The morning light bled through the cracked clouds, gentle and gold, as if the world itself was trying to apologize for the night before.
Ren woke to the sound of soft breathing beside him. Li Wei lay half-asleep on the futon, his hair loose, lashes trembling against his cheeks. His hand was still clutching Ren's wrist—their bond thrumming like a heartbeat between skin.
For a moment, Ren didn't move. He just watched. The rise and fall of Li Wei's chest was the proof that the serpent god still existed here, human and fragile, still choosing to breathe.
When Li Wei finally stirred, his voice came out low, a whisper brushing Ren's skin.
"You didn't sleep."
Ren smiled faintly. "Didn't want to."
Li Wei turned his head to look at him fully, eyes soft but tired. "Why?"
Ren hesitated, then answered truthfully. "Because every time I close my eyes, I see the light fading from you."
Li Wei's fingers tightened around his wrist. "Then keep them open. Watch me live."
Something warm cracked open in Ren's chest. He leaned closer until their foreheads met, the world narrowing to shared breath. The bond pulsed stronger than before, threads of memory and feeling intertwining so seamlessly that Ren could feel Li Wei's heartbeat echoing in his own ribs.
The connection was no longer wild—it was balanced, breathing, alive. When Ren's thoughts trembled, Li Wei felt it; when Li Wei's strength faltered, Ren's warmth steadied him.
By midday, they moved around the small temple in sync without even speaking. Ren reached for the kettle; Li Wei was already handing him the cup. Their eyes met, small smiles exchanged—an unspoken rhythm that made the air hum softly around them.
"Feels strange," Ren murmured later, fingers brushing Li Wei's shoulder as he handed him tea. "Like I can hear you in my head."
Li Wei took a sip, smirk playing at his lips. "Not hear—feel. You've always been loud with your heart."
Ren scoffed but blushed, looking away. "Then stop listening so hard."
"Impossible," Li Wei said simply.
Their peace didn't last long. As evening fell, the wind shifted—cold, sharp. The pulse of their bond tensed like a struck string. Ren's chest clenched.
"Something's wrong," he said quietly.
Li Wei stood immediately, eyes darkening. "The hunter."
They didn't have time to prepare. The air tore open near the temple gates, light shattering into shards of energy. A figure stepped through—silver-eyed, blades humming with divine malice.
Ren's instincts flared. Without thinking, he stepped in front of Li Wei.
"Ren!" Li Wei barked, but it was too late—light surged around Ren, burning white from within him.
The ground trembled. The air filled with the echo of an ancient language neither of them remembered fully but both understood. Power bloomed from Ren's chest like a second heartbeat—pure, bright, and terrifying.
The hunter staggered back, momentarily blinded.
Li Wei's eyes widened. "Ren… that's—"
"I don't know what this is," Ren gasped, shaking, "but it's protecting you."
And then Li Wei felt it—his own power resonating inside Ren's body, the two energies coiling together like light and shadow. The bond wasn't just linking them anymore—it was fusing.
"Your soul remembers me," Li Wei murmured in awe. "It's remembering everything."
Ren turned his head, panting, eyes glowing faintly gold. "Then let it remember."
The storm answered again—not from the heavens, but from within them both.