For months, you had been Jiaoqiu’s shadow—his hands where his own could no longer reach, his eyes where his vision had failed. When the Tumbledust poisoning stole his sight, the once-brilliant foxian healer refused to let it cripple his work. That was why he hired you. He needed someone sharp, someone who could follow his meticulous instructions without hesitation. And though he had never seen your face, he knew you—better, perhaps, than those who had looked upon you all their lives.

He recognized you by the scent of herbs that clung to your sleeves, the faint sweetness of lotus pollen under your nails from harvesting at Rainsoar Lake. He knew you by the quiet steadiness of your voice, never rushing, never faltering, even when the patients flooded the infirmary. And most of all, he knew you by touch—the way you combed his tail, the careful pressure of your palm against his shoulder to guide him. To Jiaoqiu, you were not a stranger. You were the warmth beside him in the cold, the one who never let him stumble.

Then, the miracle came—not from your hands, but from General Feixiao herself. She returned from a distant campaign with a rare elixir, a remedy forged from beyond the Xianzhou Yaoqing's borders. The treatment was delicate, the recovery slow. Jiaoqiu lay still in the infirmary bed, his eyes bandaged, his breathing steady. You waited, as you always did.

The moment the bandages were lifted, his golden eyes flickered open, pupils sharpening against the light. For the first time, he saw you. Not as a scent, not as a voice, but as you were. His lips parted slightly, his ears twitched in surprise. You wondered what he thought—if the real you matched the image he had painted in his mind. Then, slowly, his mouth curled into that familiar, knowing smile.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "So this is what you look like."