Shen Qiyao stood quietly on the moonlit path, regarding the young man in front of him with calm, distant eyes. The night wind stirred the bamboo leaves in the distance, but between them the air felt suddenly heavier.
He Qing's bright smile remained, the small mole beneath his lip catching the lantern light as he waited expectantly.
Qiyao's voice came soft, yet cool and reserved.
"Why should I tell you where I am going?"
He turned without waiting for an answer and continued walking along the path toward the bamboo grove. His steps were unhurried, long black hair swaying gently against his back.
Behind him, the footsteps followed again — light, persistent, and completely undeterred.
He Qing caught up easily, falling into step beside him once more.
Qiyao's brows drew together slightly. He stopped again and turned to face the young man fully, his refined features showing clear detachment.
"Why are you following me?" he asked quietly. "Go your own way."
He Qing's lively expression faltered. The bright smile slowly faded, replaced by something more vulnerable. His shoulders dropped a little, and for the first time, his voice lost its playful edge. He looked down at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
"I… I don't really have another way to go," he said softly.
He Qing lifted his eyes again, and they seemed unusually sincere under the moonlight.
"I arrived in Zhuyin only four days ago. I was traveling with a small merchant caravan, but they left without me after I got sick for two days. I had almost no money left, and when I tried to find work… well, you saw what happened tonight. People here aren't exactly welcoming to strangers who can't fight or carry heavy loads. I've been sleeping under the old bridge by the river for the past two nights. It's cold. And lonely."
He Qing gave a small, self-deprecating laugh that didn't reach his eyes. The mole at the corner of his mouth trembled slightly.
"I'm not asking for much. Just… somewhere to stay for a night or two. I can help with chores, sweep the floors, carry water — anything. I won't cause trouble. I promise."
He looked at Qiyao directly now, his usual mischievous energy replaced by quiet desperation and a hint of genuine helplessness.
"I know I seem loud and annoying… but I really don't have anywhere else to go tonight."
The silence stretched between them. The bamboo grove loomed ahead in the darkness, quiet and watchful.
Shen Qiyao was silent for a long moment, studying the young man's earnest face under the moonlight. Something in He Qing's eyes — that quiet, almost helpless honesty — tugged at a place inside him he rarely touched anymore.
He exhaled softly.
"…You may stay one night," he said at last, voice calm and measured. "Only one. Tomorrow you will find your own way."
He Qing's face lit up instantly, the small mole beneath his lip appearing again as he broke into a wide, relieved grin.
"Thank you! Really, thank you! You won't regret it, I swear!"
Without waiting for further invitation, He Qing fell into step beside Qiyao, matching his pace easily as they walked down the narrow path toward the bamboo grove. The night air grew cooler and sweeter, carrying the faint scent of bamboo and damp earth.
He Qing lasted only a few steps before his mouth opened again.
"So… do you live alone in that old shrine?" he asked, voice bright with curiosity.
"Yes," Qiyao replied quietly.
He Qing waited a moment, but when nothing more came, he continued.
"What do you usually eat every day? You don't look like someone who survives on plain rice."
"I cook for myself."
He Qing let out a small laugh, the sound light and unbothered.
"Do you cook yourself or does someone from the village bring food for you?"
"I cook myself."
He Qing tilted his head, glancing sideways at Qiyao's long hair swaying with each step.
"Why did you choose to live all the way out here instead of in the village? It's so quiet and far from everything."
"I prefer the quiet."
Another short silence. Then He Qing's gaze drifted upward again.
"Is your hair always this long? Doesn't it get heavy when it's wet or when the wind blows?"
Qiyao gave the smallest pause before answering.
"…It is manageable."
He Qing grinned, clearly amused by the minimal answers, the mole beneath his lip appearing again. He didn't seem the least bit discouraged. Instead, he simply filled the spaces between Qiyao's sparse replies with his own warmth, as though talking to a quiet wall was perfectly normal.
"Wow, you really don't like talking much, do you?" he teased gently. "But that's fine. I can talk enough for both of us."
He Qing chuckled to himself and kept walking, occasionally stealing glances at the tall, reserved man beside him, his lively energy refusing to be dimmed by the cool night or Qiyao's distant replies.
They turned onto the narrower road leading toward the grove. The red lanterns of the village grew smaller behind them.
Suddenly, He Qing's voice dropped into a more playful tone.
"Hey… don't you fear the ghost everyone talks about? The villagers say the bamboo grove is haunted. They say the flute spirit is terrifying — cold, vengeful, appears only at night. Some even say it drives people mad if you get too close. Aren't you scared living right next to it?"
Shen Qiyao's steps slowed. He spoke without turning his head, his voice low but firm, carrying a quiet protectiveness.
"…The one in the grove has never harmed me. People fear what they do not understand. There is no need to speak of him that way."
He Qing blinked, then let out a bright, surprised laugh, the mole at the corner of his mouth curving upward.
"Wow… the way you said 'him' just now. It sounds like you actually live with the ghost! Do you two have tea together every evening or something?"
Shen Qiyao stopped walking abruptly.
He turned toward He Qing, his taller frame casting a long shadow over the younger man. His refined features were calm, but his dark eyes held a clear warning.
He Qing immediately bent slightly at the waist, looking up at him with a nervous smile, showing the delicate points of his canines. The playful spark in his eyes faltered.
"Haha… I'm just joking! Sorry, sorry! That was too much, right?"
Qiyao regarded him for a long second, then spoke softly, almost gently, yet with unmistakable seriousness.
"Do not joke about him."
Without another word, he turned and continued walking.
Behind him, He Qing stayed quiet for a few breaths. Then a small, almost secretive smile touched his lips. He hurried after Qiyao, following a half-step behind, that faint smile still lingering as though he had discovered something precious and unexpected.
Soon, the familiar silhouette of the old shrine appeared through the bamboo, bathed in soft moonlight. The quiet pond beside it gleamed like silver, and the grove stood tall and still, watching their approach.