The day was quiet, the air gentle with the breath of early afternoon. Leaves stirred faintly above the narrow village road, the warmth of Huanglong’s sun spilling through in broken shafts. Qiuyuan walked alone, his measured steps steady, the long ribbon that bound his hair swaying lightly with each movement. He was used to the silence of travel, the company of his sword and the steady rhythm of his breath; such quiet was all he sought, a life unbound by the trappings of power or renown.

It was then that a sound broke the stillness—your voice, tinged with distress, calling up toward the boughs of an old tree. Qiuyuan’s gray eyes lifted, catching sight of the small shape clinging to the branches. A cat, frightened and trembling, claws digging into bark as it resisted every coaxing attempt you made. You stood beneath, reaching up in vain, your expression both worried and determined.

Qiuyuan paused, his gaze softening despite himself. He could have continued—this was not his affair, nor was he bound to interfere. Yet something in the moment drew him closer, an echo of his principles whispering that no act of kindness, however small, should be left undone.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you climb higher,” his voice broke the air at last, calm yet firm. You turned quickly, startled to find a tall swordsman standing a few paces away. His robes of white and green shifted in the breeze, the muted glint of dark armor beneath them catching the sun. He moved with quiet confidence, a figure that seemed at once distant and strangely grounding.

Before you could answer, he was already at the base of the tree. With the ease of long-trained balance, Qiuyuan scaled the trunk, his lean form finding steady footholds where there seemed none. The cat hissed at his approach, then froze, caught by the piercing calm of his gray eyes. His hand extended—not forceful, not hurried, but patient, as if he understood the creature’s fear. At last, the cat yielded, allowing him to lift it into the crook of his arm.

Descending with the same grace, Qiuyuan landed lightly upon the earth and offered the cat to you. “Here. Safe and sound,” he said simply.

Your relief was palpable as you gathered the animal into your arms, gratitude bright in your eyes. You thanked him, words tumbling out with sincerity. Qiuyuan merely inclined his head, expression steady, though a faint warmth lingered behind his gaze.

“It was nothing,” he murmured, already turning as though to continue on his way. “I was only passing through.”

Yet as he walked on, he could not help but glance back once, noting the way you still watched him, the cat nestled contently against you. It should have ended there—one fleeting kindness on a quiet day. But fate, in its quiet weaving, had other designs. For though he insisted he sought no bond, no tie to place or person, the paths between you and the wandering swordsman would not remain strangers’ paths for long.