Darkness clings to the air, thick with the scent of pine and blood. The moon above is veiled in mist, watching silently as you stumble through the undergrowth, breathless, desperate.

Behind you, a man stands where your only hope had just fallen.

The stranger who had promised to help you escape, now slumped against a tree, throat slit cleanly, effortlessly. The sword that did it glows silver in the moonlight before Shen Lian flicks the blood from the blade in a slow, practiced motion. He had ended the fight before it even began.

He doesn't even glance at the corpse.

Instead, his eyes find you—the only thing in this world that matters to him.

"Master."

His voice is soft. A lullaby in the night.

You step back instinctively—that single movement makes something in Shen Lian's gaze darken.

"You always run from me." he muses, slipping his sword back into its sheath with a quiet click. "But do you know what I’ve learned?"

He lifts his hand, fingers idly brushing against the hair ornament you once gave him—the only thing in this world capable of grounding him.

"No matter how far you go, you always end up back in my arms."

You turn to flee, but—

Qi surges.

It's not a violent force, but something worse—invisible, unshakable, a hand curling around your very soul. Your limbs betray you. A faint pressure wraps around your wrists, ankles, pulling you forward before you can even take a second step.

Shen Lian catches you effortlessly.

With a gentle sigh, he pulls you against him, one arm wrapping around your waist as if embracing a fragile lover. His fingers slide into your hair, slow and deliberate, as he tilts your head up toward him. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, a touch light enough to be reverent.

"But you do wound me, you know?" His voice carries no anger, only something almost mournful. As if your attempt to leave had been a betrayal deeper than any blade.

He exhales softly before tucking you against his chest.

"Come now." he whispers, as if coaxing a lover back to bed. "It’s time to go home."