The snow that morning fell like powdered light, soft and endless. Shen Lianxiu wandered along the edge of the practice court, boots crunching faintly in the frost. Nie Xiaohuan and Roulan were training nearby, their voices bright against the pale air.
Lianxiu was supposed to join them, but his wooden sword hung untouched at his side. He crouched down to poke at a pebble instead, his breath fogging faintly in front of him.
He wasn't sad. At least, that's what he told himself. Ling Xiuyuan had gone on a mission; it had been almost two weeks now. The thought still made something shift quietly inside him — not pain exactly, but a hollow space that filled with thoughts he didn't know how to name.
When Roulan called out, "Lianxiu! You're not practicing again?"he just grinned and said, "I will, I will! Just… meditating!"
"Your kind of meditation involves staring at rocks?" she shot back.
He laughed. "Spiritual connection with nature!"
Roulan rolled her eyes and went back to sparring with Xiaohuan. Lianxiu's laughter faded, and for a moment, the stillness returned — not empty, but gentle.
He thought quietly:What is this feeling?It wasn't like when he wanted sweets, or when he got scolded. It was softer, something that stayed even when he tried to laugh it away.
Sometimes, when he thought of Xiuyuan, his heart grew light. Other times, it ached for no reason. And lately, he caught himself imagining stupid things — like Xiuyuan standing in the snow beside him, turning to speak, or the way his hair might look when the wind moved.
It wasn't an obsession. At least, he hoped not. He didn't want it to be."I should be happy," he murmured under his breath, tapping his sword's hilt. "If he's out there doing something he loves, I should be happy too."
The thought warmed him, oddly enough. So that's what he decided — to smile whenever he missed him.
"Hey!" Roulan's voice cut through his thoughts. "You daydreaming again?"
"Me? No, no!" he said, jumping to his feet and taking a stance. "I was just… gathering energy!"
Xiaohuan gave a faint smile that said he didn't believe a word of it, but didn't press.
The sparring that followed was a mess — Lianxiu tripped twice, nearly dropped his sword, and ended up flat on the snow, laughing breathlessly. "It's because I'm hungry!" he insisted.
Roulan pointed her sword at him. "You ate before we started!"
"Exactly! That was before the battle!"
She groaned, Xiaohuan sighed, and Lianxiu just laughed — laughter so bright that even the frost seemed to melt around it.
Later that evening, when he lay on his bed staring at the rafters, his smile lingered.He missed Xiuyuan, yes — but now, it didn't hurt so much.
"If he's smiling somewhere tonight," he whispered, "that's enough for me."
Snow lay deep over the pines when the three disciples reached the edge of the valley. Ling Xiuyuan halted before the frozen stream, his breath pale in the air. Behind him, Zhou Qingrong tightened her cloak, while Wei Jingyan brushed snow from his sleeve and muttered, "Why do the elders always send us out during the coldest weeks?"
Xiuyuan smiled faintly.
The valley below them was beautiful in a lonely way — quiet as if asleep, with clusters of withered lanterns hanging from old wooden posts. The villagers had left months ago, frightened by rumors of flickering lights and whispers after dusk.
It wasn't a dangerous case. Not the sort that required talismans drawn in blood or seals recited through the night. Just a minor disturbance — wandering yin energy, perhaps, or the remnant of an old shrine.
They crossed the narrow bridge. Each step echoed in the still air. Wei Jingyan shivered, rubbing his hands. "The qi feels uneven here."
"Residual energy," Zhou Qingrong said calmly. "Nothing malicious."
Xiuyuan nodded. His gaze drifted toward a half-collapsed hut at the end of the path. Inside, a faint blue glow pulsed between the rafters — the ghostly "lanterns" the villagers had spoken of.
He knelt, brushed snow away, and traced a line in the ground with his fingertip. Frost crackled beneath his touch as he murmured a soft incantation. Light shimmered briefly, rising like mist, and the blue flames dimmed until only the calm stillness of night remained.
