Mei Lingling walked slowly through the outer corridor leading toward her mother's chambers, her steps light yet unsteady, as though her body had already moved on while her heart lagged behind. The stone tiles beneath her feet were familiar, worn smooth by countless years of footsteps, but today even that familiarity failed to ground her.
Her gaze drifted, unfocused.
Unbidden, memories from the previous night surfaced—fragmented and hazy, yet vivid enough to make her breath hitch. The warmth of his presence. The quiet steadiness in his voice. The way she had clung to him without thinking, as if instinct alone had taken control. And the words she had spoken when her mind had stopped keeping pace with her heart.
She halted mid-step.
Both hands rose to her face, fingers pressing tightly against her burning cheeks as she drew in a sharp breath, as though the heat alone might give her away to the world.
Why did I behave like that…?
The thought made her chest tighten painfully.
So shameless and reckless.
Like a total slut in heat.
The words echoed mercilessly in her mind, cruel and unrelenting, and her shoulders hunched inward as if she could fold herself into something smaller—something that would escape notice.
What will Brother Xuanyan think of me now?
Did I ruin everything?
Her lips trembled as doubt gnawed at her heart.
"What are you doing here, young miss?"
The sudden voice cut through her thoughts like a blade.
Lingling flinched hard, panic surging up her spine as her heart slammed violently against her ribs. For a fleeting moment, her vision swam—
Then she looked up.
"Sister… Yanmei?"
Relief washed over her so quickly it nearly made her dizzy.
"Oh—thank goodness, it's you!"
Before Yanmei could even react, Lingling rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, pressing close as if afraid the moment would vanish if she hesitated. The familiar scent of her robes steadied her just enough to keep her feet beneath her.
Yanmei froze.
They had never hugged before. Not once.
Her hands hovered awkwardly behind Lingling's back, fingers stiff and uncertain, caught between instinct and unfamiliarity. She stood there, momentarily at a loss, unused to such closeness, unused to being sought out like this.
Lingling's grip tightened, betraying her fear of being pushed away.
After a moment, she pulled back slightly and lifted her face.
Her eyes were glossy, rimmed red, lashes damp with unshed tears. Her expression was soft and vulnerable, stripped of its usual brightness—almost painfully so.
Yanmei's first thought surfaced without restraint.
…So cute.
Her spine straightened immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
She shook her head sharply, rejecting the thought, then looked again—only to feel her resolve falter.
"…Maybe," she conceded inwardly, begrudgingly, "just a little."
"What are you doing here, young miss?" Yanmei asked aloud, her voice controlled and cool.
Lingling's lower lip quivered.
That coolness struck deeper than any reprimand.
And then she broke.
Her sobs burst free, loud and unrestrained, echoing down the corridor as tears streamed freely down her face. The sound was raw, stripped of pride or composure.
Yanmei's heart skipped.
She hadn't expected this. Lingling had always reacted differently around her—sometimes stubborn, sometimes distant, sometimes irritatingly cheerful—but never like this. Never so fragile. Never so undone.
Whispers rippled through the corridor as passing disciples slowed, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
Yanmei clenched her fists, then released them slowly.
With a measured breath, she stepped forward and pulled Lingling into her arms—this time without hesitation. Firm. Protective. The way an elder sister should be.
"There," she murmured quietly, lowering her voice. "Enough."
Lingling clutched her robes tightly and buried her face against Yanmei's chest, wiping her tears shamelessly against the fabric. Her shoulders shook violently at first, then gradually softened as her sobs faded into uneven, exhausted breaths.
Time passed quietly.
Only when Lingling finally loosened her grip did Yanmei ease her hold. Lingling stepped back on her own, eyes swollen and red, breathing still unsteady.
Yanmei cleared her throat, warmth creeping faintly into her cheeks.
"Come," she said, extending her hand. "We'll talk somewhere private."
Lingling nodded, a weak but genuine smile appearing as she took Yanmei's hand and allowed herself to be led away.
Inside Yanmei's room, the door closed softly behind them.
The silence settled.
"So," Yanmei said, turning to face her, her voice still cool but noticeably gentler, softened around the edges. "What happened, young miss?"
Lingling fidgeted immediately, fingers twisting together as she stared at the floor.
How do I even say this…?
I'll lose all my innocence in front of her…
"It's about…" she hesitated, then whispered, "Brother Xuanyan."
