Chapter 61
Night fell gently over the sect like a silken curtain, drawn with the quiet rustle of snow settling into hollows. Moonlight glazed the tiled rooftops, lanterns swayed in the wind, and warm laughter poured out like smoke from the great dining hall where the Lunar New Year banquet had begun.
The long tables were brimming with roasted meats, fragrant dumplings, and gold-trimmed cups of plum wine. Xinyu sat beside Mochen and Lingque, their table slightly off from the others, while Rou Rou nestled beside Lan Xueyao, Shen Yao, Yan Zheng, and Qingze across the hall. The other sect disciples sat farther down, their voices rising in waves of chatter and excitement.
Everyone was present—except him.
Hua Ling had not yet arrived.
Xinyu tapped a thumb against his wine cup, trying not to look at the empty seat. His smile strained at the edges, and his eyes kept flickering toward the entrance.
At the other table, Rou Rou clutched a scarf in her arms, its colors pale and warm, stitched with deliberate care. She had handed them out to each of her shixiongs and jiejies with a bright, proud smile—only one scarf remained in her lap. Her gaze wandered toward the door, hopeful. Still no sign of Hua Ling.
Behind her, some younger disciples whispered, barely trying to hide their giggles.
"Maybe he's with his fiancée," one said.
"Must be," another agreed. "It's a festival night, after all."
Their laughter was sweet and poisonous. Xinyu's grip tightened around the wine cup. He tilted it back and drank.
Mochen frowned. "Yu'ge, that's enough."
"Just one more," Xinyu muttered, blinking blearily. The wine stung his throat, but he welcomed the burn. It was something to cling to.
Lingque rolled her eyes. "Don't let him drink. You'll miss Hua Ling's performance."
Xinyu turned toward her, confused. "He's… performing?"
Lingque gave him a look that could boil water. "Why are you always the last to know everything? The whole sect knew he was going to play the guqin tonight. He's good at it, too."
That startled something awake in Xinyu. His chest fluttered, though his mind was still fogged with wine and worse—memory. That dream. That voice. "I missed you too."
The music began.
A hush fell over the room as a handful of graceful women took the stage. Silken sleeves flared like blossoms as they moved. In their midst, Chi Ruyan stepped forward, swathed in flowing gauze that shimmered under lanternlight. Her dance was poised and elegant, each movement a carefully measured note of beauty. Her black hair fluttered like a ribbon behind her, and her steps were soundless on the wooden stage.
Disciples whispered in admiration. Perfect, they said. Unmatched. The ideal match for Hua Ling.
Xinyu didn't speak. His eyes were on her, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere, unreadable even to himself.
And then—finally.
A figure stepped onto the stage.
The moment Hua Ling appeared, the room inhaled.
He was dressed in flowing robes that bled from vermilion to gold, as if painted with firelight. His black hair was bound high with a simple crimson ribbon. He sat at the guqin with the grace of a snow-covered pine—unmoving, elegant, untouchable. His hands, slender and precise, brushed over the strings with reverence.
The first note rang out. Clear, ethereal, impossibly fragile. And then it grew.
The melody soared, delicate yet powerful, like wind moving through mountains, like a river frozen beneath the moon. The entire hall fell into silence. Even the air seemed to still, as if the music alone commanded time itself.
Xinyu watched, his breath caught. Every movement of Hua Ling's fingers was a thread stitched directly into his heart.
Around him, the disciples whispered again. Too perfect, they murmured. He's not like the rest of us.
Xinyu drank again. His cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, a familiar burn creeping down his neck. Right… he's perfect.
When the performance ended, the hall erupted into applause. Hua Ling left the stage and returned, at last, to their table.
Xinyu's gaze followed him like a moth to a lantern.
He rested his chin on one hand, shamelessly staring. He didn't care anymore. The wine had melted all shame from him.
Hua Ling met his eyes briefly, then looked away with the faintest sigh. He sat down across from him, folding his sleeves neatly. Chi Ruyan appeared at his side and sat beside him, calm and radiant. She leaned close, picked up the ladle, and filled his bowl with soup. Her hand lingered on his shoulder.
"You've gotten thin," she said softly.
Xinyu watched, jealous enough to choke. Hua Ling didn't react to the touch, but that only made it worse.
He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.
"I'm going," he muttered.
Shen Yao looked up from his dumplings. "Where are you going?"
