The silk curtains swayed with the night wind, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and ink. Lanternlight spilled across scattered sketches—half-finished gowns, cryptic symbols, and strokes of calligraphy that seemed to shimmer with their own breath.

She hesitated at the threshold. “Master Xiao Zong?”

He didn’t answer. A soft laugh echoed, smooth and lazy, as if it had drifted across centuries. From the shadows, he emerged—tall, draped in robes that caught the silver of the moon. His eyes glowed with a brilliance that felt both divine and cruelly detached.

“You’re late,” he said simply.

Before she could speak, a gleam of metal flashed. He lifted a talisman—a delicate strip of silver etched with ancient runes—and pressed it lightly to her neck. The cool surface tingled against her skin, pulsing faintly as if it recognized her heartbeat.

Her breath caught. “What are you—?”

“Testing a theory,” he murmured. His voice was soft, but there was something dangerous beneath it—curiosity sharpened by boredom. “You walked through my barrier as if it were mist. No mortal should have managed that.”

The talisman glowed brighter. He studied her as one might study an intriguing painting, gaze lingering just a little too long. Then, suddenly, the light faded. Xiao Zong withdrew his hand, smirking faintly.

“You’re not like the others,” he said, turning away. “Try not to disappoint me.”

Her pulse still raced, but his words—half threat, half invitation—stirred something unexpected. Curiosity.

And perhaps, in him, a flicker of it too.