The city pulsed with its usual noise — hawkers shouting at the moon, horses clattering across cobblestones, and the laughter of drunkards bleeding from open doors like smoke. The beauty house stood tall, its lanterns swinging lazily in the wind. Within, music and perfume coiled together, an intoxicating haze for men who wanted to forget.
Mo Chen sat alone at a low table near the window, wine pooling in his shallow cup.
He looked exhausted.
The wine was good, but it didn't cut through the sour taste in his chest. He had drunk too much already, yet still reached for more. Girls approached — some familiar, some not. They tittered sweetly, fingers brushing his sleeve, daring smiles on their painted lips. One curled into his arm like a cat.
He brushed them off with a cold glance. "Leave."
They giggled, thinking it a game.
He threw a few silvers on the table. "I said — leave."
The girls flinched, then backed away with quick bows, used to tempers like his.
Mo Chen drank again. The wine tasted like ash.
The image wouldn't leave his mind. That cursed image.
Chen Xinyu — half-asleep, soft-eyed — reaching for Hua Ling like the world would end without him.
He had seen it with his own eyes. That embrace wasn't accidental. It was desperate. Familiar.
Intimate.
He gripped the wine cup so tightly it cracked. Liquid slipped between his fingers.
Since when did they become this close? Since when did he start looking at him like that?
That should've been him. Not Hua Ling.
He hated him — hated how the prince took everything without lifting a finger, hated that even Xinyu…
He drank again. His face was flushed now, but his gaze was darker than ever.
From a curtained corner, Chi Ruyan watched.
She had followed him out of boredom — or maybe curiosity. Or maybe some twisted sense of pleasure. She had never seen Mo Chen quite like this. Rumpled, miserable, drinking like a man cornered by his own thoughts. It amused her, in a way.
She crossed the room and sat opposite him without invitation.
Mo Chen didn't even look up. "Who permitted you to sit here?" he muttered, voice rough. "Get up, Chi Ruyan."
She twirled the cup between her fingers. "You look worse than usual," she said with a smile. "I thought I'd offer you some company."
He finally raised his eyes — glassy and sharp all at once.
"Get. Up."
"Mm," she tilted her head. "I will. But first—let me ask you something."
He scowled but didn't stop her.
Chi Ruyan didn't speak right away. Instead, she sipped her wine like it was honey. She observed him — the way his fingers twitched, the way his jaw tightened. He was always more honest with a little wine in his blood.
"I saw Chen Xinyu recently," she began lazily. "He seems… different, doesn't he? Distant. Tired. A little broken, maybe."
Mo Chen's eyes narrowed.
She went on, slowly. "I thought you'd know why. Since you two are so… close."
Mo Chen let out a hollow laugh, almost choking on it. His lips curled in mockery.
"Close?" he repeated. "Me and him?"
He leaned back and looked at her like she was a bad joke. "You really think I'm the one closest to him?"
Chi Ruyan raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"
He slammed the cup down.
"Chi Ruyan," he said, voice low, "if you're trying to piss me off, you're doing a great job. Keep going, and I'll cut off that lying tongue of yours."
She leaned in, unfazed, eyes gleaming. "Ha? You dare?"
"You snake," he hissed.
She laughed. "You're the one slithering around with jealousy, not me."
Mo Chen's face turned red, not just from the wine.
"So what if I'm jealous?" he snapped. "At least I don't cry every night for Hua Ling's attention."
Chi Ruyan's smile froze. Her fingers clenched around the cup.
He smirked. "That shut you up."
She scoffed and stood up. "You're the same Mo Chen as always. No matter how hard you act, your heart is too easy to read."
She turned to go, then paused.
"You think you're any different from me? Your love for Xinyu will never be returned."
That one hit its mark.
Mo Chen stopped mid-motion, his next sip forgotten.
The silence stretched.
He slowly set the cup down.
"…Who said I love him?"
Chi Ruyan didn't look back. "You did. With your eyes. I've seen it enough to know."
She said no more.
She didn't ask about the mark she'd seen on Xinyu's shoulder — that glowing sigil that reeked of ancient power. She didn't trust Mo Chen with that knowledge. If it mattered, he'd betray her for it. She was sure of that much.
She left him there — with the shattered cup, the bitter wine, and the look of someone slowly realizing he was standing in a burning house with no way out.
The sect was quiet that night.
Lanterns glowed like stars in glass cages. Somewhere, a zither played faintly, lost to the wind. And in Chen Xinyu's room, the candle flickered weakly, its light just enough to paint gold across skin.
Xinyu was still holding him.
Still.
Even after realizing it wasn't a dream — that it was truly Hua Ling in his arms — he hadn't let go.
His breath trembled.
Why is he not pushing me away? Why isn't he angry?
The seconds dragged.
He finally loosened his grip, ashamed, heart racing. "Dianxia…"
Hua Ling didn't move at first.
Then, he slowly rose above him, supported by one arm, face lit by the fragile candlelight.
Their eyes met.
Xinyu froze. The crown prince's gaze was warm — heartbreakingly so. Those eyes, dark and clear, held no anger. Only quiet wonder. His lips, the shape of a painter's dream, parted slightly.
Xinyu's throat went dry. "I—I'm sorry," he stammered. "I… acted without thinking. I didn't mean to be—"
"Xinyu," Hua Ling interrupted.
His voice was low. Careful.
"…Can I stay here tonight?"
The words fell like snow on stone — soft, but heavy.
Xinyu stared at him.
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
"…Why?"
"I don't know," Hua Ling said honestly. "But when I'm with you… I feel like I'm finally breathing right."
His fingers brushed against Xinyu's wrist — barely a touch, but it sent a current through both of them.
"I'm not asking for anything," he added. "I just want to stay. With you. For a little longer."
Xinyu didn't answer.
But he didn't say no, either.
He only moved aside — slowly — and let the silence fill the room.
Outside, the moon climbed higher.
And inside, the candle burned.
Two silhouettes, side by side.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
But both wide awake.