The day dragged.
Clouds gathered over the Clear Stream Sect by noon, dulling the sky to a flat gray that pressed down on the courtyards and tiled roofs. The air grew heavy, thick with the promise of rain. Servants moved faster, voices lower, as if the weather itself demanded restraint.
Zhou Wei felt it all.
The sect's desires simmered beneath the surface, restless and uncomfortable. Anxiety sharpened. Impatience rose. Hunger of every kind stirred, looking for release. He kept his awareness tight, focused inward, refusing to let the warmth inside him respond too eagerly.
He was learning.
Mei Lin did not come to the kitchens after midday.
That absence tugged at him harder than it should have. Zhou Wei told himself it was caution, nothing more. Servants were reassigned constantly. She might have been sent to another courtyard. Another task.
Still, the faint thread of her emotions drifted through his awareness, taut with fear.
Zhou Wei waited until dusk.
He carried a bundle of linens toward the inner quarters, head down, steps unhurried. No one stopped him. No one ever did. That was the advantage of being invisible.
The corridor outside the guest chambers smelled of incense again. Too sweet. Too thick. Zhou Wei's jaw tightened.
He slowed.
Behind one door, emotions churned violently. Fear, sharp and panicked. Desire twisted in confusion, unwanted and suffocating. Zhou Wei's breath caught.
Mei Lin.
He stopped several paces away, pulse hammering. The warmth inside him stirred, heavy and expectant, as if urging him forward.
"No," he whispered under his breath.
He did not move.
A few heartbeats later, the door opened.
Mei Lin stepped out, face pale, eyes red-rimmed. Her sleeves were disheveled, her hair hastily retied. She froze when she saw Zhou Wei, shock flashing across her face before she masked it.
"Go," she whispered urgently. "You shouldn't be here."
Zhou Wei did not answer immediately. He looked past her.
Inside the room, Elder Zhang's presence loomed, thick with satisfaction and irritation. The man had not gotten what he wanted. Not fully. Not yet.
Zhou Wei met Mei Lin's eyes again.
"Did he touch you?" he asked quietly.
Her lips parted. No sound came out. She shook her head once, sharply, as if denying the question itself.
"He said I was being tested," she whispered. "That my fear was proof of weakness."
Zhou Wei felt something cold slide into place in his chest.
"Did you believe him?"
Mei Lin hesitated.
That hesitation was answer enough.
Zhou Wei stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Listen to me. You do not owe him anything. Not obedience. Not gratitude. Not your body."
Her breath trembled. Tears welled, spilling over despite her effort to hold them back.
"You say that," she said, voice breaking, "but where would I go? If I refuse him again, he will make my life unbearable. If I anger him, he will ruin me."
The warmth inside Zhou Wei pulsed, slow and deliberate.
He could end this quickly. One word. One promise of power. One step too close. He felt how easily he could push her, how fragile her defenses were right now.
He did nothing.
Instead, he reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small cloth pouch. Inside were a few spirit coins. Not many. Enough to matter to a servant.
"There is a storeroom near the south wall," he said. "Behind the old herb sheds. No one checks it after nightfall."
Mei Lin stared at the pouch as if it might burn her.
"This won't solve everything," Zhou Wei continued. "It will not make him disappear. It will not make the sect kind. It will only give you time."
He held the pouch out, then lowered it to the floor between them.
"I will not pull you anywhere," he said evenly. "I will not touch you unless you decide that is what you want. And if you walk away from me now, I will not follow."
Mei Lin's hands shook.
She looked from the pouch to Zhou Wei's face, searching for something. Assurance. Deception. Hunger.
What she found made her swallow hard.
"Why?" she asked. "Why help me at all?"
Zhou Wei was quiet for a moment.
"Because I saw what he really is," he said finally. "And because I know what it is like to be powerless."
The corridor felt very small then. The distant murmur of the sect faded, leaving only the sound of Mei Lin's breathing and the slow, steady thrum of Zhou Wei's pulse.
"This is your choice," he said. "Not mine."
Footsteps echoed faintly from within the chamber. Elder Zhang was moving again.
Mei Lin flinched.
She bent quickly, snatched up the pouch, and pressed it to her chest as if it were a talisman.
"I don't know what I want," she whispered.
Zhou Wei nodded. "Then choose nothing. For now."
She hesitated only a second longer before turning and hurrying down the corridor, head bowed, steps quick and uneven. She did not look back.
Zhou Wei watched until she disappeared around the corner.
The warmth inside him settled, not satisfied, but attentive. Waiting.
Behind him, Elder Zhang stepped out of the chamber, smoothing his robes. His gaze swept the corridor and landed on Zhou Wei.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment, Zhou Wei let his awareness brush outward, just enough to taste the elder's desire and control and fear. He did not hide his disgust.
Zhang frowned slightly, unsettled by something he could not name.
"Servant," he said. "What are you doing here?"
Zhou Wei bowed deeply, face blank.
"Collecting linens, Elder."
Zhang studied him for a heartbeat longer, then waved him away. "Be gone."
Zhou Wei turned and left without haste.
As he walked, rain finally began to fall, light at first, then heavier, pattering against stone and leaves. The scent of wet earth rose, sharp and clean.
Mei Lin was running now, fear and resolve braided together as she fled toward the south wall. Zhou Wei felt it clearly.
She had not chosen him.
Not yet.
But she had chosen to step away from fear.
And that, Zhou Wei knew, was where everything truly began.