The moonlight entered through the eerily cold chamber of He Renxiao's room like a thief in the night.. He was dizzy and half lost in whatever had just happened, waking up in such a manner after this.. 'Renren Xiao' had proclaimed him reborn and part of some kind of stupid game. Ridiculous!
But.. if he did truly want to live his happily ever after, he'd just have to follow along with whatever Renren Xiao told him—be that obedient disciple he always used to be and keep out of trouble– then he would be happy.
He Renxiao sat up with a groan, his head still aching and pounding like a horse's hooves on the gravel from where he had hit his head, which honestly still felt like it did back in what he assumed was the mindset or headspace. Somewhere in his mind. It was weird, but He Renxiao didn't question it. It would go away eventually, he hoped. Was Renren Xiao joking about it following him, even when he got back?
He merely shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the darkness shroud him. He didn't want to go back to sleep, but there wasn't much else he could do, since the entire sect was all shut down by now, he assumed, the only other place besides the dorms that he could go was the Gentle Snow Pavilion.. That wasn't a bad idea though, going to visit Lan Qiang.
And that idea stuck. He needed to see him..
He knew that Lan Qiang wouldn't turn him away, because he knew the male would be awake. He didn't sleep very often when working on projects, and since they were cultivators it wasn't often that they needed it..
So he knew better. He was also a favored disciple of sorts—he held a close bond with his Shizun. The male was a father figure to him—one such figure that the sect leader had never truly held, since he wasn't there in He Renxiao's early life.
The answer was obvious, he just had to brace himself to actually take it and get up.. He was hurting physically, but he needed to see his Shizun.
Eventually, He Renxiao dragged himself, even if his body felt like stone, out of bed and to his closest to pick out a new set of robes, since all he currently had on was his inner robes, which wouldn't exactly be the most appropriate thing to wear outside of his designated dormitory. He didn't sleep with his outer robe on because he gets hot easily.
He Renxiao only truly had 3 robes he ever wore—they were given to him by his father. He wasn't close with his father, nor his half brother. Regardless, the robes were all he had to wear that were comfortable enough to go out wearing without being too formal and one was even matching his half sibling.
Normal white robes were what he chose, which wasn't a surprise to himself and he would assume anyone else. He was said to be as pure as a lotus– as much as he liked to believe that was. That's what others called him.
Without a moment's hesitation or much deliberation, He Renxiao turned sharply on his heel and pushed open the heavy wooden door, causing it to swing outward with a quiet creak. His robes billowed behind him like a cascading waterfall, flowing gracefully as he stepped out into the familiar corridors of the Azure Cloud Sect.
The halls, once vibrant with life and purpose, now seemed to stretch endlessly before him, echoing with memories of days past. This was his home—his sanctuary—and despite the turmoil within, he held onto a flicker of hope: that he would never again be tainted or harmed by everything that happened in the past.
He moved with purpose, each step confident yet cautious as he navigated the winding passages. His head was held high, his expression composed, designed to mask the faint unease that lingered beneath the surface. He refused to let anything disturb the calm exterior he desperately tried to maintain.
His gaze was steady, focused on the path ahead, but his ears remained alert to the subtle sounds around him—the soft crunch of grass or the uneven gravel beneath his feet—serving as a distraction from the swirling thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.
The journey outside was shorter than it seemed, yet it felt interminably long. The walk from the main courtyard to the Gentle Snow Pavilion, a humble yet significant place for him, was deceptively tiresome. Each step grew heavier with the weight of anticipation, the quiet dread of what awaited him there.
Still, he pressed on, determined to reach his destination. Despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs, he found a small measure of pride in his perseverance.
As he finally approached the pavilion, a sense of resolve settled over him. All that mattered now was that he was here, and soon, he would face whatever awaited him with the strength he could muster, hoping that this encounter would bring clarity, healing, or at least some semblance of peace.
He took a steadying breath before softly calling out, "Shizun, are you awake?" His voice was gentle, carefully modulated to be quiet enough not to disturb the others, yet still clear enough to carry through the door for Lan Qiang to hear. There was a delicate hesitance in his tone, a mixture of anticipation and concern, as he waited for a response.