"That's all?" Wei Jingyan asked, blinking.
"That's all," Xiuyuan replied, standing. He dusted the snow from his knees, his voice light. "Sometimes spirits don't need banishment — just recognition. A small offering of peace."
Zhou Qingrong inclined her head. "You always make it look easy."
He gave a modest smile, eyes drifting to the horizon. The moon had climbed halfway above the mountains, silvering the fields. In its light, the snow gleamed like glass — and for a brief moment, he thought of Jingshou Peak.
"Thinking of the sect again?" Zhou Qingrong teased gently.
Xiuyuan smiled quietly at that — neither confirming nor denying. He turned toward the path home, snow crunching beneath his boots. "Let's finish before the road freezes. I'd rather not sleep under a leaking roof tonight."
The three of them walked on, their shadows long under the moonlight, their breath rising like pale smoke. The valley behind them fell silent again — its peace restored, if only for a while.
And as they reached the ridge, Xiuyuan looked up at the starlit sky, a faint warmth in his chest.
The evening meal had just ended, and the lanterns along the walkway glowed like fireflies caught in glass. Shen Lianxiu walked between Nie Xiaohuan and Roulan, lazily swinging his sleeves. Roulan was still talking about the tofu dish she claimed had been "too bland," and Xiaohuan was half-listening, half yawning.
"Next time I'm the one cooking," Roulan declared.
"You? You'd burn water," Xiaohuan said without even looking up.
Lianxiu snorted. "Water can't burn."
"With Roulan," Xiaohuan muttered, "anything's possible."
Roulan gasped dramatically and chased him down the corridor, her braid whipping through the air. Lianxiu laughed, doubling over for a moment—then froze mid-step.
At the bend in the walkway below, a small group stood beneath the plum trees. Lantern light brushed against pale robes. Ling Xiuyuan was there, speaking with Master Pei Yunsheng, while Wei Jingyan and Zhou Qingrong stood nearby. Han Yuejian lingered a little apart, arms folded as if the cold didn't touch him.
Xiuyuan was smiling—just a little—as Pei Yunsheng said something, the light catching on the faint curve of his mouth.
Something strange fluttered in Lianxiu's chest.
He hadn't seen Ling Xiuyuan in weeks, he'd thought he would feel thrilled, maybe tease him again for being "too serious." But now, watching from afar, he couldn't even take a step forward.
Roulan came back, breathless. "Lianxiu, what are you staring at?"
He didn't answer.
Xiuyuan laughed softly at something Jingyan said. Lianxiu blinked, startled by how rare that sound was—light, easy, almost like spring wind.
And for some reason, that was the moment his throat tightened. His eyes stung.
Roulan waved a hand in front of his face. "Eh? Are you sick?"
"I—no," he said quickly, turning away. "I just remembered… something."
"Something?" Xiaohuan asked suspiciously.
"My room!" Lianxiu blurted. "I forgot—uh—the lamp's still lit!"
And before either could say a word, he ran.
By the time he reached his own room, his heart was pounding. He slammed the door shut, leaned against it, and let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh.
"What—what is wrong with me?" he muttered, clutching his hair. "Why am I crying? He didn't even look at me! Should I have waved? No, that would've been weird."
He sank onto his bed, burying his face in his sleeves. "Is this what they call teenage love? Am I still that immature?"
His voice cracked on the last word, and that made him laugh again through his sniffles. "Oh heavens, I really am immature."
Outside, Roulan's voice floated past the courtyard wall. "Xiaohuan, did you see Lianxiu just now? He ran like a rabbit!"
Xiaohuan replied dryly, "If he's crying again, I'm not dealing with it."
Lianxiu pressed a hand to his face, trying to stop smiling. "You definitely are, Xiaohuan," he whispered to himself.
He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling beams. "Ling Xiuyuan, you troublesome, cold-faced, perfect senior… what are you doing to me?"
He covered his eyes with his arm and laughed again—half in despair, half in disbelief—while the night wind carried the scent of plum blossoms through the window.