The night was still. Too still.
Ruo Han sat at his desk, brush in hand, copying cultivation diagrams from an old scroll. His candle flickered — and then, without warning, went out.
His heart gave a slow, hard beat.
From the courtyard, a faint shift of air. Barely audible steps. No plum blossom petals stirred. Whoever was moving… was skilled enough to hide even from the night breeze.
He reached for the dagger beneath his sleeve, but before he could stand, the bond flared — sharp, urgent, like a hand gripping his chest.
Xiyue.
He didn't call for him aloud, but the bond didn't need words. And a heartbeat later, the door slid open.
Lan Xiyue's silhouette was framed in moonlight, his blade already drawn. His voice was low, precise.
"Scarlet Sun's here."
No sooner had he spoken than the wall of Ruo Han's quarters exploded inward, shards of wood and plaster flying like shrapnel. A figure in crimson robes darted through, twin blades flashing.
Lan Xiyue met the first strike head-on, steel ringing, sparks scattering. The intruder was fast — an omega, if Ruo Han's sharp sense of pheromones was right, but drenched in killing intent.
Ruo Han joined the fray without hesitation, his dagger catching a slash aimed for Lan Xiyue's side. For a moment, they moved as they had in training — perfectly in sync — but this was no spar.
The intruder's blade grazed Ruo Han's shoulder. The scent of blood spilled into the air, and something inside Lan Xiyue snapped.
The bond surged.
It wasn't a polite, quiet pulse this time — it was a flood, hot and consuming, an instinct that wrapped around Ruo Han like an unbreakable shield. Every breath Lan Xiyue took was filled with him; every move was driven by one truth: protect him at all costs.
Power rolled off Lan Xiyue in waves, his strikes growing faster, heavier, forcing the intruder back. Ruo Han, breathless, felt it too — a pull deep in his chest, as if their souls had caught and locked together.
The intruder snarled, realizing the fight was turning. With a final feint, they vanished into the night, leaving the scent of scorched qi behind.
Lan Xiyue turned immediately, hands gripping Ruo Han's arms, scanning him for wounds.
"You're hurt."
"It's nothing," Ruo Han said, but the bond betrayed him — Lan Xiyue could feel the flicker of pain, the adrenaline still racing.
They stood too close, moonlight painting silver across Ruo Han's hair, their breathing tangled. The bond thrummed between them like a living thing, no longer dormant, no longer deniable.
Neither spoke the truth aloud. But both knew: something had broken open tonight, and it would never close again.