The wind had turned merciless, flaying the skin with icy needles. Even Xiyue admitted they couldn't keep moving — not with Feng Lian bleeding.
They found the cave halfway down a cliff face, its mouth hidden by a curtain of frost-hardened vines. Inside, it was narrow but deep, the stone walls slick with cold.
Feng Lian was propped against one wall, swearing softly as Ruo Han cleaned the wound with melted snow.
Feng Lian: "If you jab me like that again, I'll bite you."
Ruo Han: "If I don't jab you, you'll die. Choose."
Xiyue kept to the far side, starting a small fire. The flames painted his features in gold and shadow — and he watched Ruo Han more than the wood.
When Feng Lian finally fell into a shallow, pained sleep, the silence thickened. The only sound was the crackle of fire and the faint whistle of wind through the vines.
Xiyue: "You knew him."
Ruo Han didn't look up.
Ruo Han: "I've met many people."
Xiyue: "Don't play me."
The firelight caught on the sharp edge of Xiyue's gaze.
Xiyue: "That name—Ling Han—meant something to you. I saw your face."
Ruo Han's hands stilled over the bandage.
Ruo Han: "Some ghosts don't need speaking of."
Xiyue leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and relentless.
Xiyue: "If he's coming for you, I need to know why."
Ruo Han finally looked at him — and for a moment, something raw flickered in his eyes. Fear? Regret? Longing? It was gone before Xiyue could name it.
Ruo Han: "Because once, he swore to protect me. And now… I think he means to kill me."
The fire cracked, sending a shadow crawling over the cave wall like a blade being drawn.