But Xinyu didn't answer. His head buzzed, his chest ached, and his heart felt like a boat untethered in a storm. He turned and walked out into the winter night, the sound of music and laughter fading behind him.
Got it — I'll turn this into a flowing, emotional, Priest-style continuation of Chapter 61, keeping every beat of your scenario exactly, but enriching it with tone, pacing, and subtle detail so it feels alive and cinematic.
Chapter 61 — continuation
The voices and laughter in the hall faded behind him, dulled to a muffled hum by the snow-heavy air. Xinyu walked away with a cup of wine clutched in his hand, its warmth already lost to the cold.
The moon was high, silver light spilling across the courtyard like water over stone. He found a quiet corner behind the hall, where no lanterns reached, and sat on the low steps. The cup was drained too quickly; the last swallow burned on the way down, warming his stomach while leaving his chest hollow.
Above him, the moon stared back, indifferent.
He rose unsteadily, boots crunching over frost, and wandered toward the old locust tree by the pond. The bark was rough under his palms as he wrapped his arms around it, forehead pressing against the trunk like a child seeking comfort.
His voice came low and slurred, pouting into the wood.
"God… you hate me that much? I've fallen for the wrong person… and now you want to torture me with this."
The branches swayed overhead, whispering in the cold wind. He tilted his head back, eyes hazy. Somewhere far off, a voice called his name.
"Xinyu."
He blinked. The sound was so clear it pierced through the fog in his mind.
Again—closer this time.
"Xinyu!"
He almost laughed to himself. I'm hearing him in my head now. I'm done for.
Footsteps approached over the frost. Hua Ling's shadow stretched across the ground. He stopped a few paces away, taking in the sight of Xinyu clinging to the tree.
"…Does he have something with trees?" Hua Ling murmured under his breath.
He stepped forward and tapped Xinyu's shoulder.
"Xinyu."
Slowly, Xinyu let go of the tree, as if releasing a secret. He turned, saw Hua Ling standing there in moonlight, and immediately straightened—well, as much as his swaying frame allowed. He backed up against the trunk again, stammering,
"W–What is Dianxia doing here?"
"I came for you," Hua Ling said simply.
Xinyu's brows knit, his lips pressing together. He didn't answer. The wine loosened the lock on his tongue, but his pride held it there a moment longer—until it broke.
"I don't believe you."
Hua Ling's expression flickered. "…What?"
"You're cold," Xinyu said, voice trembling between anger and ache. "Cold and heartless. Leaving me to torture every day… it's your fault I'm like this."
His hand rose, pointing accusingly at Hua Ling, though the motion wavered.
Hua Ling's eyes narrowed slightly. "What did I do to cause you torture?"
Xinyu stared at him—eyes glassy, lips parted. Words spilled before reason could stop them.
"You're a bad person, Dianxia. You… you captivated me, and now you act like nothing happened. You're bad."
His steps faltered. The frost beneath him seemed to tilt. Hua Ling caught him by the arm, but Xinyu jerked back quickly, heart hammering. Their eyes locked.
Then Xinyu's gaze slipped—downward—to Hua Ling's lips.
He didn't dare. But Hua Ling's voice came low and measured:
"How did I captivate you?"
"You… you…" Xinyu's breath clouded between them. "You make my mind go numb. You invaded my dreams. It's all you."
The corner of Hua Ling's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
Xinyu's temper flared. "You think it's funny?"
He turned sharply, walking toward the pond's edge. His hand shot out to pluck a pale winter blossom from the branch hanging over the water. He stared at it a moment—then ripped it apart, petals scattering onto the frozen surface.
Hua Ling watched him, a strange warmth stirring under his calm exterior. Adorable, he thought, though he didn't smile.
Without a word, he stepped forward and drew Xinyu back into his arms. His embrace was firm, almost possessive, his chin brushing against Xinyu's hair.
Xinyu froze, breath catching. The cold of the night seeped away, replaced by something far more dangerous. His voice trembled, breaking with an edge of sob.
"Dianxia… you're killing me again."
The hug ended slowly.
Xinyu turned in his arms, staring at Hua Ling in the silver light. His mind flashed back to the dream—the stolen warmth, the unspoken promise. It flooded him now, drowning reason.
Before he could think better of it, he stepped closer, hand rising to Hua Ling's shoulder. His body tipped forward slightly, leaning up on his toes.
And then—without warning—he closed the distance, blocking Hua Ling's lips with his own.
Hua Ling's eyes widened, the moon catching in their depths.