The moon had climbed higher when they finally lowered their swords.
Moonshadow Pavilion was quiet now except for the soft rustle of late cherry petals still drifting from somewhere unseen. Mei's practice blade lay where she had dropped it; Xīuyīng's elegant sword rested beside it, tips almost touching like exhausted lovers.
Neither girl spoke for a long moment.
Mei's forearm still bled in a thin line—nothing serious, but enough to stain the white marble red-black under moonlight. She didn't wipe it. The sting kept her grounded.
Xīuyīng looked at the blood, then at Mei's face.
"You let me win that exchange," she said. Not accusation. Observation.
Mei gave a small, crooked smile.
"I let you touch me. There's a difference."
Xīuyīng's gaze flicked to the now-empty spot where the hairpin had been. Six dark shards lay scattered at their feet like broken promises.
"You gave the last piece away."
"To you."
Xīuyīng opened her palm. The single warm shard still rested there—faint green light pulsing once, twice, then steadying like a heartbeat finding rhythm.
"Why?"
Mei stepped closer until their toes nearly touched.
"Because I wanted you to remember what it felt like to hold something that wasn't duty. Something that wasn't judgment. Something that chose you."
Xīuyīng's fingers closed slowly around the shard.
Her voice came softer than Mei had ever heard it.
"I sentenced you to exile. I read the verdict without hesitation. I watched them drag you away while your meridians burned and your eyes begged for one word of mercy I refused to give."
Mei nodded.
"I remember."
"And still you came back."
"I did."
Xīuyīng looked away—toward the distant peaks where the academy lights flickered like fallen stars.
"I should finish what I began," she whispered. "The elders expect it. The array still has your name marked for death if you fail the trial. One word from me and the formations activate. You die here. Cleanly."
Mei didn't flinch.
"Then say the word."
Xīuyīng's hand lifted—slow, trembling—until her fingertips rested against Mei's cheek.
No qi.
No killing intent.
Just skin on skin.
The touch lingered.
Then Xīuyīng spoke—voice cracking like spring ice over a thawing river.
"Lin Mei."
Not command.
Not verdict.
Just the name—raw, unguarded, said like a confession.
Mei's eyes burned.
She reached up, covered Xīuyīng's hand with her own.
"Say it again."
Xīuyīng swallowed.
"Lin Mei."
Louder this time.
Clearer.
Mei closed the last distance.
Their foreheads met—same as before, but slower, deliberate.
Xīuyīng's breath hitched.
"I lost," Mei whispered against her skin. "You defeated me tonight. But I'm still standing."
Xīuyīng laughed—small, broken, almost a sob.
"You never knelt."
"I never will."
Silence wrapped them again.
Then Xīuyīng pulled back—just enough to look into Mei's eyes.
"The trial isn't over. The Heart-Blossom you both claimed—it binds souls or shatters them. The elders will demand you use it tomorrow. Prove your intent. Prove you belong."
Mei nodded.
"I know."
"If you fail the binding—"
"I won't."
Xīuyīng's fingers tightened on the shard.
"If you survive tomorrow… meet me at the archive at midnight. There are scrolls even the elders don't speak of. Reincarnation loops. Cursed artifacts. The hairpin's origin."
Mei's heart stuttered.
"You're helping me."
Xīuyīng looked away again—cheeks faintly flushed under moonlight.
"I'm… curious."
Mei smiled—real, tired, bright.
"Curious is a start."
Xīuyīng stepped back. Retrieved her sword. Sheathed it with a soft click.
"Go back to your healer friend. Rest. Tomorrow will be worse."
Mei bent—careful, respectful—and gathered the six dark shards of the hairpin into her palm. They felt cold now. Empty.
But the one in Xīuyīng's hand still glowed.
Mei looked up.
"Keep that piece safe."
Xīuyīng closed her fingers around it.
"I will."
Mei turned to leave.
At the top of the jade steps she paused.
Looked back.
Xīuyīng still stood beneath the open roof—silver hair catching moonlight, white silks fluttering, one hand pressed to her chest where the shard rested against her heart.
Their eyes met one last time.
Xīuyīng spoke—barely audible.
"Rest well… Mei."
Mei's throat closed.
She nodded once.
Then descended the steps—petals swirling around her ankles, blood drying on her sleeve, heart too full to speak.
Below, Sùyīn waited at the base of the path—arms crossed, expression a mix of worry and exasperation.
She took one look at Mei's face and sighed.
"You're smiling like an idiot."
Mei laughed—soft, shaky.
"She said my name."
Sùyīn rolled her eyes.
"Of course she did. You're impossible to ignore."
They walked back toward the outer disciple quarters together.
Above them, on Moonshadow Pavilion, a single figure remained—hand still pressed over her heart, watching two shadows disappear into the night.
The last shard pulsed gently against her skin.
Warm.
Alive.
Hers.