The rain cleared by morning.
Puddles clung to the dirt paths like shattered mirrors, reflecting a sky scrubbed clean and pale. Ling Yue stepped carefully between them, lifting the hem of her skirt as she crossed the small field beyond the village.
Ye walked a short distance behind her.
She had invited him—almost absently.
"I'm going to gather herbs near the old tree," she had said, adjusting the basket at her hip. "If you're not busy, you can come."
He had not hesitated.
The old tree stood alone at the edge of the fields, its trunk thick and scarred, its branches reaching outward like open arms. Villagers said it had been there longer than anyone remembered.
Ling Yue liked it because it felt quiet.
She knelt near its roots, brushing aside damp leaves, fingers searching carefully through the soil. Ye leaned against the trunk, watching her in silence.
The way she worked reminded him of another time—another place.
In the Realm, she had once crouched beside a pool of starlight, fascinated by how the glow shifted when she touched the surface.
"It feels alive," she had said.
"It is," he had replied.
She had smiled at him then, as if he had given her a gift.
Now, she hummed softly as she worked, unaware of his thoughts.
"You can sit," she said without looking up. "You've been standing for a while."
Ye lowered himself onto a nearby rock.
"You know," she continued, "most travelers don't stay long. They pass through, take what they need, and leave."
He watched a droplet slide from a leaf and fall into the earth. "And what do you think of that?"
"I think…" She paused, considering. "It must be lonely. Always moving. Never belonging."
His gaze lifted to her face.
She still wasn't looking at him. Yet it felt as though she had seen straight through him.
---
Dusk arrived quietly.
The sky deepened into shades of blue and violet, and a thin crescent moon rose above the hills. Ling Yue stood and stretched, brushing dirt from her hands.
"That should be enough for today," she said. "It'll be dark soon."
She hesitated, then added, "You can stay a bit longer if you want. It's nice here at night."
Ye knew he shouldn't.
The seals around his power stirred uneasily, warning him. The Realm was far above, but its gaze was never fully absent.
Yet when Ling Yue settled beneath the tree, leaning back against its trunk, he stayed.
The air cooled as night deepened.
Ling Yue gazed upward. "I like the moon," she said. "It feels… familiar."
Ye's fingers tightened slightly against the stone.
Of course it does, he thought.
She turned her head toward him. "Do you ever feel like that? Like something you can't remember is trying to find you?"
The question struck too close.
"Yes," he said softly.
She smiled, satisfied, and looked back at the sky.
That was when the light appeared.
At first, it seemed like fireflies—one, then two, then many—drifting from the fields toward the old tree. But their glow was different. Softer. Silvery. They did not flicker like ordinary insects.
Ling Yue sat up, eyes widening. "I've never seen them gather like this."
Ye did not answer.
He had barely done anything.
Only loosened the thinnest strand of moon-thread light—so faint it brushed the world rather than touched it. A fragment of the Realm, woven carefully into the night.
The lights swirled gently, rising and falling like a quiet breath.
Ling Yue stood, reaching out instinctively. One glow hovered near her fingertips, warm but not burning.
"They're beautiful," she whispered.
The lights reflected in her eyes, turning them luminous.
Ye watched her, heart heavy and full all at once.
In Heaven, he had once shaped starlight to guide her safely across a bridge of clouds. He had sworn he would never do so again.
Yet here he was, breaking his own vow for the sake of her smile.
She turned to him, wonder still on her face. "Did you know this would happen?"
"No," he said.
It was not entirely a lie.
She laughed softly, delighted, and for a moment she looked younger—lighter—free of the quiet sadness she carried without knowing why.
"I'm glad you stayed," she said.
The words settled into him like a wound.
The moon-thread light began to fade, dissolving back into the night as gently as it had appeared. Soon, only ordinary darkness remained.
Ling Yue watched the last glow disappear, then sighed contentedly.
"I think," she said, "this might be my favorite night."
Ye looked away, toward the distant hills.
And that, he thought, is why I will be punished.