Winter arrived quietly.
The once green courtyards of the mansion were now blanketed in white, the silence so deep it seemed sacred.
Each morning, before the first bell of dawn, Xiu Zhao walked through the frost to the small corner of the garden he had claimed as his own.
There, beneath the frozen air, he planted the rose seeds Chen Yi had once given him.
His hands trembled from the cold, but his eyes shone with warmth.
"I'll make them bloom," he whispered, covering the seeds with snow-dusted soil.
"For you."
Days turned into weeks.
The frost only deepened.
Hua Xu had told him, gently, that roses could not bloom in winter.
But Xiu Zhao didn't listen. He still came every morning — watering, whispering, waiting.
Sometimes Ling Xu followed him, her breath clouding the air.
"Why do you keep doing this?" she asked one day, hugging herself against the cold.
"They'll never grow in this weather."
Xiu Zhao smiled faintly.
"They will. He said they would."
Ling Xu stared at him for a long moment, then sighed.
"You're foolish."
"Maybe," he replied softly, "but hope is a kind of warmth."
That night, snow began to fall again.
Thick, white, endless.
Xiu Zhao stood by the window, watching the storm swallow the garden.
"I wonder if you can see the same snow, wherever you are," he murmured to the sky.
He didn't know when he fell asleep.
But in the depth of the night, a faint glow stirred outside — soft, golden, trembling like breath.
Something shimmered beneath the snow.
A bud.
A single rosebud pushing through frost and ice.
By dawn, the garden glowed faintly, a single scarlet bloom standing proud against the white.
When Xiu Zhao saw it, his breath caught.
His fingers reached out, brushing the fragile petals.
"They bloomed…" he whispered, tears rising to his eyes.
"Chen Yi… they really bloomed."
Behind him, Hua Xu stood silently, wrapped in a fur cloak.
He had come to call Xiu Zhao for breakfast — but now, his eyes were fixed on the impossible flower.
"That's… no ordinary rose," he murmured.
Xiu Zhao turned, startled. "What do you mean?"
Hua Xu walked closer, crouching to inspect it.
The petals shimmered faintly — a living light pulsing from within.
He frowned.
"This… feels like spiritual energy," he said under his breath.
"Did your friend ever… say anything strange to you?"
Xiu Zhao hesitated, memories flashing like stars — Chen Yi's sudden disappearances, his uncanny warmth, the way his presence calmed the storms inside him.
"He… always seemed different," Xiu Zhao admitted quietly. "But I never asked why."
Hua Xu straightened, looking at him with a serious expression.
"Be careful, Zhao'er. A power like this doesn't come from ordinary men."
But Xiu Zhao only smiled faintly, looking down at the rose.
"Even if he's not ordinary… I still want to see him again."
That evening, Xiu Zhao couldn't sleep.
He sat by the window, the glow of the rose illuminating his face in soft red.
The petals opened and closed with the rhythm of breathing — as if the flower itself were alive.
When the wind blew through the paper walls, he thought he heard a whisper.
A voice.
"Zhao'er…"
He froze.
The sound was faint — gentle, familiar.
His heart pounded.
"Chen Yi?" he whispered back.
The petals quivered.
A golden light spilled from the flower, spreading across the floor like liquid dawn.
Then, within it, a silhouette — tall, faint, but unmistakably him.
"Chen Yi…" Xiu Zhao's eyes filled with tears. "Is that you?"
The voice answered like wind through leaves:
"I've missed you."
He reached out, his fingers trembling through the glow.
But his hand passed through the light — no warmth, no touch, only emptiness.
"You shouldn't be here," Xiu Zhao said softly, his voice breaking. "You'll disappear."
The figure smiled — gentle, sorrowful.
"I wanted to see you… just once more."
"Then come back to me," Xiu Zhao whispered. "Promise me you'll come back."
"I will," the voice said, fading slowly.
"When the roses bloom again — I'll return."
And with that, the light vanished, leaving only the faint scent of petals in the cold air.
Xiu Zhao sank to his knees, his hands pressed over his heart.
