The moon hung low over the Whispering Lake, its silver light shimmering across the water like delicate silk threads.
Hei Long stood near the edge of a pagoda built on stilts, his robes trailing softly in the breeze. Behind him, spiritual lanterns floated lazily in the air, casting muted colors across the secluded sanctuary.
Xu Qingyue had been meditating beside the lake for hours now.
To most, it looked like she was simply cultivating. But Hei Long had come to understand the subtle signs—her posture relaxed, yet her spiritual energy quietly fluctuating, as though dancing between calm and chaos. There was conflict in her heart.
And that conflict bore his name.
He hadn't needed to lift a finger yet. Lin Fan had done the work for him—desperate gifts, poorly-worded confessions, awkward stalking under the guise of "coincidence."
Xu Qingyue, for all her kindness, had begun keeping a quiet emotional distance from him.
And Hei Long… had stepped in, like silk wrapping around fire.
