The next day was a rest day.No training, no chores, no lectures — only a soft snowfall over Jingshou Peak and the drifting sound of wind chimes at the walkways.
By evening, Shen Lianxiu was restless.He had done everything: thrown snowballs with Roulan, played chess with Xiaohuan (and lost miserably), helped the kitchen hall by "tasting" too many buns — yet nothing filled the strange hollowness sitting in his chest.
Because all day, no matter where he went, he couldn't find Ling Xiuyuan.
Once, he'd spotted him from a distance — walking beside Zhou Qingrong, sleeves trailing against the snow, speaking to a junior. Another time, he'd caught a glimpse of his silhouette near the scripture hall. But before he could go closer, someone had always stepped in the way.
By nightfall, Lianxiu lay on his bed, hugging a pillow and glaring at the ceiling."I waited the whole day," he mumbled dramatically. "Tomorrow will be too late."
Roulan threw a snowball of a pillow at his face. "Too late for what?"
Lianxiu sat up.Roulan groaned. "What now?"
But by the time she turned away, he was already gone — slipping out into the crisp night, his breath rising in silver mist.
The sect at night was a painting of moonlight and stillness. Frost gleamed on the plum branches, and the streams murmured softly between rocks. The only sound was the faint rustle of his own steps echoing through the courtyard.
Then — at the far end of the walkway — he saw him.
Ling Xiuyuan walked alone, his long white robes trailing slightly in the snow, a faint glow gathering along the blade at his waist. He wasn't in a hurry, nor was he strolling aimlessly — every movement carried quiet purpose. The moonlight drew the sharp line of his jaw, the calm fall of his hair, the still poise that made him look more spirit than man.
Lianxiu stopped breathing for a moment.He just stared — as if seeing him after weeks of waiting was something unreal.
Then his heart leapt."Shixiong!" he called before he could stop himself.
Xiuyuan turned, expression unruffled, eyes calm but questioning."Shen Lianxiu?" His tone was soft, even, like the quiet edge of water meeting stone. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
Lianxiu hurried forward, trying not to look as flustered as he felt."I wanted to see you."
Xiuyuan blinked slowly, as though he hadn't quite expected such a simple answer."You could have seen me tomorrow," he said. "At the training grounds."
"I tried whole day," Lianxiu insisted, voice a little too loud for the night. "But you kept vanishing! And I—" he hesitated, realizing how ridiculous it sounded, "—I couldn't wait for tomorrow."
Xiuyuan's brows drew together, a quiet sigh escaping him. "You should be resting. It's cold tonight."His voice wasn't sharp — just measured, the kind that made people listen without realizing why.
But Lianxiu only tilted his head, puzzled."Why do you look like you're in a hurry, though? Is something wrong?"
Before Xiuyuan could answer, a faint sound drifted from the row of rooms nearby — a strange, rhythmic thud and a muffled, breathless screams, and sounds as if someone was clapping.
Lianxiu paused. "What's that noise?"Xiuyuan's face stayed utterly calm, though a flicker of discomfort crossed his eyes. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"It's coming from Master Mu Yichuan's quarters, isn't it?"
"…Shen Lianxiu!"
He froze mid-sentence. The realization struck him a beat later, and his ears turned bright red.
Xiuyuan closed his eyes briefly, his sigh visible in the cold air. Then, without a word, he reached forward, took Lianxiu firmly by the wrist, and started walking."Come."
"Wait, Shixiong— hey!" Lianxiu nearly tripped keeping up. "Where are we going—"
The moon hung high above the forest when they reached the stream. Silver light trembled over the water, breaking into ripples where it brushed against the stones.
Ling Xiuyuan stood waist-deep in the current, sleeves and upper robe folded neatly on the bank beside his sword. His hair was unbound, falling dark against his shoulders, and the night air misted faintly around his breath. He had his eyes closed, the muscles of his back drawn in quiet tension, brows furrowed as though the moonlight itself weighed upon him.
On the shore, Shen Lianxiu sat cross-legged beside the pile of his robe and sword, grinning wide enough for both of them.
"So that's why you come here every night at the same time!" he burst out, half-laughing, half-scandalized. "I thought you were meditating—or maybe patrolling the boundary. But it was this!"
Xiuyuan didn't answer. The water lapped against him softly; he kept his poise, as if he hadn't heard a word. Only the faintest color touched his ears, betraying his discomfort.
Lianxiu leaned forward, still laughing quietly. "Giving them their time and privacy. You're so considerate, shixiong."
Still, Xiuyuan said nothing—only a quiet sigh left his lips as he tilted his head back, moonlight tracing along his jaw.
Lianxiu's laughter faded. His gaze wandered—not in boldness, but in wonder—across the still water and his senior brother's calm face. Then, unbidden, the memory of that sound returned to him. The clapping. The sharp, breathless cries.
He remembered realizing those crying voices, they belonged to Master Wen Yao.
Lianxiu froze.His face burned scarlet in an instant.
His thoughts darted somewhere they shouldn't. An image flickered in his mind, ridiculous and mortifying—of Xiuyuan's calm composure breaking in some imagined scene—and he shook his head violently, as though to fling the thought away.
"No, no, no," he muttered under his breath, pressing his hands to his face.
Xiuyuan finally turned slightly, frowning. "What are you mumbling about?"
"Nothing!" Lianxiu squeaked, voice too high.
Xiuyuan arched a brow.
He turned back to the water. For a moment, the night was silent again save for the whisper of the stream.
But Lianxiu's heart wouldn't still. His curiosity, embarrassment, and affection tangled in a restless whirl. He thought of what Mu Yichuan had told him once—'Find out your feelings, then confess. Wait for the right time.'—and felt heat rise to his ears again.
Lianxiu stared at the stream, its surface glowing like silver silk beneath the moon. Maybe the water could help. Maybe it could wash away these strange, guilty thoughts.
Before Xiuyuan could stop him, Lianxiu took a deep breath—and leapt in.
Water splashed high, scattering moonlight into a thousand fragments.
Xiuyuan blinked, startled. "Shen Lianxiu—!"
The boy surfaced, gasping and shivering, his grin wide and utterly unrepentant. But he wasn't laughing anymore. Beneath the ripple of his smile, there was something like quiet resolve—an earnest, boyish wish that the cold might cleanse his muddled heart.
He shut his eyes, letting the current pull through his fingers, and thought, almost reverently:
If the stream is holy, then let it wash my sinful thoughts away.