He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Khan Chi's forehead, light, reverent, lingering only a heartbeat longer than he should have.
"For what it's worth," he whispered,
"You found me."
He stood. Turning once more to the window, he placed both hands upon the frame.
"As for those flowers," he added quietly, his voice steady now, and resolved,
"Feel free to pluck them all. I won't need them anymore."
He halted, just once.
"I've already made my decision," Yize said.
"Forgive me."
The window slid open.
"Let us now live separate lives."
And with that, he stepped into the night, his white form dissolving into the passing breeze, gone as though he had never been there at all.
An hour later, Khan Chi woke with a sharp intake of breath.
Cold wind brushed his bare skin, raising gooseflesh along his arms. His head throbbed dully, but his thoughts, unexpectedly, felt clearer than they had in days.
"...Yize?" he murmured without thinking.
He pushed himself upright, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The room felt cold.
His gaze drifted until it caught on the open window, curtains stirring softly in the night breeze.
Frowning, he swung his legs over the bed and stood, moving to close it, only to freeze.
A familiar scent reached his nose.
White tulips.
Fresh, clean, and familiar enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
His heart lurched violently. The haze in his mind vanished all at once.
Without stopping to think, Khan Chi vaulted through the open window, landing hard on the street below.
Pain flared briefly in his legs, but he ignored it, sprinting down the lantern-lit road, chasing the faint trail of fragrance through narrow alleys and lingering crowds.
"Yize!"
The scent thinned. The strong smell slowly faded until it vanished entirely, washed away by a strong surge of wind.
He came to a stumbling halt, chest heaving, the night pressing in around him.
No.
"Damn it!" he cursed, dragging a hand through his hair.
He turned sharply and rushed back toward the inn, pushing through the doorway and grabbing the nearest person by the sleeve.
"Did you see someone?" he demanded, breathless.
"A man, someone who smelled like tulips?"
The guest stared at him as though he'd lost his senses and shook his head quickly.
Others who saw such an absorbing scene murmured, stepping aside, afraid to be included in such a situation.
The servant who had earlier helped him hesitated, before finally deciding to step forward.
"I... I saw someone," he said quietly.
Khan Chi spun toward him instantly.
"A man in white," the servant continued.
"He carried you upstairs earlier."
Khan Chi's heart slammed against his ribs.
"Did you see his face?" he asked urgently.
The servant shook his head.
"No."
"His name? His height?" Khan Chi pressed.
The servant thought for a moment, and carefully said.
"Not very tall,"
"Did he carry a weapon?" Khan Chi asked, barely breathing now.
The innkeeper, who had been listening, frowned in thought, until his eyes widened.
"Yes," he answered, joining their conversation.
"A bow. Made of silver jade. I noticed because it was... exquisite."
Another worker joined in beside him.
"That's impossible," he whispered.
"Silver jade weapons aren't sold freely. Only the Emperor of the Yuan Dynasty could commission such a thing."
Khan Chi didn't hear the rest. The world around him seemed to tilt. His vision blurred as the words settled into his bones.
It's him.
"It's Yize..." he murmured, voice hollow, as though saying the name aloud might make it real.
His shoulders sagged. A breathless, broken laugh tore from his chest, sharp with regret.
"He came," he whispered.
"He actually came. But I was too drunk to notice."
His hand rose, and he struck his own cheek once. Then again.
"Stupid," he muttered hoarsely.
"So stupid."
Ignoring the concerned voices behind him, he turned and walked back to his room.
The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. His eyes wandered around the room and there, on the table beside his bed, lay the withered white tulip.
Khan Chi approached it slowly, as if afraid it might vanish. He lifted it carefully, cradling it in his palm like something fragile and irreplaceable.
"Do you really want me to stop looking for you?" he murmured, as if the flower could gave him an answer.
His lips curved into a bitter, trembling smile, his eyes stinging as he fought the tears threatening to spill.
"Fine," he whispered.
"Then you'd better hide well."
His fingers tightened without him realizing it.
"You know I've always been stubborn," he said softly, voice breaking,
"especially when it comes to people who leave me."
The stem crushed beneath his fingers.
Only then did the tears fall, silent and unstoppable, soaking into the pale petals as he bowed his head, alone in the quiet room, clutching the last proof that Yize Xi had been there at all.
Morning came to MongHe with the hush of tide and wind. The sea lay calm beyond the town's wooden piers, its surface brushed with pale gold as the sun crested the horizon.
Fishing boats bobbed gently along the shore, their nets drying on posts, their lanterns dimming as night finally loosened its grip. Gulls cried overhead, sharp and distant, circling above the salt stained rooftops.
The town stirred awake. Shopkeepers lifted their shutters. Fishermen returned with damp hems and tired smiles.
The scent of brine, fresh bread, and boiled tea drifted through the narrow streets, carried on the cool coastal breeze.
Inside the lone inn, Khan Chi descended the wooden stairs.
He was fully sober now. The haze of wine and grief had settled into something quieter, heavier, but steadier. His hair was neatly tied, his robes clean and properly fastened.
The redness in his eyes remained, but his posture was straight, his expression composed.
At the counter, he stopped. Without a word, he placed a medium sized cloth pouch upon the worn wood.
The weight of the coin inside landed with a soft, unmistakable sound. The innkeeper glanced up, startled, but Khan Chi had already turned away.
His sheath sword rested easily in his left hand.
Outside, the morning air met him cool and sharp, tinged with salt. He crossed the street to where his horse stood tethered, its coat gleaming faintly in the early light. With practiced ease, he mounted, fingers tightening around the reins, and rode out.
Hooves struck stone, and earth, carrying him north. Toward the capital, and toward duty. His back remained straight, his gaze fixed ahead, never once turning.
From the narrow alley beside the inn, another figure stepped forward.
A man in refined white hanfu, the fabric unmistakably expensive despite its plain cut. A wide straw hat shadowed his face, a thin veil falling from its brim. He stood still, watching the lone rider fade into the morning haze.
It was Yize.
The sea breeze stirred the veil, brushing it softly against his cheek.
His eyes followed Khan Chi until and the sea stretched wide and open.
Without looking back, he walked away, his white robes disappearing into the waking streets of MongHe, carried along a path that would never cross Khan Chi's again.