Ye did not return the next morning.
Ling Yue noticed it before she allowed herself to worry.
At dawn, she prepared tea out of habit, setting two cups on the low wooden table before realizing one would remain untouched. She stared at it for a moment, then turned away, annoyed at herself.
He said he would return before sunset, she reminded herself.
He had returned.
So why did the unease remain?
The village moved as usual. Doors opened. Voices carried. Life continued.
Yet something felt… misaligned.
---
By midday, she found herself watching the road more often than necessary.
Mei Qiao noticed.
"You're pacing," she said gently, grinding herbs with practiced calm. "That won't make time move faster."
Ling Yue stopped. "I'm not waiting."
Mei Qiao raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"You've worn a path into the ground," she said. "At least be honest with yourself."
Ling Yue folded her arms. "He said he'd return. I'm just… checking."
"Mm." Mei Qiao tied the herb bundle. "And if he doesn't?"
The question settled uncomfortably between them.
Ling Yue didn't answer.
---
That afternoon, she tried to distract herself by helping an elderly villager carry water. Halfway back, her hands suddenly trembled. The bucket slipped, water spilling across the dirt.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, embarrassed.
The old woman smiled kindly. "Your mind's elsewhere, child."
Ling Yue laughed weakly. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to those who've lived long enough to recognize it."
Ling Yue didn't know why the words tightened her chest.
---
As evening approached, the sky darkened sooner than expected. Clouds gathered low, heavy with unspent rain.
Ling Yue stood near the well, fingers wrapped around the wooden charm Ye had given her. It remained cool, smooth, ordinary.
She should have felt reassured.
Instead, fear crept in quietly.
What if this time is different?
What if he doesn't come back?
The thought startled her with its intensity.
Since when had his absence felt like loss?
---
Night fell.
Lanterns were lit. Doors closed.
Still no sign of him.
Ling Yue paced the square, heart beating too loudly in her ears. She told herself she was foolish, that Ye was capable, that he had faced worse than a restless remnant near a village.
Yet capability did not guarantee return.
She had learned that much in life already.
---
It was near midnight when she saw him.
A silhouette at the edge of the road, moving slowly, deliberately.
Her breath caught.
She ran.
She didn't think — just moved.
"Ye!"
He looked up in surprise just as she reached him. Before he could speak, she had already grasped his sleeve, fingers curling tight.
"You didn't come back," she said, voice unsteady. "You said you would."
"I did," he replied softly. "Just… later than expected."
She looked him over quickly — his face pale, his movements controlled but careful. He was hiding something.
"You're hurt again."
"It's minor."
She shook her head, frustration flashing through her worry. "You always decide that for yourself."
He didn't argue.
That frightened her more than any denial.
---
She brought him to her home without asking.
Inside, she lit a lamp and pushed him gently onto the stool. Her hands moved with practiced familiarity as she cleaned the shallow wound along his side — not deep, but enough to explain his delay.
He watched her quietly.
"You shouldn't worry so much," he said.
She didn't look up. "Then stop giving me reasons to."
The words surprised them both.
Silence followed.
Her hands stilled.
Slowly, she looked at him.
Their eyes met — close, unguarded.
Something shifted.
Not sudden.
Not overwhelming.
Just… undeniable.
---
"I don't know when it happened," she said quietly, "but when you weren't here today… everything felt wrong."
Ye's breath caught, barely audible.
"That," he said carefully, "is not something you should say lightly."
"Why?"
"Because if you say it," he replied, "you'll start expecting answers I may not be able to give."
She considered him for a long moment.
"I don't need answers," she said. "I just need you to come back."
The simplicity of it struck deeper than any confession.
Ye lowered his gaze.
"I will," he said.
But something in his voice made the promise ache.
---
Later, after he had left, Ling Yue lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Her heart felt strangely full — and frighteningly vulnerable.
She realized, with sudden clarity, that Ye had become a constant she had never agreed to… and now could not imagine losing.
Somewhere beyond the village, Ye stood beneath the dark sky, pressing a hand against his chest where pain still lingered.
Not from the wound.
From the truth he could not share.
He had delayed his return not because of injury —
But because the mortal world was beginning to reject his presence.
And time, he knew, was no longer on his side.