The village prepared for a small festival.
Nothing grand — just lanterns, shared food, and music played a little too late into the night. It was the kind of celebration born not from abundance, but from the simple fact that people were still here to celebrate at all.
Ling Yue helped string lanterns along the path near the well. Her fingers moved automatically, but her attention kept drifting.
To Ye.
He stood a short distance away, speaking with a villager, his posture relaxed, his voice calm. To anyone watching, he looked like he belonged.
That frightened her more than when he looked distant.
"You're staring," Mei Qiao murmured, passing by with a basket of candles.
Ling Yue startled. "I am not."
Mei Qiao smiled faintly. "You don't have to lie to me."
Ling Yue looked away. "He's been… different."
"Different how?"
She searched for words. "Like someone who's already said goodbye."
Mei Qiao's expression softened. "Then maybe you should ask what he hasn't said."
---
As night fell, lanterns lit one by one, casting warm circles of light across the village. Music drifted through the air — uneven, joyful, human.
Ye found Ling Yue near the river, watching reflections tremble across the water.
"You're hiding," he said gently.
She glanced at him. "So are you."
He smiled. "Perhaps."
They walked together along the bank, close enough that their sleeves brushed. The warmth between them felt fragile, like glass held too tightly.
"This festival," Ling Yue said quietly, "it feels strange."
"Because it's loud?" Ye asked.
"No," she replied. "Because it feels like something that shouldn't exist anymore."
He stopped walking.
She turned to face him, heart pounding. "Tell me what's happening."
The night seemed to lean closer.
Ye opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The words pressed against his ribs, desperate to escape.
I am running out of time.
I will not survive this world much longer.
If I stay, I will bring disaster to you.
But what he said instead was:
"Do you trust me?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
The answer landed like a blow.
"Then," he said softly, "trust that I am doing everything I can."
"For who?" she asked.
"For you."
Her breath caught.
---
They stood beneath a lantern that swayed gently in the breeze. Light flickered across his face, catching the familiar curve of his smile — the one that never quite reached his eyes anymore.
"Ye," she said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. "If you left… would you miss me?"
He looked at her like she had asked him whether he breathed.
"Yes," he said simply.
She swallowed. "Then why does it feel like you're already gone?"
The smile faded.
He stepped closer, lifting his hand as if to touch her — then stopping just short.
"There are things," he said quietly, "that cannot be said without being taken away."
She searched his face, frustration and fear tangled together. "And if I tell you I don't care?"
He lowered his hand.
"That," he replied, "is what makes this unbearable."
---
Later, as fireworks cracked softly in the distance, Ye watched Ling Yue laugh with the villagers, lantern light dancing across her features.
For a moment, she looked unburdened.
Free.
He memorized it.
Because he knew — with a clarity that frightened him — that this might be the last time he saw her like this.
When she returned to him, breathless and smiling, she took his hand without thinking.
He didn't pull away.
They stood like that, fingers intertwined, as the night burned bright around them.
"I'm glad you stayed," she said.
So am I, he thought.
But aloud, he said only, "So am I."
---
That night, long after the festival ended, Ye stood alone beneath the dying lanterns.
The pressure was undeniable now.
Eyes were turning toward the village.
The world was tightening.
He lifted his gaze to the sky.
One more day, he thought.
If fate allows me one more day.
Behind him, unseen, Ling Yue slept — unaware that the calm she clung to was already slipping through his fingers.