepped closer, letting his presence fill the space without overwhelming it. "I know you're still upset," he murmured gently. "And I'd probably feel the same if I were you. But now… now that we have our own home, things will be different. None of what happened before will happen again."
Lin Xin didn't speak or move, yet the way his shoulders loosened slightly was a small sign that Han Yan's words were reaching him.
Han Yan tilted his head, softening his tone further, careful not to rush him. "It's alright to be angry," he whispered. "You don't have to answer me right now."
After a moment wrapped in quiet, Lin Xin's lips curved ever so slightly. He didn't acknowledge Han Yan outright, but the easing of his posture told Han Yan enough trust was beginning to grow, fragile yet real.
"Still angry?" Han Yan asked quietly, a little teasing in his voice, though warmth underlay it. "Alright, I deserve that."
Lin Xin's lips parted slightly, no sound coming out. The stubborn line on his face eased, and a faint trace of color crept up his neck. He felt that Han Yan was treating him like a child. With hesitation, his fingers tightened more before finally loosening their grip.
"…Fine," he muttered at last, voice low, almost swallowed by the quiet. "I know it wasn't your fault, so I'm not angry. Just… don't do it again."
Han Yan's smile widened with relief. "Alright," he said, voice carrying quiet warmth. "I won't."
His smile softened, a subtle glimmer in his eyes as he lifted his hand toward Lin Xin.
"Then," he said, low and gentle, "let us make a pinkie promise."
Lin Xin froze, frowning slightly as he tilted his head. "Pinkie… promise? What is that?"
Han Yan let out a soft laugh, amused. "You don't know? It's a vow, a promise between two people," he said, nudging Lin Xin's small finger with his own. "Once made, it cannot be broken."
He teased lightly, raising a brow. "You link your little finger with mine, and that's all. It's very simple."
Hesitant but trusting, Lin Xin lifted his hand and linked his pinkie with Han Yan's.
Han Yan's smile deepened, gentle and warm. "There. Now we are bound by our words."
Lin Xin could not help but ask, curiosity creeping in. "How… how do you know such a thing?"
Han Yan froze, realizing he had acted out of habit it was something he had always done for his younger sister since childhood. It had become second nature, and now… he had done something that might seem suspicious in Lin Xin's eyes.
Shifting his gaze toward the window, he said lightly,
"Hm, it's getting late. And I… still have not taken my bath yet."
He brushed the topic aside with ease, though his tone carried a quiet edge of discomfort.
Before Lin Xin could respond, Han Yan already walked toward the bamboo screen. He couldn't bring himself to look at him again directly. "You should rest early," he said softly. Then, without waiting for a reply, he slipped inside.
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