I sighed, tugging the blanket tighter around my shoulders. "Go away."
He slipped inside anyway, balancing a tray on one hand. Bowls clinked gently, carrying the warm, earthy scent of broth. "You'll starve before the city kills you," he said lightly. "Eat something."
I wanted to snap at him, but when he set the tray beside me, his usual mischief dimmed. For once, he wasn't teasing. His eyes softened, as though he could see the weight I carried.
"You don't belong to their stares," he murmured, almost serious. "Let them choke on their fear. You're here now,that's all that matters."
The words slipped under my skin, unsettling in ways I couldn't name. My anger, my loneliness, my restless pulse,all tangled until I could hardly tell where one ended and the other began.
"Why are you…" My voice faltered, sharper than I meant. "Why are you the only one who treats me like I exist? He..." I bit the word back, but it still hung between us. "Mingzhu looks at me as if I'm a shadow in his way."
Dòu Dòu tilted his head, watching me quietly. Then, instead of answering, he pushed the bowl into my hands with a small, knowing smile.
"Eat first. Yell at him later."
The warmth of the broth seeped into my palms, and for the first time that day, the tight knot in my chest loosened...just a little.
The hours dragged on, and I found myself still awake, the broth long gone but the restlessness untouched. I was tracing patterns on the pearl floor when Dòu Dòu appeared again this time balancing not food, but a tall glass flask filled with liquid that shimmered like melted starlight.
He wiggled it before me with a grin. "Since sleep clearly hates you, how about we bribe it? Lotus wine. Strong enough to make even an eel confess its secrets."
I frowned. "Wine? Here?"
"Of course. You think gods and dragons survive on water alone? Boring." He plopped down beside me, already pouring into two crystal cups. "Come on, mortal. If you're going to be trapped in this fishbowl of a city, you might as well taste it."
The first sip burned...sweet at first, then sharp, heat spreading through my chest until I coughed. Dòu Dòu laughed so hard he nearly spilled his own cup.
"Not bad," I muttered, though my eyes watered.
"Not bad?" he echoed, pressing a hand to his heart in mock offense. "That's liquid poetry, thank you very much."
Another sip. Then another. The sharpness dulled, replaced by warmth that pooled low in my belly, making the shadows blur softer, the silence less cruel.
"You know," he said, leaning closer across the tray, his voice lower now, "I don't bring lotus wine to just anyone. You should feel honored."
I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks felt hot. "You probably say that to everyone."
"Only the ones worth saying it to," he replied, his grin still playful...but for a flicker of a heartbeat, there was something steadier beneath it.
I looked away, clutching the cup tighter. The wine was working; my pulse was too fast, my thoughts too loose. But for the first time since I had fallen into this world, I didn't feel quite so unbearably alone.
The flask grew lighter, the cups emptier. Heat flushed my cheeks, and the pearl walls no longer felt so suffocating. Dòu Dòu sprawled across the cushions beside me, waving his cup like a conductor leading some invisible orchestra.
"To surviving the stares of a thousand riverfolk!" he toasted.
I raised my cup, giggling despite myself. "To… not choking on lotus wine."
We drank, and laughter tumbled between us, careless and dizzy. For a moment, the river's weight slipped away, leaving only warmth and his too-bright eyes beside mine.
But then the laughter caught in my throat. "Why do you do that?" I asked suddenly.
Dòu Dòu blinked. "Do what?"
"Call me mortal. Outsider. As if that's all I am." My words came sharper than I meant, but the wine made them bolder. "You know my name. Why won't you use it?"
For once, he didn't grin. The mischief faltered, and silence pressed between us. His gaze lingered, more serious than I had ever seen it.