The sun dipped behind the mountains like a golden coin slipping beneath dark water's surface. The wind had turned colder now, sharp with the promise of nightfall's embrace. Somewhere in the distant trees, something cried out—not quite wolf, not quite bird—but none of them paid it any mind. They had learned to distinguish mortal sounds from supernatural threats.
They'd been walking for hours that felt like days.
When Shen Yao declared with theatrical despair that if they didn't stop soon, he would sit down in the middle of the path and die nobly like a poet abandoned by his muse, even Hua Ling relented with barely concealed exasperation.
They found a flat clearing just off the trail, nestled between ancient pine trees whose branches formed a cathedral of shadows. The fog had lifted partially, and above them, the sky stretched wide and silver like hammered metal. Qingze conjured a fire with practiced efficiency. They sat around it in a loose circle, steam curling from their breath like visible souls.
Lingque was in her human form again, cheeks still pale as porcelain. She leaned her head on Lu Rourou's shoulder like a spoiled younger sister returning home from battle. Rourou patted her hair without thinking, her other hand busy peeling a roasted yam with careful precision.
Lan Xueyao gave a long yawn that threatened to crack her jaw, stretching until her back popped audibly. "This is absolutely ridiculous," she muttered with genuine grievance. "I joined a spiritual expedition, not a mountain pilgrimage testing mortal endurance."
Xinyu was seated next to Hua Ling—not by choice, he told himself. Just by accident. Probably. Maybe. He peeked at the prince now and then, unsure why he did, unsure why he kept catching Mochen doing the same from across the dancing flames.
Mochen, of course, said nothing. But his gaze lingered far too long, heavy with unspoken hunger.
Yan Zheng and Qingze sat side by side, quiet as usual—two generals camping before war, except one had tied his hair with a ribbon that Rourou had given him earlier. The intimidation factor dropped significantly with that cheerful blue silk.
Then Lan Xueyao, because she couldn't stand comfortable silence any longer, leaned forward and shattered it like thin ice.
"Hey, Xinyu. Since when did you acquire Lingque? That's... quite impressive for someone of your cultivation level." She squinted with genuine curiosity. "Not something I expected from a notorious slacker like yourself."
Xinyu straightened like he'd been accused of theft. "Uh—ah, so... before the tournament. She found me behind the mountain. We—um—talked. She taught me techniques. And then she offered a contract. That's the entire story."
Shen Yao, chin tucked into his cloak like a hibernating creature, raised one elegant brow. "Do you even know what she is?"
"Um. A bird?"
Lingque opened one golden eye with the slowness of divine judgment. Her voice was dry as sun-baked sand. "You absolute slacker. You never asked anything meaningful about me. Is that how you treat your contractor?"
Xinyu raised both hands in defensive protest. "You should've known what you were getting into before signing with me."
They immediately began bickering with the ease of old married couples. The fire cracked loudly between them like a judge's gavel.
"Honestly," Lingque snapped with offended dignity, "if I died tomorrow you wouldn't even notice—"
"Oh please, I literally carried you down an entire mountain—"
"Then maybe you shouldn't have permitted me to get possessed in the first place—!"
Yan Zheng, who had been watching this exchange like one watches chickens fight in fresh snow, finally sighed with the patience of ancient sages and said, "Enough."
Hua Ling's tone was mocking, elegant and cold as winter starlight. "You acquire a spiritual beast and argue with it like it's your disagreeable roommate. Truly, an impressive display of cultivation."
Xinyu stiffened with indignation. "Your Highness, I can handle her perfectly fine. No need for royal interference."
"Oh?" Hua Ling's lip curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then why is she accusing you of criminal negligence?"
Xinyu glared with righteous fury. "Why are you always meddling in my business?!"
And then they were at it—not fighting exactly, not arguing like true rivals. No, it was something stranger—too familiar, too heated, carried on currents of emotion neither could name. The way only people who didn't realize they cared about each other tended to fight.
"You're the one who assigned me a servant's degrading position!"
"You couldn't even carry water properly!"
"I said I was sorry! The bucket slipped!"
"Onto me. While I was wearing ceremonial robes."
Shen Yao leaned toward Lan Xueyao and whispered with barely contained glee, "Are we witnessing something sacred?"
Lan Xueyao blinked in genuine confusion. "I truly don't understand what's happening here."
Rourou tugged Qingze's sleeve with childlike curiosity. "Gongzi, does this happen often between them?"
Qingze, deadpan: "First time I'm witnessing this phenomenon too."
"You're still my personal attendant," Hua Ling continued with cold precision, "don't think I've forgotten your duties."
"Oh? Then assign me any task, I'll perform it better than you imagine!"
"Like dumping mud directly on my person?"
"That was an accident! That wasn't intended for you!"
"...Are you admitting it was meant for someone else?"
"NO—I—uh..."
The fire popped loudly, and Shen Yao chuckled into his hand with poorly concealed amusement.
