The days passed in stillness.
For the first time in weeks, there were no cries in the night, no monsters lurking beneath the trees, no blood staining the snow.
Only the quiet rhythm of human life — fragile, ordinary, and strangely beautiful.
Mei Lian and Zhen Yu settled into the village with unexpected ease.
Every morning, Mei Lian sat beside the river's edge, the mist curling around her like a living thing.
She practiced the fox's illusions in silence.
Sometimes she shaped them into harmless fragments of beauty —
soft petals drifting from an invisible tree,
glowing lotus blooms floating atop the water,
delicate strands of light weaving between her fingers.
Other times, darker images fluttered at the edge of her thoughts —
faces she wished she could forget,
voices she wished she had never heard,
desires she knew were not her own.
She forced them back into stillness.
Control. Breath. Balance.
Zhen Yu often watched her from a distance.
He pretended to sharpen his sword or help Liang Hu barter for supplies, but his gaze always drifted toward her —
to the quiet grace in her hands,
to the faint gold pulsing beneath her skin,
to the power she carried with such delicate restraint.
In the afternoons, they walked through the village together.
At first, people watched from behind doors, whispering about the pale witch with crimson eyes.
Fear mixed with fascination.
Children hid behind their mothers, peeking out only when they thought she wasn't looking.
But as days passed, whispers softened.
Curiosity replaced fear.
One day, they stopped at a tailor's stall.
Mei Lian paused before a bolt of pale fabric — soft as mist, shimmering faintly.
She reached out and brushed it with her fingertips.
Zhen Yu stood beside her, voice low.
"It would suit you."
She gave him a look — half amused, half questioning — then signed,
You think witches wear silk?
He chuckled. "Maybe this one should."
For a breath of time, the weight of curses and monsters loosened.
It felt like the world had forgotten them —
or perhaps chosen to leave them in peace.
That evening, as the village lanterns dimmed and the world settled into quiet,
Mei Lian sat by the river near the inn.
The water reflected the fading sky, cracked with hints of gold.
Zhen Yu approached slowly.
"You're still struggling," he said, more statement than question.
She signed, steady and calm,
I've controlled it… mostly.
Maybe soon I'll be ready to travel again.
Zhen Yu shook his head gently.
"There's no rush. Take your time."
He knelt beside her, his voice warm despite the cold wind.
"You don't have to suffer alone. I'm with you. Always."
His words were familiar — the same ones he had told her before,
the same ones that always brought a small, unwanted warmth to her chest.
Mei Lian looked away at the river, pretending the wind was the reason her eyes softened.
She liked hearing it.
But she also knew a truth she could not tell him:
Some battles are fought alone — even when someone stays beside you.
The river flowed quietly, the fox within her shifted in its sleep, and the calm felt impossibly temporary.