Inside the room, a muffled groan echoed faintly, the sound tentative and strained, hinting at the lingering sleep or perhaps the aftermath of whatever had disturbed his Shizun. After a pause filled with quiet suspense, a low, exhausted voice replied from within, "Coming…"
Within moments, the door to the chamber slowly swung open, revealing Lan Qiang stepping out. His expression was weary, yet softened with familiarity and concern, as he regarded He Renxiao. The faint light spilled into the corridor, casting gentle shadows across his features, and the quiet tension of the moment hung in the air—an unspoken understanding passing between them.
"Li Meiling," he murmured, his voice a delicate whisper laced with subtle concern. "Shouldn't you be asleep by now...?" The question hung in the midnight air, barely disturbing the tranquil silence enveloping them.
Lan Qiang's robes cascaded around him with grace, flowing like water behind his slender frame—exhaustion had left its unmistakable mark: skin pale as moonlight, faint shadows beneath once-bright eyes, and the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands. Yet, an undeniable serenity emanated from him, a dignified presence that transcended his physical frailty.
Even diminished, he seemed illuminated from within, possessed of a quiet fortitude that his illness could not extinguish. His composed bearing, that timeless grace with which he moved, transported He Renxiao to nights from another lifetime—intimate, cherished moments they had once shared lying side by side on that modest futon in their previous existence.
"I woke and couldn't find my way back to sleep," He Renxiao confessed, his smile tender and yielding, contentment washing over him at the mere presence of his Shizun—safe, alive, and before him once more. A second chance. "I simply wished to see Shizun. May I come in?"
Lan Qiang responded with the barest nod, stepping aside to welcome his young disciple. These nocturnal visits were rare treasures—small reminders that the boy still sought his comfort during sleepless hours.
As He Renxiao crossed the threshold, memories flooded him. This very chamber had been their prison for years in his past life, after his core had been shattered. A bittersweet smile touched his lips at the knowledge that those dark days need never come to pass again. Those dark eyes which tormented him never to meet him again. This time, he would change everything.
"Please, sit," Lan Qiang offered softly, gesturing toward the bed adjacent to his work table. "You may rest there if you wish." The table stood in stark contrast to the immaculate root– papers scattered in scholarly disarray, the sole evidence of disorder in Shizun's otherwise meticulous quarters.
What drew He Renxiao's gaze, however, was a small, orderly stack of papers beside the chaos–letters, written in Shizun's precise calligraphy. When Lan Qiang had first found him, He Renxiao hadn't been the best at reading or writing characters.
For countless seasons, Shizun had patiently taught him, and He Renxiao had traced those elegant strokes until his own handwriting had become nearly indistinguishable from his master's—an imitation so perfect they had later worked to differentiate.
With a gentle shift of his weight against the cushions, He Renxiao leaned back, allowing his gaze to settle upon Lan Qiang's elegant profile, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight.
"I missed you," he confessed, the words escaping as little more than a whisper–half-intended for his own heart yet just loud enough to reach his Shizun's ears should he choose to hear them. Undisguised admiration shimmered in his eyes.
Beneath his steady gaze, countless unspoken sentiments lingered, memories of another life where such simple moments had become precious beyond measure. Each second in Lan Qiang's presence was a treasure he had once lost and now guarded fiercely, though his master remained blissfully unaware of time's cruel potential.
Startled by the unexpected admission, Lan Qiang lifted his gaze from the scattered manuscripts before him, momentarily abandoning the careful annotations that had occupied his attention.
His head tilted in genuine bewilderment, fine strands of ink-black hair sliding across his shoulders like liquid shadow. Perplexity painted itself across his refined features as he considered the young man's words.
Throughout the orderly rhythm of their days-morning instruction followed by diligent practice, afternoon contemplation, and evening lessons—his disciple had remained consistently within sight.
Barely three incense had passed since they had concluded their evening discourse on the principles of spiritual cultivation. Such an admission seemed puzzlingly premature, even for one so openly devoted as He Renxiao.
Traitorous warmth began to climb unbidden up Lan Qiang's neck, threatening to betray his composure with unwelcome color. Delicate fingers reached instinctively to adjust the high collar of his outer robe as he deliberately averted his gaze toward the window, where night pressed against the thin paper screens.
