The Butterfly Valley had always been a quiet place, but tonight, the stillness was broken.
Only two permanent cottages stood within the valley — one that Liam Ardent had taken for himself when he first arrived, and the other now occupied by Lady Moira Drake and her daughter, Isla Drake. The rest of the temporary shelters were nothing more than hastily thrown-together huts, built from bamboo, reeds, and branches for the injured warriors who had come seeking treatment.
Now, with the battered warriors sent away, the arrangements had shifted. Lady Isolde Serpentis and her disciple Lilith Stormbane had taken over the second main cottage, and Liam, after some polite insistence, had ceded the other to Moira and Isla. He himself was left with one of the makeshift huts in the open valley.
The afternoon faded into dusk. Heavy clouds gathered in the skies, rumbling as if in warning.
Then — crack! A low roll of thunder echoed across the mountains. Within moments, the heavens opened, unleashing a torrent.
The rain came down in sheets, hammering on the valley floor and drumming against the roofs.
Liam's current lodging, a hut thrown together by Galen Ashford and Gareth Hallowway's men, was barely enough to keep out the wind. Against the deluge, it was no match at all. Water ran down the woven reed walls in rivulets, pooling on the dirt floor until it looked more like a shallow pond than a shelter.
He sat on the edge of the low wooden cot, watching the rain seep through a dozen different places in the roof. "At this rate," he murmured to himself, "I'll be sleeping under a waterfall."
"Liam!"
A familiar, clear voice called from outside. The doorway's reed mat was pushed aside, and Isla Drake appeared, her hair plastered to her face and her clothes clinging to her in the downpour. She was soaked to the bone, yet still clutched an oil-paper umbrella that had clearly failed to protect her.
"The rain's getting worse," she said quickly. "Come to our cottage. Mother says you can stay inside."
Liam hesitated. "You and Lady Moira are already there. Wouldn't it be… improper?"
Isla shook her head so hard that droplets flew from her hair. "You're thinking too much. She's the one who told me to fetch you. Come on — before you catch cold."
Before he could protest further, she had seized his hand and pulled him out into the storm. The wind drove the rain sideways, stinging his skin. In seconds, they were both wetter than before. The path between the huts was little more than a ribbon of mud, but Isla kept a firm grip on him, dragging him along toward the faint orange glow of a lamplight ahead.
They pushed into the shelter, rainwater streaming from their clothes. Lady Moira Drake was already there, feeding small pieces of wood into a brazier. She glanced up, her expression calm and gracious despite the situation.
"Liam," she said warmly, "you're drenched. Sit by the fire before you freeze."
He inclined his head politely. "Lady Moira, I thank you, but I don't wish to intrude. I'll dry in my own corner somewhere."
"Nonsense." She waved him closer. "You've saved our lives. Is this small courtesy too much? While you dry, Isla and I will remain in the other room."
Before he could argue, she had already taken Isla by the arm and guided her toward the adjoining chamber. Over her shoulder, she called, "I'll make some ginger broth to warm you."
Liam removed his outer coat and tunic, hanging them near the brazier. The flickering flames licked at the damp cloth, steam rising in wisps. Outside, the rain intensified, pattering against the roof like a thousand tapping fingers.
The scent of ginger soon mingled with the smell of burning wood. Isla emerged with a steaming bowl in her hands, her cheeks faintly flushed from the heat inside the smaller room.
"Here," she said, offering it to him. "Mother made this for you. Drink before it cools."
He accepted the bowl with a small smile. "My thanks, Isla." The broth's sharp, spicy aroma cut through the dampness in his lungs, and the first sip spread warmth through his chest and belly. "Effective," he said after draining it. "Already I feel the cold lifting."
Isla's smile widened. "Of course. Mother's ginger broth works every time."
The moment lingered — her eyes bright in the firelight, his expression more relaxed than it had been in days. Then he glanced toward the door. "It's late. I'll take a place by the entrance and sleep there. You both need your rest."
"Suit yourself," she said with a soft laugh, and returned to the inner room.
The rain drummed on, a steady backdrop to the night. Liam lay on the woven mat just inside the doorway, listening to the muted breathing from behind the closed partition. The warmth of the ginger still lingered, a counterpoint to the damp air. Soon, the rhythm of the storm carried him into sleep.
This story is inspired from various Wuxia novels ,so if you find any similarities please dont mind . and if you think this is boring wait till the Dual cultivation starts ,Thank you .
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T/N :
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