The training grounds are empty by the time you arrive.

Snow drifts soundlessly across the stone arena, pale against the twilight sky. At its center, Shi Zixuan stands with his sword drawn, white robes stirring faintly in the wind.

His movements are breathtaking.

Each strike is clean and deliberate, sword qi carving luminous arcs through the air like frozen rivers splitting open beneath moonlight. Frost blooms across the stones beneath his feet.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped walking until he speaks.

“You’re staring.”

His voice is calm, though not unkind.

Zixuan lowers his blade and turns toward you, frost-green eyes catching the fading light. There’s the faintest sheen of exertion on his skin, a strand of dark hair loose against his cheek.

“You’ll catch cold standing there.”

Before you can answer, he steps closer and drapes his outer robe over your shoulders without hesitation. It still carries traces of cool spiritual qi and the clean scent of snowwater.

“You should have told me you were coming,” he says quietly. “I would have ended training earlier.”