The days continued, each moment a step deeper into the quiet harmony they had built.
The orchard had become not just a place of refuge, but a living pulse, breathing with the rhythms of renewal. Every path felt softer, more familiar—like a song once sung, forgotten, and rediscovered.
One afternoon, Feng Yin sat under the great Hearttree, his fingers moving steadily across parchment as he wrote. A poem, a letter—he hadn't decided which. Tian Shen found him there, just as the light began to stretch long over the grove.
He stood for a moment, watching the way the sun kissed the edges of Feng Yin's hair, the ink staining his fingers like an old blessing. The sight made Tian Shen's heart skip—this was how he wanted to remember everything.
"You always find me when I'm lost in words," Feng Yin said, without looking up. His voice was soft, but filled with warmth.
"Then I'll find you more often," Tian Shen replied, his tone light but sincere.
