The paper door slid open with a faint rasp.
Outside stood Luo Wen, small and stiff like a reed about to snap, arms cradling a folded pile of laundry. His robe was a size too big, the cuffs swallowing his hands, and his posture was that of a child waiting to be punished for something he didn't understand.
Shen Jiu stared at him.
And stared.
The boy's eyes were the same.
Soft brown. Shadowed underneath. Not from sleeplessness—no, they had always looked like that. As if the world had already given up on him, and he'd simply accepted it with a quiet nod.
"Senior Brother?" Luo Wen whispered.
His voice hadn't changed. Still barely above the wind. Still the sound of someone trying not to be heard.
Shen Jiu's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how small Luo Wen was. Or maybe he had, once. And he just didn't care.
A thousand memories crashed down at once—his own sneers, Luo Wen's silence, a pair of frostbitten fingers gripping a broomstick in a snowstorm while Shen Jiu walked by without pausing. He'd told himself, "He'll learn resilience."
He'd told himself many things.
"Give me the laundry," Shen Jiu said stiffly.
Luo Wen blinked. "...Shixiong?"
"I said give it here."
He reached out, and Luo Wen flinched. Not obviously. Not dramatically. Just a brief, automatic jerk back, like a dog remembering the last hand that touched it.
Shen Jiu felt bile rise in his throat.
"Never mind," he muttered. "You're dismissed."
"But—"
"Go."
Luo Wen bowed his head, clutching the bundle tighter to his chest. "Yes, Senior Brother." He turned and walked away in small, quick steps.
Shen Jiu shut the door before he could be sick.
---
He spent the next hour staring at the floor.
His hands trembled. His pulse thudded like war drums. His stomach refused food. The mirror showed a pale young man with elegant features and dead eyes—just as he remembered.
This is my second chance, he thought numbly. And I already failed.
Why hadn't he said something kinder? Why had his tone been so sharp, even then? The child had flinched at him—flinched. Had that been there all along, hidden beneath obedience? Had he ignored it on purpose?
He buried his face in his hands.
If only he could explain. Tell the boy, "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it. I know what I did, and I won't do it again." But what would that mean to a child who had never heard those words? Would he even believe him?
More likely, he'd think it was a trick.
Shen Jiu paced the room until dusk, his thoughts looping endlessly—regret, shame, determination, and dread. Eventually, as the sun dipped behind Frost Moon Sect's walls, he opened the door and stepped out.
He would fix this.
No more cruelty. No more pride. No more playing the cold senior brother who sneered to protect his own wounded pride.
He would be kind. Not just to Luo Wen. To everyone.
Especially him.
---
He found Luo Wen alone behind the supply hall, scrubbing bloodstains from a training robe.
Too late, Shen Jiu remembered: one of the core disciples had sparred recklessly and bloodied it. Luo Wen had offered to clean it himself, smiling nervously, as if he were grateful just to be useful.
That smile haunted Shen Jiu now.
Luo Wen scrubbed without noticing him. The water was cold. His hands were red. The blood wouldn't lift from the sleeve.
Shen Jiu stepped forward. "You'll hurt yourself like that."
The boy startled and looked up. "S-Senior Brother?"
"I said stop."
He crouched beside him, took the robe from his shaking hands, and gently tugged the water basin closer.
Luo Wen stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
Shen Jiu felt the burn of shame and held it close like penance. He dipped the sleeve into the water, working slowly, gently, methodically. The blood began to fade.
"You don't have to do this," Luo Wen whispered.
"I know."
"Then… why?"
Shen Jiu paused. He couldn't say Because I broke you once already. Or Because someday you'll carve my name into your heart and call it love, and I'd rather die than let it happen again.
Instead, he said, "Because I'm your Senior Brother. It's my duty to take care of you."
Luo Wen's face twisted into confusion. For a moment, Shen Jiu thought he might cry.
Then—slowly, silently—Luo Wen knelt beside him.
They scrubbed in silence.
---
That night, Shen Jiu couldn't sleep.
He lay in bed, the curtains drawn, the room too dark, too quiet. The weight of the day sat heavy on his chest.
He had done one good thing. One small thing.
But it didn't erase what he had done before.
It doesn't change the future, a voice whispered in his mind.
In the original timeline, this was the year Luo Wen began cultivating late at night in secret, trying to catch up. It was the year he was mocked for being talentless. The year Shen Jiu had given him a cultivation manual without a single key technique, just to humiliate him.
He remembered the heartbreak on the boy's face when he realized.
"I'll burn that manual," he muttered aloud.
The moonlight glinted off his mirror. In its reflection, he saw himself again—young, elegant, and sad.
Don't look away, he told himself.
---
Across the outer disciple quarters, Luo Wen sat awake in bed, hands curled in his lap.
He hadn't cried. Not once.
But he kept thinking about that moment—Shixiong kneeling beside him, touching water, rubbing fabric with slow, gentle strokes. No mocking smile. No commands. Just silence.
It had felt… wrong.
Beautiful.
But wrong.
Why now? Why this sudden kindness?
His heart ached.
He remembered the way Senior Brother's hair had fallen over one shoulder. The way his lashes caught the fading light. The warmth of his hand.
If I can have this forever, he thought, I don't care what happens.
His hands clenched in the blanket.
He wouldn't let go. Not this time.
Even if he had to chain that kindness down and carve it into his bones.
Even if Shixiong never meant it.
---