The afternoon sun filtered through the thin mist hanging over the training grounds, scattering silver light across the courtyard. Shen Yu stood at the center with a look of intense concentration—far too intense for the simple stance he was attempting.
Ling Wei watched him quietly, arms folded, a subtle crease on his brow. "Relax," he said, his voice calm, steady. "Your posture is stiff. It isn't a statue competition."
Shen Yu inhaled sharply. "I'm trying! This is exactly how you did it!"
"It is exactly how you think I did it," Ling Wei corrected.
Shen Yu let out a breath, fixed his grip, and swung.
The result was catastrophic.
His sword spun out of his hand like a startled bird, shooting straight into a nearby bush with a thud. Shen Yu froze. Ling Wei blinked. A moment of absolute silence hovered between them.
Then Shen Yu whispered, horrified, "…I meant to do that."
A faint sound escaped Ling Wei—almost a laugh, but not quite. "Of course," he replied. "The legendary Shen Yu Throwing Technique."
Shen Yu groaned and covered his face. "Why am I like this…"
Ling Wei stepped closer, retrieving the sword from the bush with effortless grace. "Start again," he said, handing it back, their fingers brushing. Heat shot through Shen Yu's chest at the brief contact.
He straightened. "Okay. This time, I'll get it."
"No," Ling Wei said. "This time, we do it together."
He moved behind Shen Yu, guiding his arms into position. Shen Yu's breath caught—Ling Wei's presence was warm, steady, grounding. Ling Wei adjusted his wrist delicately, tilting his stance just a fraction. "There. Now don't tense up."
"I'm not tense," Shen Yu lied, extremely tense.
Ling Wei's hand pressed lightly on his shoulder, sending sparks racing down Shen Yu's spine. "Yes, you are."
The swing came out smoother—still clumsy, but undeniably better. Shen Yu grinned. "Did you see that!? I—"
He stumbled mid-celebration, flailing. Ling Wei caught him instinctively, one arm around Shen Yu's waist.
Their eyes met.
Ling Wei's grip tightened for a heartbeat too long before he let go. "Keep practicing," he murmured, but his voice was softer than usual.
Shen Yu nodded, face flushed to his ears.
Across the courtyard, laughter broke out—Xiao Rong had attempted a fast strike toward Yu Zhen and missed the moment Yu Zhen sidestepped, sending himself spinning and landing flat on his back.
Yu Zhen peered over him, expression annoyingly calm. "Your technique is… creative."
Xiao Rong glared at him from the ground. "Say you're impressed."
"No."
"Say at least a little impressed."
"…A very little."
Xiao Rong's grin returned instantly. "Ha! I knew it."
Yu Zhen sighed and offered a hand. Xiao Rong grabbed it, pulling himself up—and didn't immediately let go. Yu Zhen didn't pull back either.
Their hands remained joined for a long, lingering moment.
"You're improving," Yu Zhen said quietly.
"Only because you keep bullying me in training."
"You call it bullying. I call it correcting your recklessness."
Xiao Rong smirked. "You secretly like coaching me."
Yu Zhen didn't deny it.
They resumed sparring, their steps more synchronized than before. Every clash of their blades carried an unspoken rhythm, an ease growing between them. Xiao Rong moved faster, braver, trusting Yu Zhen to catch him—or stop him—every time.
Yu Zhen never failed.
Back across the arena, Shen Yu was attempting a new stance again.
"This one looked easy when you did it," Shen Yu insisted.
Ling Wei raised an eyebrow. "I have concerns."
Shen Yu ignored him, launching into the stance—
—and immediately tripping over his own foot, rolling into a full somersault.
He lay face-down on the floor, arms outstretched in defeat.
Ling Wei crouched beside him. "That was… something."
"Was it elegant?"
"No."
"Did I improve at all?"
"Your roll was slightly smoother than last time."
Shen Yu lifted his head. "…I've never rolled before."
Ling Wei exhaled through his nose—quiet, almost amused. "Then it was impressive for a first attempt."
Shen Yu blinked. Ling Wei had complimented him again. Twice in one day.
Feeling bold, Shen Yu pushed himself up. "Hey, Ling Wei."
"Hm?"
"You'll keep helping me… right?"
Ling Wei looked away, the faintest red along his ears. "…Of course."
They resumed practice, this time moving in a steady, rhythmic exchange of strikes. Shen Yu fumbled less, focused more. Ling Wei corrected him gently, their movements aligning. Amidst the clashing blades, Shen Yu felt it—his improvement wasn't due to skill alone.
It was because Ling Wei believed he could improve.
Because Ling Wei bothered to stay beside him.
As the sun dipped lower, training came to an end. Xiao Rong and Yu Zhen were seated against a tree, sharing a small water flask between them. Their laughter was softer now, closer. Yu Zhen wiped a smudge of dirt from Xiao Rong's cheek without thinking, and the moment lingered.
Shen Yu stretched his arms with dramatic exhaustion. "I think I burned every muscle I have…"
Ling Wei glanced at him, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Then tomorrow, we will strengthen them again."
"Noooo…"
"It will be good for you."
"It will be painful!"
Ling Wei stepped closer. "I'll guide you."
Shen Yu froze, blinking up at him.
"Then… I can survive anything."
Ling Wei's gaze softened, barely noticeable unless one was looking closely.
Xiao Rong leaned over to Yu Zhen, whispering loudly, "Look! They're flirting again."
Yu Zhen smacked him lightly. "Quiet."
Shen Yu yelped, "We're not—!"
Ling Wei simply walked past, expression unreadable, but the corner of his lips twitched.
The air grew warm with laughter, teasing, and quiet affection. All four left the training grounds carrying something new—skills gained, trust deepened, and bonds growing ever tighter, thread by thread.
The comedy remained, the chaos remained, but beneath it, unspoken emotions continued to bloom.