Su Qingxue had never liked uncertainty.
As an inner disciple ranked among the top three of her generation, she lived by precision. Every strike calculated. Every breath measured. Emotion was a luxury she had long abandoned.
And yet—
She found herself thinking about Lin Yao far too often.
About the strange harmony when their auras touched. About the way her cultivation had surged—then refused to stabilize.
"Annoying," she muttered, drawing her sword.
Her blade traced arcs through the air, freezing spirit mist mid-motion. Yet no matter how many times she repeated the form, her thoughts wandered.
Finally, she stopped.
"This isn't acceptable."
That night, she sought Lin Yao out.
He was cultivating beneath a moonlit tree, his posture relaxed, eyes half-closed. He sensed her instantly and opened them without surprise.
"You're late," he said calmly.
Su Qingxue frowned. "You knew I'd come?"
"I hoped," he corrected.
That honesty disarmed her more than arrogance ever could.
They spoke plainly.
About the Spirit Valley. About resonance. About the danger surrounding him.
"You attract attention," she said. "From elders. From enemies. From women."
Lin Yao chuckled softly. "That last one sounds personal."
Her eyes narrowed—but she didn't deny it.
"I won't share my Dao lightly," she said. "And I won't tolerate deceit."
He met her gaze steadily. "Then we agree on the most important thing."
Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable.
Finally, she said, "If—if—I walk this path with you one day, I won't be blindsided."
Lin Yao nodded. "No one who walks beside me will be."
That answer lingered in the air, heavy with implication.
They did not touch.
They did not need to.
When Su Qingxue left, her cultivation finally stabilized—for the first time in days.
And Lin Yao understood something vital.
Attraction was easy.
Trust was cultivation.
Above them, unseen currents shifted.
The sect's balance was beginning to tilt.