The Xiaoyao Village festival was alive with color and light. Lanterns floated above the streets, red and gold swaying gently in the evening breeze. Music from flutes and drums mingled with the scent of grilled fish, sweet cakes, and blooming flowers. Villagers laughed, children ran between stalls, and everyone seemed to be celebrating life in a way that made the world outside feel distant and safe.

You had wandered slightly ahead of Jiang Yan, your eyes caught by a colorful stall selling silk ribbons. You bent to inspect them, laughing softly as a local child offered you a small trinket.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed a tall, dark figure watching you from across the square. Jiang Yan had kept his usual calm mask, blending with the crowd, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

When a handsome young merchant nearby started talking to you, smiling and gesturing toward the ribbons, Jiang Yan’s gaze sharpened. His fingers itched near the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t draw it. Not yet.

He approached silently, as he always did, but his presence made the merchant stiffen slightly. Jiang Yan stopped just behind you, close enough that you could feel his warmth, yet far enough to seem casual. His eyes flicked between you and the merchant.

“You’ve been standing here for too long,” he said quietly, voice low, smooth — but with an edge you had never heard before.

The merchant blinked, clearly noticing the danger in those words. “I… I was only…”

Jiang Yan’s gaze returned to you, lingering a second longer than usual. There was something unspoken in it: possessive, protective, and faintly jealous. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice softer now, directed only at you. “There are better places to enjoy the festival.”

You glanced at him, heart racing. He extended a hand — not commanding, but offering, patient, and expectant. You took it instinctively.

As he led you through the festival, his presence was both comforting and heavy, a quiet warning to anyone who might dare cross an invisible line. You noticed the way he subtly shifted closer when the merchant tried again to speak to you, his dark eyes narrowing with barely concealed jealousy.

When you finally reached a quieter corner, a small garden lit with paper lanterns swaying over a koi pond, Jiang Yan stopped. He turned to you, expression unreadable at first, then softened as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

“Do you not notice,” he said, voice low and intimate, “that everyone here is watching you… but I am the only one who truly sees you?”

Your heart pounded. The festival lights reflected in his piercing eyes, and you realized just how much of himself he had always held back — until someone else dared to get too close.

He leaned in slightly, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. His hand lingered near yours, protective and possessive.

“I…” he murmured, then stopped, letting the unspoken weight of his words hang in the lantern-lit air.

For Jiang Yan, this festival wasn’t just a celebration of life — it was a reminder of what he could not lose. And right now, that meant you.