"Scarcely three incense times have passed since evening lessons concluded, little one," he remarked with practiced calm, though his voice carried the faintest tremor at its edges.
Moonlight caressed the sharp angles of his face, casting half his features in silver while shadow claimed the rest—a fitting reflection of the conflicted sentiments stirring beneath his serene exterior.
Across the narrow space between them hung the weight of something undefined—something that transcended the traditional boundaries between master and disciple, yet remained unacknowledged by spoken word. Wisps of incense curled through the still air, sandalwood and jasmine intertwining pleasantly.
A soft laugh escaped He Renxiao's lips, the sound breaking the tension that had built between them like the first drop of rain after a drought. His eyes, usually sharp as winter frost, momentarily softened with genuine amusement.
"I know," he said, the warmth in his voice lingering just a heartbeat too long before he abruptly turned away, positioning himself to face the wall.
The vulnerability that had briefly crossed his features disappeared like morning mist under the summer sun, replaced by his familiar guarded expression. The mean puppy Shidi had returned, hastily tucking away the gentleness he'd accidentally revealed.
He pressed his lips together, inwardly chiding himself for allowing such sappiness to surface. Such emotional displays were beneath him—or at least that's what he told himself.
Yet a part of him wondered if Shizun had caught that momentary lapse, that crack in his carefully constructed armor. He hoped not, even as another treacherous part of him wished that perhaps Shizun had seen it, had recognized the feelings he worked so diligently to conceal.
The room settled into a silence that felt like a living thing between them—awkward yet strangely comforting, as if the quiet itself were a shared secret. The gentle crackle of the oil lamp and their soft breathing created a rhythm that seemed to slow time itself.
After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Shizun cleared his throat. He Renxiao felt rather than see the slight shift of weight on the other side of the room, the whisper of fine robes against wooden floorboards.
"Li Meiling," Lan Qiang's voice came, softer than usual, almost tentative, like he was still nineteen, finding that 9 year old Renxiao defenseless and in need of a home—the child who was too fragile, like glass. That same child who cried over a fallen foil castle, or was mean enough to stand up to his Shixiong's.. "The night grows late."
He Renxiao remained motionless, uncertain whether this was a dismissal or an invitation to stay, but his gaze turned to look at the other.. The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but palpable.
"Would you..." Lan Qiang paused, and He Renxiao could nearly hear the careful selection of words. "Would you care for some tea before you return to your quarters?" Something in the hesitant way the question was posed made He Renxiao turn back, his eyes meeting Shizun's across the room.
"This disciple would be honored," he replied, his tone deliberately measured despite the sudden quickening of his pulse.
Lan Qiang moved with practiced elegance toward the small brazier nestled in the corner of his quarters. His white outer robes, embroidered with the subtle cloud pattern of the Azure Cloud sect, caught the light as he knelt to stoke the dying embers.
He Renxiao watched, transfixed by the familiar ritual—how his Shizun's slender fingers selected the proper leaves from a celadon jar, how the water was poured with such precision that not a single drop was wasted.
Steam rose between them like incense smoke, carrying the delicate aroma of mountain herbs and something sweeter perhaps. The Ming Yue elder had always favored sweet things, especially during these cooler nights when autumn whispered promises of winter at the temple windows.
He Renxiao straightened his posture instinctively as his master approached with two cups balanced perfectly in his hands. To his surprise, rather than taking his customary seat across from him, Shizun lowered himself onto the same meditation mat, close enough that their knees nearly touched. The proximity sent an unexpected flutter through He Renxiao's chest.
"Careful," Lan Qiang murmured, passing him a cup that seemed to glow from within. "It's quite hot."
"This is White Dew from Lanling," Lan Qiang remarked, his voice carrying the same measured calm as his movements. "It helps settle a restless mind."
He Renxiao swallowed imperceptibly. Was that a pointed comment? Had his inner turmoil been so obvious?
Their fingers brushed during the exchange–a momentary touch that lasted no longer than a heartbeat yet seemed to linger on He Renxiao's skin like a spell. He focused intently on the tea, watching the leaves unfurl and dance in the water rather than meet his master's gaze.