Yanmei stiffened before she could stop herself.
"What about him?" she asked, too quickly.
She had only met Xuanyan yesterday, yet his presence lingered in her thoughts—the calm confidence, the frightening alchemy talent, the way Lingling stayed so close to him. A faint, unwelcome jealousy surfaced before she could suppress it.
Lingling stumbled over her words, her voice shrinking with every syllable. "We… we did… um… like… a reward, and then… spe— I might have…" Her sentence fell apart completely, the rest dissolving into silence as her face burned hotter than before. She lowered her head instinctively, fingers twisting together as if she could physically knot her thoughts back into order.
Yanmei watched her for a moment, unreadable.
Then she stepped closer.
Her hand rose gently, fingers cool against Lingling's overheated skin as she cupped her face and tilted it upward, forcing Lingling to meet her gaze. The touch was careful, deliberate—not demanding, but firm enough that Lingling couldn't hide.
"You're not making sense," Yanmei said quietly. Her voice wasn't sharp, but it carried weight. "I can't understand you if you keep fumbling like this."
Lingling's eyes trembled under her gaze, wide and glossy. She swallowed hard, lips parting as if to speak, then closing again when no words came. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid things.
Yanmei's expression softened just a fraction.
"Slow down," she added, more gently this time. "You don't need to rush. Whatever happened… you can tell me properly."Lingling nodded faintly, still flustered, still struggling—but no longer completely alone in it.
Yanmei's expression shifted subtly, the teasing softness fading as a more serious thought surfaced in her eyes. She studied Lingling's face carefully, taking in the flushed cheeks, the trembling lips, the way her gaze refused to settle.
A quiet pause followed.
"…Did you two separate?" Yanmei asked at last.
The question was gentle, but it landed like a blow.
"No!"
Lingling cried out instantly, the word tearing free before she could stop it. Panic surged up her chest, sharp and overwhelming, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her heart raced as if the mere suggestion threatened to make it real.
"It's not like that," she rushed to say, voice shaking as her eyes filled. "We didn't separate—nothing like that." Her breath came unevenly, fear bleeding into every syllable. "I just… I just think brother Xuanyan might not like me anymore."
Yanmei inhaled slowly.
So it really is about him.
She couldn't think of a single reason Xuanyan would hate Lingling. The two had been inseparable yesterday. As certain memories surfaced—his closeness, the intimacy she had accidentally witnessed—heat crept up her neck, her ears flushing red before she noticed.
Lingling stayed silent, clinging tightly, unwilling to say more.
Yanmei finally sighed.
"You can tell me later," she said softly. "When you feel ready. Or ask Brother Xuanyan yourself."
She paused, then added honestly, "I don't think he'd hate you for no reason."
Lingling nodded weakly.
"Anyway," Yanmei continued, regaining composure, "today is the tournament. Your mother has been waiting since morning. I thought you'd already be at the arena—or with Brother Xuanyan."
She hesitated before adding, "I told her everything about him. Even… about your relationship."
Lingling's eyes widened.
"And judging by her reaction," Yanmei muttered, clenching her hand unconsciously, "she nearly broke into a cold sweat."
She really likes your brother, Yanmei thought sourly, especially after hearing about his alchemy talent.
Jealousy flickered again—brief, sharp, unwanted.
"Thank you, Sister Yanmei," Lingling said softly.
The words were simple, almost fragile, but they carried a sincerity that made Yanmei pause. Lingling's lips curved into a small, genuine smile—one that still held traces of lingering embarrassment and relief intertwined. For a brief moment, she looked lighter, as though some of the weight pressing on her heart had finally eased.
Then she turned and left.
The door closed quietly behind her.
Yanmei remained standing where she was, unmoving, listening to the faint sound of footsteps fading down the corridor. The room felt emptier than it had moments ago, the silence settling in thick and unfamiliar. She did not sit. She did not move. Her gaze lingered on the door as if Lingling might suddenly return.
Only after several breaths did she exhale.
"…Hmph."
The sound was soft, almost involuntary, her voice slipping back into its familiar coolness as if it were armor she had worn for too long to take off easily. "I didn't do that for you," she muttered, more to the empty room than to anyone else.
Yet her hand rose unconsciously, fingers brushing lightly against her lips where warmth still lingered—remnants of closeness, of tears, of an embrace she hadn't expected to give so easily.
Yanmei frowned faintly.
Annoyed and Conflicted.