Some men spoke too much.
Others didn’t speak, but their eyes demanded answers, acknowledgment, or submission.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t demand.
And yet, since she had met him, his silence carried more weight than any title from her world outside.
It was the third day walking near him.
He didn’t lead her, but he stopped when she fell behind. He didn’t protect her, but he was always between her and danger. He didn’t question her, but somehow, he seemed to know when she needed to sit… or when she needed quiet.
Yun Yun wasn’t used to that.
As the future leader of the Misty Cloud Sect, every relationship was a transaction, a promise, or a duty. Even courtesy was a weapon. Even smiles, a shield.
But him…
He walked beside her as if her presence was neither burden nor conquest. Just… company.
That morning —if you could call the thinner mist morning— they found an area of flat rocks covered in moss.
It was an unusual place. Too serene for that world of fangs and claws. The air smelled of ancient dampness, as if that crevice between the stones had once been a temple before the world had crumbled.
Yun Yun sat on a warm rock. She was exhausted, though she wouldn’t show it. He sat across from her, saying nothing.
The silence felt natural.
She was the one who spoke first.
—How long have you been here?
He didn’t answer right away. He lowered his gaze, brushing his thumb over a rock, as if weighing a response that wouldn’t wound or reveal too much.
—Long enough to stop counting days.
She nodded.
—You’re the first person I’ve met here.
—You too.
—Do you have a name?
He looked at her, calm and steady.
—Do you want to know it… or do you need to know it?
Her brow furrowed slightly. That way of asking wasn’t evasive. It was… an invitation.
—Yun Yun, —she said, as if that answered both questions.
He gave a slight nod, a faint smile just barely cracking his composed expression.
—Zhu Xian.
A name that stuck with her, not because of its sound, but because of its rhythm.
The kind of name you remember without trying.
More hours passed. Brief exchanges. Not about the outside world, or cultivation, or history.
Just small things.
What kind of creature hunted in the mist. What sounds came before the bone rain. Which stones vibrated to the touch. He seemed to know things no one should know. But he never boasted about it.
When she watched him while he slept —if he truly slept at all— she noticed his body, though strong, bore fresh scars. Scars from this life. And scars from before.
Yun Yun thought of her sect. Of the elders waiting for her. Of the endless formalities, the struggle for leadership, the doctrine carved into her soul.
And in that moment, she hated herself a little… because none of that felt as real as the way Zhu Xian sat beside the makeshift fire, quietly watching the soul stones spark and glow.
That night, while they slept under a natural ledge, a beast tried to attack.
It was fast, like lightning. Small, scaled, with double fangs and the scent of old blood.
Zhu Xian intercepted it before she could even rise.
His body moved with an instinct that was almost animal, almost graceful. Without Dou Qi. Just muscle. Just will. The creature was dead in three strikes. He said nothing.
But as Yun Yun watched him save the remains for food, she knew with a bone-deep certainty that made her shiver:
If there was ever someone in the world who feared nothing… it was him.
That night, before sleep claimed her, she asked without looking at him:
—Aren’t you ever going to ask me why I’m here?
He answered without raising his voice:
—I already know.
She turned her head, startled.
—How do you know?
He closed his eyes, as though hearing something far beyond the silence.
—Because I’m here too… for a duty heavier than life itself.
Yun Yun didn’t answer.
But that night, she dreamed of something impossible:
She dreamed they left the Gate together. Walking not as cultivators… but as people.
And when she woke, she didn’t know whether to mourn the dream…
…or wish for it.