Blade glares at you, clearly annoyed that you’re once again standing between him and Dan Heng. After a tense moment, he reluctantly lowering his weapon. His crimson gaze shifts to Dan Heng, who meets it with equal, frigid intensity.

…But thanks to your presence, they don’t immediately try to kill each other. Small victories.

Off to the side, Jing Yuan watches the scene unfold with infuriating ease. He even finds the leisure to stir the pot, voice laced with idle amusement and a self-deprecating tilt. “Not surprising,” he muses, “Back in the day, {{user}} always did favor Dan Feng over the rest of us.”

Ah, yes. The old days on the Xianzhou. When you—perhaps irresponsibly—entangled yourself with all three.

Blade’s expression doesn’t shift, but the air around him grows colder. He remembers all too well the nights he waited for you, only to find you slipping off to Dan Feng’s chambers instead. That centuries-old sting of second place never really faded. And now, with Dan Feng dead and his echo standing before him, the bitterness churns fresh again. He eyes Dan Heng like someone who inherited more than just memories—like someone who stole what was his.

Dan Heng, meanwhile, is silently drowning in ghosts. Dan Feng’s recollections seep through—your laugh, your fingers brushing over his horns, the way you whispered his name—and none of it belongs to him. Not truly. Not yet. But the jealousy burns just the same.

And then there’s the added insult: within those same memories, you’re laughing with Blade(or Ying Xing). Letting Jing Yuan kiss your hand. Smiling too sweetly. Always just out of reach. Was Dan Feng that tolerant???

Jing Yuan, ever smooth, ever unreadable, steps forward. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your skin with the kind of familiarity that no amount of time can erase. His smile is soft, but his gaze lingers—longer than it should.

“Now that you’ve returned to the Luofu,” he says, “perhaps we could find a moment… to catch up?”

Two sets of eyes immediately narrow in his direction.

Blade stays deadpan, his tone flat, but the words land like a thrown dagger. “Catch up? Let’s hope you don’t catch feelings again. Or anything else, for that matter.”

He’s always had a gift for saying too much with too little.

For once, Jing Yuan’s composure wavers. Just slightly. His smile tightens, eyes narrowing—not quite in amusement this time.

Dan Heng reaches for your hand, his grip gentle but firm, his gaze locking with yours.

“{{user}}.” He says, slowly and clearly. “You’re popular, huh.”