The elders had ordered everyone out of the Cold Hall, but Lan Xiyue didn't leave the compound. He waited in the shadow of the southern wall until the last lamplight in the elders' chambers dimmed.
Only then did he move.
Ruo Han was confined to the outer disciple quarters "for observation." The restriction wasn't harsh by sect standards — no chains, no guard — but Xiyue knew the real prison was the constant watchful eyes.
When he slipped into Ruo Han's room, the omega was sitting cross-legged on the thin mat, eyes half-lidded in meditation.
Xiyue: "You're not asleep."
Ruo Han: "Neither are you."
They didn't speak for a while. The faint winter wind whistled through the cracked lattice window, stirring the faint herbal scent from the brazier.
Finally, Xiyue knelt across from him.
Xiyue: "That man — the one who appeared in the light. You've seen him before."
Ruo Han's shoulders tensed, but he didn't deny it.
Ruo Han: "…He's from another sect."
Xiyue's gaze sharpened. "Which?"
Silence.
The alpha exhaled slowly, then reached into his sleeve. From it, he drew a scrap of black silk embroidered with crimson thread — a crest shaped like a rising sun.
Ruo Han's eyes widened.
Ruo Han: "How do you—"
Xiyue: "I've crossed paths with the Scarlet Sun Sect before. And I know they don't bind themselves to others lightly."
Ruo Han swallowed hard, and for the first time, the warmth in his chest pulsed not with urgency, but with something dangerously close to longing.
Xiyue tucked the crest away.
Xiyue: "Rest. I'll find him."
And when Xiyue left that night, his steps took him not toward his own quarters, but toward the sect's outer gates — where the mountains rolled into dangerous, unclaimed territory… and the Scarlet Sun's hidden paths waited.