Ling Yue noticed it before she understood it.
Ye had begun to step back — not physically, not in any way that could be pointed out, but in the spaces between moments. In the pauses where he once lingered. In the way his gaze would drift past her instead of resting.
He still smiled.
He still spoke gently.
But something had shifted.
They were walking through the marketplace when she finally felt it clearly. The village was louder than usual — murmurs, hurried footsteps, a tension that clung to the air like static.
A cultivator stood near the well.
Ling Yue didn't know how she knew what he was — only that the moment she saw him, her heart skipped painfully. He wore plain robes, his expression neutral, but his presence pressed against her senses like cold water.
She glanced instinctively at Ye.
His posture had changed.
Subtle.
Controlled.
Alert.
The cultivator's gaze passed over the crowd… and paused.
Just briefly.
On Ye.
Ling Yue's fingers tightened around Ye's sleeve.
"Let's go," she whispered.
Ye nodded, guiding her away without haste, without drawing attention.
But she felt it then — the tension coiled beneath his calm.
---
They didn't speak until they reached the river path.
Ling Yue stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "You felt it too."
Ye exhaled slowly. "Yes."
"You didn't tell me," she said, hurt creeping into her voice. "Again."
He looked at her — really looked — and for a moment, the walls he'd been building wavered.
"I didn't want to frighten you."
Her laugh was shaky. "That ship has sailed."
She stepped closer. "What's happening, Ye?"
He opened his mouth — then closed it.
The silence stretched.
Something inside her snapped.
"Every time I get close," she said softly, "you pull away. Do you think I don't notice?"
"That's not—"
"Then what is it?" she demanded, eyes shining. "Because it feels like you're preparing to leave."
The truth trembled behind his eyes.
He reached out — then stopped himself.
That hurt more than anything else.
Ling Yue surged forward and wrapped her arms around him, gripping him tightly — not the gentle embrace from before, but something fierce, desperate.
"Don't," she whispered into his chest. "Don't do that. Don't look like that."
Ye froze.
Then his arms came around her — strong, protective — holding her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip.
She buried her face against him, clutching the back of his robe. "I don't know what's chasing you," she said, voice breaking, "but I feel like I'm losing you."
"You're not," he said immediately.
The lie tasted bitter.
She shook her head against him. "Then why does it feel like this?"
Ye tightened his hold, resting his chin against her hair.
"Because," he murmured, "some endings announce themselves before they arrive."
Her breath hitched.
"Then don't let it end," she pleaded. "Stay. Just… stay."
His eyes closed.
If only it were that simple.
---
They remained there for a long time, neither willing to be the first to let go.
When she finally pulled back, her hands lingered at his waist, as though afraid releasing him would make him disappear.
"You promised," she said quietly. "You said as long as you were here—"
"I am," he interrupted gently. "I'm still here."
She searched his face. "For how long?"
He smiled — small, sad, and beautiful.
"For now."
She didn't like that answer.
But she nodded anyway.
---
That night, Ye stood beneath the same stars he had watched for centuries.
The cultivator's presence lingered in his senses like a wound that hadn't finished bleeding. Others would come. Stronger. Less patient.
The mortal world was tightening around him.
He looked down at his hands — the same hands that had held her.
Soon, they would not be allowed to remain.
And yet… if this was all the time he was given, then he would spend it being held — and holding her back.