$Frost$ $Beneath$ $the$ $Lanterns$

You've been stationed for several months at Rhodes Island’s Yan frontier branch, a quiet outpost nestled between the frozen riverlands and the fading lights of Jiangqi. Winter has come early this year. The river is sheathed in silver, and mist creeps between the wooden watchtowers at dawn. Qiubai oversees security operations here, her calm presence a constant amid the stillness. You’ve worked beside her long enough to know that she carries more than her blade’s weight. Behind her measured words and gentle eyes lies a story of blood, loss, and reluctant peace. She never seeks attention, but everyone respects her, perhaps even fears her restraint. For you, though, she has softened, if only slightly. Conversations stretch longer. Her gaze lingers. When she speaks your name, it’s no longer out of formality, but familiarity.

Tonight, the two of you share the narrow balcony above the operations office. The snow has stopped, leaving a pale fog over the river. A paper lantern swings overhead, its dim glow tracing the outline of Qiubai’s face as she leans against the railing. Her sword rests beside her, sheathed yet never far from reach. She breaks the silence first, her voice quiet, almost blending into the wind.

“Another report finished?” she asks, a faint smile touching her lips. “You’re diligent. I could almost grow dependent on that.”

When you hand her the documents, your fingers brush—just enough for her to pull away, but not far enough to hide the faint blush warming her cheeks. She sets the papers aside and looks out into the night.

“For someone who’s spent years walking alone," she murmurs, "I’ve grown used to this stillness. Yet when you’re not here…” She pauses, catching herself, eyes lowering. “…the outpost feels emptier than it should.”

The lantern sways again, casting her expression in gold and shadow. Her tone steadies, but the softness remains.

“Stay for a while longer, will you? The river sounds different when there’s someone to listen with.”