This mission was supposed to be simple.
It wasn't anymore.
The wide stone paths at the foot of Ying Mountain lay drowned in the night's silence. A gentle breeze, carrying the first promise of spring, stirred the peach trees above. Petals drifted down like slow, careless dancers, brushing the earth in soft spirals.
Han Liang, dressed in black, moved across the rooftops like a shadow.
He didn't like unfamiliar things. And this… was becoming one. His steps were soundless, his presence almost unreal—graceful as a butterfly, fleeting as smoke.
He had been sent on a covert mission: to investigate the war supplies arriving from the West, and to discover who was purchasing them.
Yet for a moment, his attention faltered.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't movement. But it was enough.
Below, near a small market stall, stood a young man in white. At first glance, he looked harmless. That was the problem. With delicate fingers, he lifted a jade comb as though it were something sacred, listening—not to merchants, not to passing voices—but to the quiet whispers of stone itself.
Yuan Yu.
Han Liang paused.
His eyes, usually as deep and cold as midnight, seemed even sharper beneath the dark sky—the kind of gaze that lingered in memory long after it was gone.
Then it happened.
A faint vibration ran through him, subtle as a heartbeat, coming from the stranger below. Yuan Yu's lashes trembled as if he, too, had felt something awaken inside him. Slowly, Yuan Yu lifted his gaze toward the rooftop.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time in years—
Han Liang hesitated.
Time seemed to still. Even the falling petals appeared suspended in the air, caught between breath and destiny. They did not know each other's names, nor their roles in the world—yet something unspoken passed between them, a silent question carved into the space between heartbeats:
Who are you?
As peach blossoms drifted through the air, carried by the wind, a brief encounter formed a bond neither of them understood—yet neither would ever forget.
Han Liang glided away into the night. He should have looked away.
He didn't.
Yuan Yu returned to his quiet communion with the stones, but a strange warmth had settled deep within his chest.
He didn't understand it.
And that made it worse—half curiosity, half familiarity, as if he had just brushed against an old dream.
That night, without knowing it, they had both taken the first step into each other's lives.
And the drifting peach blossoms bore silent witness to the beginning.
And without realizing it—
something had already begun.