Wang Lin did not sleep.
He sat with his back against a splintered support beam, knees drawn up, eyes fixed on the narrow gap between the barn doors where pale moonlight slipped through. Every sound outside made his shoulders tense. Every creak of the old structure set his nerves on edge.
The forest did not rest.
Something moved beyond the walls. Insects chirped. Leaves rustled. Once, a distant howl rolled through the night, low and lingering, and Wang Lin felt the fine hairs on his arms rise.
The beast-woman stirred.
He leaned forward immediately, careful not to startle her. Her face was slick with sweat, strands of hair plastered to her cheeks. Her breathing was uneven, the shallow rise and fall of her chest barely enough to reassure him she was still alive.
Her skin was burning.
Fever.
He cursed quietly under his breath.
The wound on her shoulder had closed slightly, but the edges were angry and dark. Whatever spiritual residue the hound's claws had left behind was still inside her. Without proper medicine or a cultivator's help, it could rot her from the inside out.
He had neither.
"I really am a fool," he whispered.
He tore another strip from his robe and soaked it with water from his skin, then pressed it gently to her forehead. She flinched at the contact, a faint whimper escaping her lips.
"Easy," he murmured. "It's just water."
Her eyes fluttered open.
For a split second, terror flashed through them.
She tried to sit up.
Pain stopped her.
She cried out, a sharp, broken sound that made Wang Lin's chest tighten.
"Don't," he said quickly. "You'll tear it open."
Her gaze focused on him slowly, confusion clouding her expression. Her pupils were dilated, unfocused. She swallowed, throat bobbing.
"…Where," she rasped.
"An old barn," Wang Lin replied. "Abandoned. No one should come here."
She blinked several times, then her eyes slid to the rough wooden walls, the sagging roof, the straw beneath her.
Her body relaxed just a fraction.
"You didn't take me to a sect," she said.
"No."
Her gaze snapped back to him, sharp despite the fever. "Why not?"
Wang Lin hesitated.
"Because they would kill you," he said. "Or worse."
She let out a shaky breath.
Her fingers curled weakly in the straw. "They always say worse," she whispered. "Then they do it anyway."
Silence stretched between them.
Wang Lin adjusted the damp cloth on her forehead and glanced toward the door again. The pendant at his chest gave off a faint warmth, steady and persistent, like a heartbeat that was not his own.
She noticed.
Her eyes drifted to it.
"That," she said faintly. "What is that?"
He looked down. The wooden pendant rested against his skin, smooth and worn, its simple carving unremarkable.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I've had it as long as I can remember."
Her brow furrowed.
"It feels old," she murmured. "Older than this mountain."
He did not know what to say to that.
Her breathing hitched suddenly, and she cried out again, fingers digging into the straw. Her body arched as pain tore through her shoulder, her teeth clenched hard enough that Wang Lin feared they might crack.
He moved without thinking.
His hand closed around hers.
Her skin was hot and trembling. Her grip tightened instantly, nails biting into his palm as another wave of pain rolled through her.
"Breathe," he said softly. "Just breathe."
She did.
Slowly. Unevenly.
Her grip loosened after a long moment, though she did not let go.
Her eyes stayed on his face.
"You're still here," she said, voice thick.
"Yes."
"They usually leave," she whispered.
The words were not an accusation. They were a statement of fact.
Wang Lin swallowed.
"I won't," he said.
Her eyes searched his face, as if looking for a lie. Whatever she found there made her eyelids droop.
She drifted into a fitful sleep.
The night dragged on.
Wang Lin cleaned the wound as best he could, using water and cloth, his movements careful and slow. Every time she stirred, he stopped. Every time she groaned, he held her steady until it passed.
At some point, her fever worsened.
Her breathing grew rapid. Her body shuddered with chills despite the heat burning beneath her skin. She muttered incoherently, words slipping out in broken fragments.
"No more."
"Please."
"I'll be good."
Wang Lin's jaw tightened.
He did not need to understand every word to understand enough.
When she thrashed weakly, he placed a hand on her shoulder without thinking.
She screamed.
Her eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, her body recoiling as if struck. She tried to crawl away, panic giving her strength for a brief, terrifying moment.
"Don't touch me," she sobbed. "Don't lock me down. I'll behave. I swear."
Wang Lin froze.
His hand hovered in the air between them.
"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I won't. I won't."
He withdrew, backing away until his spine pressed against the wall.
She continued to tremble, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. Slowly, the fear ebbed, replaced by exhaustion once more. Her eyes slid shut, tears tracking through the dirt on her cheeks.
Wang Lin stayed where he was.
He did not sleep.
When dawn came, it crept into the barn in thin, pale lines of light. The forest sounds shifted, night creatures giving way to birdsong. The world moved on, indifferent to the two broken figures hidden among the ruins.
The beast-woman's fever finally broke just after sunrise.
It was sudden. One moment she was burning, the next she shuddered violently and went still. Her breathing slowed. Her skin cooled beneath his fingers.
Wang Lin checked her forehead again, disbelief flooding him.
Alive.
Still alive.
Relief hit him so hard his vision blurred.
He let out a breath he felt like he had been holding all night.
She woke a short while later.
This time, there was no panic in her eyes.
Just wariness.
She studied him in silence, gaze sharp and assessing. He met it steadily, not moving closer, not looking away.
"You didn't bind me," she said.
"No."
"You didn't mark me."
"No."
"You didn't…" She trailed off, swallowing. "Use me."
"No."
Her shoulders sagged slightly.
"…Why?"
Wang Lin considered the question.
"Because you didn't deserve what they did to you," he said. "And because I didn't want to become the same."
She looked away.
Her fingers brushed her shoulder gingerly, then stilled when she felt the bandage.
"You cleaned it," she said.
"Yes."
"…Thank you."
The words sounded unused.
She tried to sit up again. This time, she managed a few inches before pain forced her to stop.
"Easy," Wang Lin said. "You need more time."
She nodded reluctantly.
"My name is Mei Niu," she said after a moment. "Spirit cow. Tier One."
"I'm Wang Lin," he replied. "Human. Apparently defective."
That earned a quiet, surprised huff of laughter.
"Good," she said. "Defective humans are safer."
Wang Lin smiled faintly.
Outside, a branch snapped.
Both of them froze.
Wang Lin moved instantly, positioning himself between Mei Niu and the door, heart pounding. He listened hard, every sense straining.
Footsteps passed nearby.
Then faded.
Only when the forest settled again did he relax.
Mei Niu watched him closely.
"You'll get killed like this," she said quietly.
"Maybe," Wang Lin replied. "But not today."
She was silent for a long time.
Then she said, "I can read spiritual signatures."
He stiffened.
"I already know you're empty," she continued. "I felt it last night. That's why I didn't kill you."
That surprised him.
"Why would you kill me."
"Because humans who approach us alone are usually worse than hunters," she said. "They want something they can't afford."
Her gaze softened slightly.
"You had nothing."
The words should have stung.
They did not.
She closed her eyes again, exhaustion pulling at her.
"If you want to survive," she murmured, "you'll need to hide better. And I'll need to heal."
Wang Lin nodded.
"We'll figure it out," he said.
Outside, the forest shifted, alive and watchful.
Neither of them knew it yet, but the choice made in that ruined barn had already set something ancient into motion.
Something that had been waiting a very long time to wake up.