At last, the two young men reached their separate destinations.
When Han Liang stepped into the inn, he was met by the quiet warmth of an old but carefully maintained building. The wooden frames were painted a deep red, softened by years of wind and rain, and lanternlight flickered gently along the corridor.
The owners—an elderly couple—studied him with the kind of awareness only age could bring. They could tell at once that he was not from this town, not from this peaceful mountain market.
Still, they welcomed him with cautious kindness, offering him tea and a room without asking too many questions.
Far away, Yuan Yu returned to the residence of the Jewel Sect.
It was a place unlike any other.
The sect was unimaginably wealthy, and his private home stood apart from the gathering halls, hidden among endless peach trees as though protected by spring itself. Behind the walls, the air smelled sweet, and the silence carried the feeling of safety.
In the garden, there was only one pomegranate tree.
His father—the leader of the great Jewel Sect—had gifted him this secluded four-room residence when he came of age, a sanctuary meant for peace rather than politics.
Inside, elegance surrounded him.
Antique vases were set with pale jade, their surfaces catching the lantern glow like trapped moonlight. Teacups rested on polished tables, delicate as porcelain dreams. Even the edges of the bookshelves were lined with jade, subtle reminders of the sect's endless fortune.
His bed was wide, white, and built for comfort, not ceremony.
Yuan Yu cherished this place more than he admitted.
Here, away from voices and expectations, he could read quietly, breathe deeply, and listen to the faint fragrance of blossoms drifting through the open windows.
As night edged slowly toward dawn, both young men lay awake in their separate resting places, their thoughts refusing to settle.
Who was the blue-eyed man watching from the rooftop?
And who was the stranger beneath the peach blossoms, holding jade as though it could speak?
Neither of them could answer.
Yet Han Liang felt something restless beneath his ribs—an impatience he did not understand, a strange longing to see Yuan Yu once more.
In the silence, both finally closed their eyes, waiting for morning.
And somewhere between dream and darkness, their thoughts seemed to reach toward each other…
as if anticipating the moment their paths would cross again.
Neither of them knew it yet— but this would not be their last encounter.
And when they meet again—
nothing will remain the same.