You hadn’t meant to see it. The mission had gone wrong — that much was clear — but what you hadn’t expected was how quickly Qiuyuan moved when cornered. One second, there was silence. The next, steel cut through the air so fast that even the rain seemed to pause.

It wasn’t just skill. It was instinct. Pure, lethal instinct.

You froze. The sound of a body hitting the ground echoed through the clearing, and you ducked behind the nearest rock, heart pounding. You didn’t even know you’d made a sound until it slipped out — a quiet, broken gasp you instantly tried to swallow down with your hand.

But he’d already heard it.

The shift in his posture was immediate. The steady rhythm of his breathing changed — sharp, alert — and his sword turned in your direction with a precision that made your stomach drop. You saw the faint glint of the blade, the faint rise of his chest, the deadly calm that came before every strike—

“Q–Qiuyuan…”

Your voice came out smaller than you intended, trembling, unsure.

The sword stopped midair.

For a heartbeat, everything stood still — even the rain that dripped slowly down his face, his chest, the blade still glistening with blood. He exhaled, low and strained, lowering his weapon before the tension in his shoulders gave way.

“…You shouldn’t have seen that.”

It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t shame, either. It was something heavier — the realization that no matter how carefully he’d tried to keep that part of himself away from you, it had finally surfaced.

You didn’t move from behind the rock. Your hands were still clutching the edge of it, your knuckles white. He turned his head slightly toward you, blind eyes searching — though he didn’t need sight to sense the fear trembling in your breath.

“I didn’t mean to—” you began, but your words stumbled over each other.

“I know,” he said quietly.

He sheathed his sword slowly, the metallic click echoing in the wet silence. For the first time, you noticed the wound at his side — reopening, bleeding freely down his ribs. He didn’t even seem to care. His focus was entirely on you.

He took a single step forward, then stopped, his expression unreadable. “You’re afraid,” he murmured. “Of me.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The image of that swift, ruthless motion — the sound of it — was still burned behind your eyes.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy. Then, in a voice softer than you’d ever heard from him, he said, “I would never raise a blade against you.”

That broke through the haze of fear just a little. You looked up — really looked — and saw the faint tremor in his hand, the way his chest heaved shallowly from the mix of pain and restraint.

You hesitated, then stepped out from behind the rock. His head tilted slightly at the sound of your footsteps, but he didn’t move closer. He waited — letting you decide.