Mei Niu did not sleep again after dawn.
She lay still on the straw, eyes half open, watching Wang Lin from beneath her lashes. Every movement he made registered with her. When he stood, when he crouched, when he turned his back to the door. She measured his breathing. The weight of his steps. The way he always placed himself between her and any possible threat.
Habit.
Not performance.
That unsettled her more than fear.
Wang Lin noticed her watching him when he returned from outside with a bundle of wild herbs and damp leaves.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
"I never really slept," she replied.
He nodded as if that made sense.
He knelt beside her and sorted the herbs with care, crushing some between his fingers to release their scent. Bitter. Sharp. Not medicine, not really, but better than nothing.
"You should not have stayed," Mei Niu said.
"I know."
"You should have run," she continued. "Even after you brought me here."
"I know."
She frowned. "Then why didn't you?"
Wang Lin tied the herbs into a rough poultice. "Because if I left, you would die."
Her jaw tightened.
"And if you stay, you might die instead."
He met her gaze. "Then I suppose we are even."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Humans lied easily. Especially when they wanted something. She had learned that lesson early, beaten into her through years of smiling obedience and silent suffering.
Wang Lin wanted nothing.
That made him dangerous in a different way.
She shifted slightly, testing her shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and deep, but it no longer felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside. The fever haze had lifted, leaving behind a dull ache and weakness that seeped into her bones.
"You cleaned the spiritual residue," she said.
"As much as I could."
"With water and cloth," she added. "No formations. No pills."
"Yes."
"That should not have worked."
Wang Lin shrugged. "It slowed it down. Maybe your body did the rest."
She watched him carefully.
"No," she said. "Something helped."
Her gaze drifted to his chest again.
The pendant.
Wang Lin followed her eyes.
"You keep looking at this," he said.
"It does not belong to a normal human," Mei Niu replied. "It resonates. Even now."
He frowned. "With what?"
"With me."
That made him still.
She took a slow breath and lifted her uninjured hand, palm facing upward. Hesitation flickered across her face, then resolve hardened it.
"Let me check you," she said.
He hesitated.
"Check me how."
"My spiritual sense," she replied. "I can see meridians. Cores. Traces of contracts."
His instinct screamed at him to refuse.
Every lesson he had learned in the sect told him this was a mistake.
But he remembered her words from the night before.
You had nothing.
"All right," he said. "But only look."
She nodded once.
Her fingers hovered a few inches from his chest.
"For this," she said quietly, "I need consent."
The word struck him unexpectedly.
"You have it," Wang Lin replied.
Her hand touched his chest.
Warmth spread outward from the point of contact. It was faint, subtle, but unmistakable. Wang Lin inhaled sharply, more surprised than anything else.
Mei Niu froze.
Her eyes widened.
She pressed her palm more firmly against him, her brows knitting together as she focused inward. Her breathing slowed, then hitched.
"…This is wrong," she whispered.
"What is," Wang Lin asked.
She pulled her hand back suddenly, staring at it as if it had betrayed her.
"There is nothing," she said. "No qi. No residue. No dormant core."
"That part I knew," Wang Lin said.
"No," Mei Niu said sharply. "You do not understand. Even mortals have traces. Faint currents. Echoes of potential."
She looked up at him.
"You have none."
Silence settled between them.
"That is why they expelled you," she continued slowly. "You are not blocked. You are not damaged."
"You are hollow."
Wang Lin let out a dry breath. "That is what Elder Feng said."
Mei Niu shook her head.
"He does not know what that truly means."
She swallowed.
"In the gardens," she said, voice dropping, "we were tested constantly. Milk output. Purity. Response to stimulation. Compatibility with contracts."
Her fingers curled in the straw.
"They measured us the way you measure tools."
Wang Lin said nothing.
"There were humans like you," she continued. "Rare. Defective. Unable to cultivate. They were brought in for experiments."
His stomach tightened.
"What kind of experiments."
Her lips pressed together. For a long moment, she did not speak.
"Some were used as anchors," she said finally. "To stabilize violent beasts. Some were drained dry. Some simply disappeared."
She met his eyes.
"None of them were empty like you."
The pendant against his chest pulsed faintly.
Mei Niu felt it.
Her breath caught.
"That thing," she said, pointing weakly. "It reacts when I touch you."
Wang Lin covered it with his hand instinctively. "I do not know what it is."
"I believe you," she said.
That surprised him.
"You do," he asked.
"Yes," Mei Niu replied. "Because if you were lying, you would already be dead."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Good to know."
She exhaled slowly, fatigue catching up with her. The effort of using her spiritual sense had drained what little strength she had regained.
"You should not trust me either," she said quietly.
"I know," Wang Lin replied.
She watched him carefully.
"Then why do you?"
He considered the question.
"Because you have had more chances to kill me than I have had to help you," he said. "And you chose not to."
Her gaze softened, just a little.
"That makes you foolish," she said.
"Yes," Wang Lin agreed. "That has been established."
She closed her eyes, a faint sound of amusement escaping her before exhaustion dragged her under again.
Wang Lin sat beside her, listening to the forest, his thoughts heavy.
Hollow.
Empty.
Different in a way even the sect did not understand.
Outside, the day wore on.
Somewhere beyond the trees, hunters would eventually return. Sects did not forgive lost property. They did not forget spilled blood.
Wang Lin looked down at the wooden pendant resting against his palm.
For the first time, he wondered if the emptiness he had been cursed with was not a flaw at all.
But an opening.