Mochen stood suddenly, his expression unreadable as ancient stone. "I'm going to scout ahead," he said, but didn't wait for permission or acknowledgment.
No one stopped him. Perhaps no one dared.
Eventually, everyone settled. Sleep came slowly, except for Lingque, who fell into Lu Rourou's lap like an exhausted child, and Shen Yao, who snored very softly like a contented cat.
The fire died to glowing embers. Morning crept toward them on silent feet.
---
Xinyu woke before the others, groggy and drooling inelegantly. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.
A familiar figure crouched by the tree line, poking at a small fire with the end of his scabbard. Smoke drifted up in lazy spirals like ascending prayers. Beside it, a few speckled eggs cracked slowly in their shells, and a pair of cleaned fish roasted on sticks over the gentle heat.
Hua Ling.
His hair was half-tied, loose in the misty dawn like spilled ink, and his robes were slightly disheveled—more human than Xinyu had ever seen him. But he looked calm. Composed. Almost gentle, if the flames didn't reflect in his eyes like liquid gold over frozen water.
Xinyu suddenly remembered with dawning horror that he was supposed to wake early and prepare food.
He shuffled over and crouched awkwardly beside the prince. "I... I was supposed to do this."
Hua Ling didn't look at him, eyes fixed on the cooking fish. "Good thing your brain still functions occasionally."
Xinyu muttered to himself just loud enough to be heard, "You're at it again... I swear, one day I'll punch your pretty face and no girl will look at you again."
Hua Ling just continued his work, still turning the fish with long, elegant fingers that seemed made for more delicate arts. "Then I'll leave the rest to you. Don't mess it up and do it properly."
Xinyu blinked in genuine surprise.
For once, he didn't have a comeback ready.
The sky lightened gradually, pale and colorless as old silk. The eggs cracked softly in the makeshift pan.
---
Everyone else remained sleeping, too exhausted or lazy to wake.
Xinyu hugged his knees, staring at the fire, then at Hua Ling's profile—sharp and perfect as if carved by divine hands.
The prince was quiet, as always. But this kind of quiet didn't feel sharp or cold like before—it was like snowfall that covered everything but didn't smother. A quiet that made Xinyu want to talk, even if he didn't know what to say.
"...Did you sleep at all?" he asked finally, voice soft.
Hua Ling looked at him, just briefly—a glance that lasted less than a heartbeat but felt longer. "Does it matter?"
"Well..." Xinyu scratched his cheek awkwardly. "You didn't have to cook, you know."
"I didn't do it for you."
"Sure."
Silence again, but it felt comfortable. A bird sang once in the distance, then fell silent as if respecting their moment.
Xinyu picked at the hem of his sleeve with nervous fingers. "Hey... yesterday, I—thanks. I mean it sincerely."
Hua Ling didn't reply immediately. Instead, he carefully cracked the eggs into a wooden bowl and stirred them with a bit of seasoning from a silk pouch at his waist. His hands moved with practiced grace, every motion precise and deliberate, like he was painting rather than cooking.
Xinyu's stomach grumbled audibly.
"You really are useless," Hua Ling said flatly. But when he handed Xinyu a stick of perfectly roasted fish, his tone was just a little softer. Almost reluctant, as if the gentleness escaped against his will.
Xinyu took it with both hands like a child receiving treasure. "It smells incredible."
"You're just hungry."
Still, he took a bite, and his eyes lit up with genuine delight. "Wait, this is actually good. Your Highness, you can cook?"
Hua Ling arched a brow with something that might have been amusement. "Why wouldn't I?"
"I thought rich people don't even boil water themselves."
"I'm not most people."
Xinyu chewed in thoughtful silence, then nodded with conviction. "True. You're not."
There was something unspoken hanging between them—suspended between firelight and dissipating fog, visible in the way Hua Ling's expression changed for half a breath when Xinyu said those words with such simple honesty.
Not most people.
Xinyu glanced sideways, gathering courage. "You... okay, I'll say this once. You're not that bad."
Hua Ling turned to him slowly, something indefinable flickering in his dark eyes. "Is that meant as a compliment?"
"It's a trial run."
"You're remarkably brave."
"No, I'm just tired."
They sat like that for a while, eating in companionable silence. The fire hissed softly as morning dew dripped into the glowing embers like tears.
Then Xinyu said, more quietly this time, voice carrying vulnerability he rarely showed, "Even if I am your attendant... you didn't have to help me like that back there. With the mark. Or the cave. Or..."
Hua Ling didn't respond with words.
But he didn't say *you're imagining things*, either.
Instead, he reached forward and gently flicked ash off Xinyu's sleeve with careful fingers. Just once. Just enough to leave Xinyu blinking, breath caught halfway in his chest like a bird startled mid-flight.
"...Eat properly," Hua Ling said, voice softer than dawn light. "You're worse than Lingque."
And in that moment, with fire dying to embers and the world still asleep around them, something shifted—subtle as morning breaking, inevitable as seasons changing, quiet as snow beginning to fall.