The scent of sizzling garlic, ginger, and soy sauce filled the inn's kitchen, a symphony conducted by Xuán Chè. His years of wandering the Jiānghú had gifted him more than just survival skills; they had forged him into an excellent cook. Soon, a feast was laid out: a steaming pot of rice, a platter of glistening hóngshāo yā (braised duck), stir-fried greens, and a delicate egg and tomato soup.
As they gathered around the table, a shadow fell across the doorway. Zhōu Línglóng was there, peeking in, her eyes wide and fixed on the food, unconsciously licking her lips.
Xuán Chè, trying to be polite, called out, "Línglóng, are you hungry? There's plenty."
She startled, immediately snapping her tough facade back into place. "Me? No! I've already eaten," she declared, lifting her chin. A moment later, a loud, traitorous gū~~~ echoed from her stomach, betraying her completely.
The table fell silent for a beat before erupting in soft laughter. Yisha grinned. "Get in here before you faint."
They made room for her, and the initial awkwardness soon melted away amidst the shared meal. The conversation was light, the food delicious, and the atmosphere warm. The main entertainment became the rapid-fire, playful insults traded between Xuán Chè and Línglóng.
"You eat like you're still afraid someone will steal your food," she teased.
"And you watch me like you're taking notes," he retorted without missing a beat.
When the meal was done and the sky was dark, Línglóng stood to leave. She bowed politely to the group. "Thank you for the meal. Have a good night's rest, Yisha Jiějie, Qiānyí Jiějie, Wù Fēng Shīfu." She pointedly turned to Xuán Chè, sticking her tongue out. "You, I hope the Snow-Wind Dog snores outside your window all night."
With that final jab, she skipped off into the darkness, her dogs trotting faithfully behind.
Later, in the room they shared, Yisha filled Qiānyí in on everything that had happened during her two-week slumber. She spoke of Wù Fēng's lessons, of perceiving the Blight as a sentient system, and of the new, conceptual nature of their powers—Clarity, Order, Stillness.
"It's like… we were using a single tool before," Yisha mused, her voice quiet in the dim light. "And now, we understand the workshop."
Qiānyí listened, the information settling into the new, stable foundation of her spirit. It all made a profound, intuitive sense.
The following morning, Qiānyí awoke not to sunlight, but to a familiar, comforting coolness and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear.
Her mind, still soft with sleep, took a moment to place the sensation. She was curled on her side, and Li Wei, in his human form once more, was wrapped around her, his chest a solid wall of warmth against her back, one arm draped possessively over her waist.
Then, full consciousness dawned, and with it, a spark of pure, internal panic.
Tiān a! What is this?
Propriety that had been drilled into her for centuries at the pavilion, screamed a silent alarm. This was inappropriate. This was…unseemly. Her breath hitched, her muscles tensing to pull away.
But another feeling, deeper and more instinctual, held her utterly still.
It was the feeling of his breathing, slow and even against her neck. It was the absolute, unshakable safety of his presence, a fortress she had trusted with her life since they were children. It was a comfort so profound it felt like a truth she had always known but was only just understanding.
And what…what is this feeling?
Her mind was a whirlwind, but her body was an anchor. The frantic thoughts fluttered against a deep, settled calm. The propriety was a ghost; the safety was the living, breathing reality.
She let out a soft, shaky breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and slowly relaxed back against him. The world outside, with its celestial trials and ancient mysteries, could wait. For this single, stolen moment, so could everything else.
Qianyi felt Li Wei beginning to stir from his sleep. A flutter of sudden, self-conscious panic returned, and she squeezed her eyes shut, feigning deep slumber.
Li Wei, still half-trapped in a dream, shifted against her. His arm, already draped over her waist, tightened its hold, pulling her flush against the solid warmth of his chest. He nuzzled closer, his breath a soft, warm caress against the sensitive skin of her neck. He sniffed once, then twice, a low, appreciative murmur rumbling in his chest against her back, "hóngshāo yā..."
For a single, suspended heartbeat, the sensation was dizzying; the press of his body, the scent of frost and sandalwood that was uniquely his filling her senses, the vibration of his voice against her spine. Her breath caught, not in panic, but in something far more confusing and…warmer.
Then, a sharp, sudden pain bloomed on her shoulder. He had bitten her!
The spell shattered. She didn't scream. A shocked gasp was stifled behind her clenched teeth. Instinct took over. Her hand flew back, connecting with his arm in a sharp, stinging slap.
He snapped awake, jolting upright. The sight of her, the lingering sensation on his teeth, and the sting on his arm collided in his sleep-addled brain. "TIĀN A!" he yelped, mortification dawning instantly.
"Bì zuǐ," Qianyi whispered loudly, rolling over and clamping her delicate hand over his mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of pain, fury, and the desperate need for silence. Her other hand was pressed against her throbbing shoulder.
Li Wei's entire face flushed a spectacular, beet red. His eyes, wide with horror, darted from her furious face to the faint, likely already-bruising mark on her shoulder. The mighty Frost Fox, who had faced down heavenly tribulation, was utterly defeated by sheer embarrassment.
He slowly, sheepishly, raised the blanket up to his chin, covering his exposed chest as if seeking armor, and looked down at his hands, unable to meet her gaze.
Mustering every ounce of his courage, Li Wei slowly, painfully, raised his gaze to meet hers.
"Nǐ... nǐ méi shì ba?" he managed, his voice barely a whisper.
"Wǒ méi shì,"she whispered back, her own cheeks flushing a matching shade of pink. She couldn't hold his intense, mortified gaze for long. "Nǐ... nǐ ne?"
The question hung in the air for a moment before he understood she was asking if he was hurt from her slap.
"Wǒ...," he released a troubled sigh. "I need clothes" he blurted out, the statement making his embarrassment somehow even deeper, as it highlighted their current state of undress and proximity.
The absurdity of the situation—both reduced to stammering, blushing messes over a bitten shoulder and a lack of robes—finally broke through the tension.
A small, incredulous laugh escaped Qianyi's lips. She looked down, shaking her head. "I... I'll go find some for you," she said, her voice a little steadier now, laced with amusement. "This town must have shops."
They both nodded, a silent, nervous agreement passing between them. The world outside, with its celestial mysteries, was no longer just waiting; it was now a convenient excuse to escape a room thick with the most terrifying emotion of all.
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© 2025 Kiesha Richardson, writing as QiXia. All rights reserved.
Death Blooms for You is an original work of fiction by QiXia. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or adaptation of this story in any form is prohibited. All characters, events, and settings are created for entertainment purposes and bear no intentional resemblance to real persons or situations.