The woman at the herb stall had been watching Ye for days.
Not openly. Not rudely.
Just enough that he felt it.
She was older than Ling Yue by several years, with calm eyes and hands stained faintly green from crushed leaves. Everyone in the village called her Mei Qiao—a healer's assistant, practical and quietly respected.
She noticed things others didn't.
Like how Ye never startled.
Like how he never bled when thorns cut others.
Like how he always stood half a step in front of Ling Yue without realizing it.
That morning, she spoke.
"You walk like someone who listens to the ground," Mei Qiao said, handing Ling Yue a bundle of dried roots. "Travelers usually don't."
Ling Yue laughed lightly. "He's strange."
Ye met Mei Qiao's gaze for the first time.
Her eyes were sharp. Curious. Not fearful.
"Strange doesn't mean dangerous," Mei Qiao continued, her tone even. "But it does mean careful."
Ye inclined his head slightly. "I try to be."
Her lips curved—not quite a smile.
---
Later that afternoon, Ling Yue helped Mei Qiao sort herbs beneath the shade of the old fig tree. Ye remained nearby, repairing a cracked wooden frame for drying leaves.
Mei Qiao leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"He follows you."
Ling Yue blinked. "Who?"
She tilted her head toward Ye without looking.
Ling Yue felt heat rush to her face. "No, he doesn't. We just… keep running into each other."
"Mm." Mei Qiao hummed softly. "Running into someone is once or twice. This is different."
Ling Yue glanced toward Ye.
He was focused on his task, brow slightly furrowed, sleeves rolled up. The afternoon sun traced his profile in gold.
Her gaze lingered longer than she meant it to.
"…Is that bad?" she asked quietly.
Mei Qiao studied her expression instead of answering.
"No," she said finally. "But it means something."
---
That evening, the village gathered for a small meal near the square. Lanterns were hung low, light flickering gently as conversation drifted between laughter and tired sighs.
Ling Yue sat beside Ye on the edge of the gathering.
They didn't speak much.
They didn't need to.
At one point, her sleeve brushed his hand.
Neither moved away.
The contact was brief—accidental—yet Ye felt it echo through him, like a note struck too cleanly to ignore.
Ling Yue noticed his stillness.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
He turned to her. Their faces were closer than usual.
"Yes," he said. After a pause, he added, "I am… more than alright."
Her breath caught, just slightly.
Before she could respond, a child ran past, laughing, breaking the moment like ripples across water.
Ling Yue looked away first.
Ye didn't.
---
Later, as the gathering thinned, Mei Qiao passed by Ye.
"You carry yourself like someone who knows how things end," she said quietly, not slowing her step. "Be careful not to forget how they begin."
Ye watched her walk away.
For the first time since arriving in the village, unease settled beneath his calm.
Not fear.
Recognition.
---
Ling Yue met him near the well afterward, moonlight painting her features softly.
"You were quiet tonight," she said.
"So were you."
She smiled. "Maybe we're getting used to each other."
Ye looked at her, really looked.
"That," he said gently, "is what worries me."
She didn't understand his words.
But something in his tone made her chest tighten.