Morning came.
Ling Yue did not.
She sat by the river long after the sky lightened, arms wrapped around herself, the lotus bud resting in her lap. The water moved gently now, as if nothing irreversible had happened the night before.
As if the world hadn't let him go.
She waited for footsteps behind her.
They never came.
For a moment — just one — her mind insisted that he was only late. That he would appear at her side, sleeves dusted with earth, expression calm and apologetic.
I didn't mean to worry you.
Her chest tightened.
She turned.
No one was there.
---
She returned to the village slowly.
Everything was the same.
That was the worst part.
The path where they had walked.
The stall where he used to stand, watching her bargain with unnecessary seriousness.
The place near the well where he always waited — always in the shade.
She stopped there without realizing it.
"Ye," she said softly.
The name fell into the air and did not return.
Her hands curled into fists.
---
Inside her home, his absence was louder.
The extra cup he never admitted was his.
The stool he always pulled closer when she spoke.
The corner where his presence had once made the room feel steadier.
She sat down hard, breath catching.
This time, she did not cry.
The tears came later.
---
By afternoon, the village had begun to whisper.
Not cruelly.
Not loudly.
But carefully — as if afraid the truth would hear them.
"He's gone," someone said.
"Just like that."
"Strange man, anyway."
Ling Yue passed them without stopping.
She held the lotus bud close to her chest, fingers wrapped around its smooth stem.
It was cool.
Alive.
---
At dusk, she found herself beneath the willow tree.
She hadn't planned to come.
Her feet had simply brought her there.
She sat where he used to stand, leaning against the trunk, gaze fixed on the long branches that swayed gently in the breeze.
"You would've liked this," she whispered. "It's quiet."
She waited for an answer she knew would not come.
The wind stirred.
For a heartbeat, the willow's shadow stretched — long, familiar — and her breath caught painfully.
Then it shifted.
Just a tree.
Just wind.
---
Night fell.
Ling Yue lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
She listened for the sound of his breathing — the quiet rhythm she had never realized she relied on until it was gone.
Her chest ached.
She turned onto her side, clutching the lotus bud.
"I stayed," she whispered into the dark. "Like you said."
The bud warmed faintly in her hands.
Not light.
Not magic.
Just warmth.
Her breath shuddered.
This time, she cried.
---
Far away — far beyond the mortal world — something shifted.
A thread trembled.
And though Ye did not speak, did not appear, did not reach out—
The space he left behind remained unmistakably his.