After taking a measured sip, Lan Qiang broke the comfortable silence. "It's late for casual visits, Renxiao." His voice held no accusation, merely quiet curiosity. "Why did you really come to see this old master tonight?"
The question hung in the air like the steam from their cups. He Renxiao's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the warm porcelain as he searched for words that wouldn't come. How could he explain what he himself barely understood? The restlessness that had driven him from his own quarters, the invisible thread that seemed to pull him toward Shizun's pavilion night after night?
"This disciple was... reviewing the Frost Meridian technique," he offered eventually, staring into his tea as if the proper answer might be found swirling among the leaves. "There were... questions that arose."
Lan Qiang's expression remained serene, though a subtle arch of his eyebrow suggested he recognized the evasion. "Questions that couldn't wait until morning instruction?"
He Renxiao took a deliberate sip of tea, using the moment to compose himself. "The best cultivation happens under moonlight," he recited, something he remembered hearing many times from the Ming Yue elder. A soft chuckle escaped Lan Qiang's lips. "Indeed. Though I don't recall seeing any cultivation manuals in your hands when you arrived."
Caught in his transparent excuse, He Renxiao's ears reddened slightly at the tips– a tell that only those who knew him well would notice. And Shizun, after all these years, knew him better than anyone.
"Perhaps," Lan Qiang continued, his voice gentling further, "there are matters of the heart rather than matters of cultivation troubling my fierce disciple tonight?"
He Renxiao's breath caught. He raised his eyes to meet his master's gaze, finding no judgment there—only patient understanding and something else, something warmer that made his carefully constructed defenses threaten to crumble.
"This disciple..." he began, then faltered. Instead of continuing, he raised the cup to his lips again, draining the last of the tea in a gesture that felt like retreat. "This disciple thanks Shizun for the excellent tea." Lan Qiang observed him for a long moment, the silence between them weighted with unspoken words. Then, with a slight nod that might have held disappointment or perhaps acceptance, he reached for the teapot to refill their cups.
Lan Qiang didn't press immediately, instead refilling both their cups with the remaining tea. The silence stretched between them—not uncomfortable, but charged with unspoken things that seemed to pulse in the air like spiritual energy during a breakthrough.
"You know," Lan Qiang finally said, his voice contemplative, "when I was your age, I once climbed to Elder Bai's meditation cave in the middle of the night, claiming I needed guidance on a breathing technique." He Renxiao glanced sideways at his master, surprise
momentarily overtaking his guarded expression. "What was your real reason?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Lan Qiang's eyes met his, warm with something that might have been nostalgia, or perhaps understanding."I was afraid," he admitted simply. "The following day I was to lead my first night hunt alone, and I feared failing my sect, my master... myself."
He Renxiao's breath caught. The Ming Yue elder rarely spoke of his past, especially not of moments of weakness."Did Elder Bai know?" he asked.
"Of course he knew." Lan Qiang smiled. "Just as I know there's something troubling you tonight that has nothing to do with some breathing formation."
Their eyes met again, and for a moment, He Renxiao seemed on the verge of speaking. His lips parted slightly, the carefully maintained facade of the aloof, brilliant disciple wavering like a reflection on disturbed water. But then he reached for his tea again, using the act of drinking to conceal whatever emotion had threatened to surface.
"it grows late, and tomorrow's training begins early."
Lan Qiang studied him for a long moment, his ancient eyes seeing far more than He Renxiao wished to reveal. Then he nodded once, accepting—for now—that whatever brought his proud, stubborn disciple to his door tonight would remain unspoken.
"Indeed," he said softly. "Rest well, Renxiao."
As He Renxiao rose and bowed respectfully, Lan Qiang added, "My door remains open, should you find yourself confused about cultivation techniques again... regardless of the moon phase."
The young disciple paused, his back stiffening slightly, before he gave a short nod and moved toward the entrance. At the threshold, he hesitated, half-turned as if to speak, but ultimately stepped into the night without another word, leaving Lan Qiang alone with two empty teacups and the lingering question of what had truly brought his most promising– and most troubled–-disciple to seek his company under the waxing moon.
So as it went, his vision blackened.