The warmth did not fade.
Wang Lin noticed it the moment he woke. It sat against his chest like a living thing, steady and patient, neither burning nor pulsing, simply present. The wooden pendant felt heavier than it should have, as if it carried more than its own weight.
Mei Niu noticed too.
"You feel different," she said quietly.
He looked up from the small fire he had just rekindled. "Different how."
"Closer," she replied, then frowned as if the word annoyed her. "Like you are standing nearer to something that has been watching for a long time."
That was not comforting.
She was sitting up on her own now, back against the barn wall, legs drawn in slightly. Her movements were slow and careful, but no longer fragile. The wound on her shoulder still hurt, but it was clean. Healing.
"You said before that you could see spiritual traces," Wang Lin said. "Even in mortals."
"Yes."
"And you said I have none."
"Yes."
He hesitated. "Can you check again?"
Mei Niu's eyes sharpened.
"Why?"
"Because something is changing," he said. "And I do not like not knowing what."
She studied him for a long moment.
"This is not without risk," she said. "If there is something bound to you and it reacts poorly, I could be harmed."
"I will stop you if it does," Wang Lin replied.
She huffed softly. "You would not even know how."
"That may be true," he admitted. "But I would try."
Her lips pressed together.
After a moment, she nodded. "All right. But we do this slowly."
She shifted closer, moving carefully, and raised her hand. It hovered inches from his chest, hesitation visible even in the slight tremor of her fingers.
"Tell me if anything feels wrong," she said.
"I will," Wang Lin replied.
Her palm touched his chest.
The reaction was immediate.
Mei Niu gasped.
It was not pain. It was shock. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating as a rush of sensation surged through her body. Her breath caught sharply, shoulders tensing as if she had been plunged into cold water.
Wang Lin felt it too.
Something flowed into him.
It was not qi as he understood it. It was softer. Warmer. Alive in a way that defied explanation. It moved through him without resistance, spreading outward instead of settling.
Then it turned back.
The warmth doubled.
Mei Niu let out a soft, broken sound she clearly had not intended to make.
Her hand jerked as if she meant to pull away, but her fingers curled instead, pressing more firmly against his chest. Her breathing grew uneven, shallow at first, then deeper as heat spread through her body.
"What," she whispered, voice trembling, "is happening?"
Wang Lin swallowed hard. His heart was racing, not from fear, but from the strange resonance building between them.
"I do not know," he said. "But you should stop."
She should have.
She did not.
Her brows knit together in concentration, eyes unfocused as she tried to follow the flow of energy she was sensing. Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up.
A shiver ran through her.
Her tail flicked sharply against the straw.
She sucked in a breath, hand tightening against his chest as another wave passed through her.
"No," she whispered. "This is not possible."
"What are you feeling?" Wang Lin asked.
She did not answer immediately.
Her other hand pressed against her own abdomen, fingers curling into fabric as if trying to ground herself. Heat flushed across her cheeks. Her breathing hitched again, this time accompanied by a faint, involuntary whimper.
Wang Lin stiffened.
"Mei Niu," he said carefully. "We stop now."
She looked at him, eyes glassy with shock and confusion.
"My body," she said hoarsely, "is responding to you."
The pendant against his chest warmed sharply, as if in agreement.
Mei Niu felt it.
Her breath stuttered.
"There," she said. "That thing. It is acting like a conduit."
Her hand finally pulled away, breaking contact.
The sensation vanished instantly.
The barn fell silent except for their breathing.
Mei Niu stared at her trembling fingers as if they no longer belonged to her.
"That," she said slowly, "should not happen."
Wang Lin's chest still felt warm, though the flow had stopped.
"I did not do anything," he said.
"I know," she replied. "That is what frightens me."
She shifted back, putting space between them, and drew her knees closer to her chest. Her face was flushed, eyes sharp now despite the lingering haze.
"In the gardens," she said, "we were stimulated by formations or pills. Artificial triggers. Cold. Precise."
Her jaw tightened.
"What I felt just now was neither."
"What was it," Wang Lin asked.
She hesitated.
"Resonance," she said finally. "Like my body recognized yours."
That made his stomach twist.
"I am human," he said.
She shook her head slowly. "You are something else."
She took a steadying breath, then looked down at herself.
Her chest felt heavy.
Uncomfortably so.
She pressed her arms lightly against her body, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm.
"No," she muttered.
"What?" Wang Lin asked.
"My cycle," she said. "It should not be starting yet."
She swallowed.
"And yet it is."
Wang Lin followed her gaze.
There was no visible sign yet, but he could sense the tension in her posture, the way she held herself as if containing something building inside.
"Is that dangerous," he asked.
"It can be," she replied. "If ignored. Or if forced."
"I will not force anything," Wang Lin said immediately.
She looked at him.
"I know," she said quietly. "That is why this is difficult."
Silence stretched again, thick with unspoken implications.
After a moment, Mei Niu straightened slightly.
"We need to understand this," she said. "Carefully. On my terms."
"Of course," Wang Lin replied.
She nodded once.
"This was an accident," she said. "But accidents reveal truth."
Her gaze met his, steady now.
"If your touch alone can trigger this kind of response," she continued, "then what you are carrying is not a defect."
"It is an inheritance."
The pendant pulsed faintly.
Wang Lin felt it clearly this time.
A presence, patient and ancient, stirring just beneath the surface.
Outside the barn, the forest rustled, indifferent to the revelation unfolding within.
Neither of them slept that night.
And neither of them could pretend that what had happened was meaningless.
Something had awakened.