Morning arrived gently in the village.
Mist clung low to the ground, threading itself between rooftops and fields. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves. Roosters crowed somewhere beyond the eastern fields, and smoke curled lazily from kitchen fires.
Ye had been awake long before the sun rose.
He sat on the edge of the narrow bed in the inn, hands resting loosely on his knees, listening to the sounds of a world that did not know him. His body felt heavier today. Mortal. Each breath required awareness. Each movement carried weight.
So this is how humans wake, he thought.
In the Realm, dawn had been an event—bells, light spilling across jade halls, clouds shifting beneath one's feet. Here, it arrived quietly, almost shyly.
Ye stood and stepped outside.
---
Ling Yue was sweeping the courtyard when he saw her again.
She moved with unhurried rhythm, broom brushing dust into neat lines. Her hair was tied loosely, a few strands slipping free as she worked. She paused occasionally to rest her weight on the broom handle, staring off as though caught by a thought she could not name.
Ye stopped a short distance away.
He told himself it was coincidence.
That he had merely stepped outside at the same time.
Yet his feet had carried him here without conscious intent.
She sensed him before she saw him.
Ling Yue turned, surprise flickering briefly across her face before she smiled politely. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Ye replied.
The words felt strangely intimate, spoken in the quiet of early light.
She gestured toward the inn behind him. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes."
A pause.
She waited, as though expecting more. When none came, she tilted her head slightly. "You don't talk much, do you?"
Ye considered the question.
In Heaven, his words had carried weight—commands, judgments, finality. Here, they seemed fragile. Almost unnecessary.
"I speak when there is something to say," he answered.
Ling Yue laughed softly. "That must make life very quiet for you."
Too quiet, he thought.
Until you.
"I don't mind quiet," he said.
Her smile lingered longer than necessary.
---
They walked together toward the village well.
Not side by side—there was still distance between them—but close enough that Ye could hear the faint sound of her footsteps, the soft rustle of her sleeves. Occasionally, she glanced at him, as if checking whether he was still there.
"You're not from around here," she said.
"No."
"You don't sound like you're from anywhere nearby either."
"I've traveled far."
She accepted that answer easily, which surprised him. Most mortals pressed for details, curious and restless. Ling Yue simply nodded.
"I've lived here all my life," she said after a moment. "Sometimes I wonder what's beyond the hills."
Ye's gaze followed the line of her sight, toward the distant mountains barely visible through the morning haze.
"There are many places," he said. "Some beautiful. Some cruel."
"Which ones do you miss?" she asked.
He stopped walking.
Ling Yue realized what she had asked too late. "Ah—sorry. That was rude."
"No," Ye said quietly. "It wasn't."
He resumed walking, but his thoughts lingered elsewhere.
Which ones do I miss?
A silver terrace beneath starlight.
A quiet Fate Pavilion.
A fairy standing too close to the edge of destiny.
"I don't miss places," he said at last. "Only moments."
Ling Yue looked at him then, really looked—at the stillness in his expression, the weight behind his eyes.
"I think," she said slowly, "that must be lonely."
Ye did not respond.
Because if he spoke, he might say her name.
---
Later that afternoon, clouds gathered unexpectedly.
Ling Yue stood beneath the eaves of a small storehouse, watching the sky darken. Thunder murmured in the distance. She hugged her arms lightly, uncertain.
She was not afraid of storms. But something about this one unsettled her.
Ye approached silently, stopping beside her.
"It will rain," he said.
She glanced at him. "I noticed."
Another pause. A familiar one.
"You should stay indoors," he added. "The paths will flood."
"And you?"
"I'll manage."
She frowned. "You always say that."
He met her gaze.
For a brief moment, the world narrowed to the space between them.
"I mean," she corrected herself, flustered, "—you said that yesterday too."
"Yes."
Her frown deepened, then softened. "You don't like relying on others, do you?"
Ye thought of Heaven. Of standing alone before judgment. Of carrying knowledge no one else was allowed to share.
"No," he said. "I don't."
Ling Yue hesitated, then reached out—not touching him, but close enough that he felt the warmth of her presence.
"Well," she said gently, "you can try. Just a little."
Something in his chest tightened.
He turned away before she could see it.
---
That night, rain fell hard against the earth.
Ye stood beneath the shelter of the inn, watching the village lights blur through sheets of water. Each drop felt like a reminder—time was passing. Heaven would not wait forever.
You should leave, a distant voice warned within him.
Instead, he remembered the way Ling Yue had looked at him beneath the darkening sky.
He closed his eyes.
Just a little longer, he thought again.
Somewhere far above, unseen threads shifted, tightening imperceptibly.