Tears fell freely, warm against the chill.
"I'll wait," he whispered. "No matter how long it takes."
Outside, the snow fell again —
but in the middle of it all, the single rose still glowed, defying winter.
...
The winter began to loosen its grip.
Snow melted from the rooftops, dripping like slow tears into the earth.
And in the quiet heart of the garden, Xiu Zhao's roses continued to bloom — untouched by frost, unfrozen by time.
Each morning, he tended to them with careful hands.
He no longer spoke aloud, but his heart whispered constantly, as if the flowers could still hear him.
When he watered them, the soil shimmered faintly — a faint golden pulse, like a heartbeat buried in the roots.
Sometimes he felt it — a warmth rising through his fingertips, gentle and familiar.
Chen Yi's warmth.
The days began to grow longer.
The trees returned to life.
And so did something inside him.
But one morning, when the first cherry blossoms began to open, Xiu Zhao awoke with a start.
His dream — vivid, blinding — still clung to him.
He had seen Chen Yi standing on the water, surrounded by light.
His hair moved with the wind, his expression soft — yet his eyes were filled with something deep, like sorrow restrained by love.
When he blinked, the vision faded — but the warmth on his chest remained, as if fingers had brushed his skin.
He rushed outside.
The air was alive with the scent of earth and renewal.
The roses, his roses, swayed gently in the morning breeze — and for the first time, he saw them moving as if they were breathing.
The petals glowed faintly.
And then… a single drop of golden dew fell from one.
It landed on his wrist — warm.
Xiu Zhao froze.
The glow spread through his veins, light seeping beneath his skin like molten sunlight.
His heart raced.
"Chen Yi…" he whispered, trembling.
And then he heard it — that same soft voice, faint but unmistakable:
"You kept your promise."
He looked around — but there was no one there.
Only the roses, the light, and the whisper of spring wind.
"Are you here?" he asked. His voice cracked. "Where are you?"
The wind brushed against him, carrying the faintest laugh — tender, fleeting.
"Not yet," the voice said, fading slowly. "But soon."
And then the garden fell silent again.
That night, he couldn't sleep.
The moonlight filtered through the paper doors, bathing the room in silver.
He sat by his table, his hands tracing the dried petals he had kept since winter — the ones that never faded.
Each petal still glowed faintly, as if holding a fragment of Chen Yi's spirit.
Ling Xu had noticed the change in him —
the way he smiled more softly, the way he stared into the distance when no one was watching.
"You've been strange lately," she said one evening, resting her chin on her palm.
"Are you in love with your flowers?"
He laughed — the sound brief, fragile.
"Maybe I am."
"Then you're hopeless," she teased.
"Perhaps," he replied, looking out the window. "But even hopeless love can bloom again."
Spring deepened.
The garden grew wild with color.
And one morning, when the dawn light touched the horizon — a soft hum filled the air.
The roses began to glow all at once.
A golden light burst forth from the soil, spiraling upward like threads of silk.
Xiu Zhao shielded his eyes —
and then, from within the light, a figure stepped forward.
Barefoot.
Clothed in white robes that shimmered like moonlight.
Hair long and dark, eyes bright like the stars that had watched him all winter.
"Chen Yi…"
The name escaped his lips like a prayer.
Chen Yi smiled, that same gentle smile from his memories — both near and impossibly distant.
"You waited for me," he said softly. "Even through the snow."
Xiu Zhao took a shaky step forward.
"I told you I would."
The world was quiet around them — even the wind had stopped to listen.
They stood beneath the cherry blossoms, the roses blooming wildly at their feet, the morning sun breaking the cold sky apart.
And for the first time, Chen Yi reached out —
his hand warm, solid, alive.
Xiu Zhao's fingers trembled as he took it.
Tears filled his eyes, but he smiled through them.
"This isn't real right?"
Chen figure touched Xiu Zhao's cheek.
" Yes" a soft smile spread in his face.
" I miss you so much Chen"
He stepped forward to touch Chen, but Chen disappeared in fragments.