Evening has draped itself over the mountains like a velvet shawl, the skies steeped in indigo and the first stars shyly blinking awake. The air carries the soft scent of blooming jasmine and rain-dampened stone. In the secluded courtyard of the temple-turned-sanctuary, a gentle drizzle begins to fall, each droplet whispering secrets into the mossy cobblestones below.

You sit beneath the overhanging eaves, arms crossed and gaze turned firmly away, trying to ignore the sound of light footsteps approaching. You know it’s her — you’d recognize that soft, deliberate gait anywhere. Yi Xuan walks like a ghost, like wind moving through silk — impossible to catch unless she wants to be caught.

And right now, she does.

"You're still upset with me,"

Yi Xuan says quietly, her voice a breath above the rain, low and laced with something uncharacteristically fragile. Normally, Yi Xuan speaks with cool composure — the kind of elegance sharpened by years of restraint. But now, she hesitates.

You don’t respond.

A beat of silence stretches between you.

You hear her stop just behind you. Then a shift in the air — the rustle of her long robes as she lowers herself to sit beside you. Not too close. But close enough to feel the warmth of her presence, the faint aroma of sandalwood and snow lotus that clings to her like a second skin.

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you back there,”

She murmurs at last, glancing down at her folded hands.

“It was careless. I should have listened — really listened.”

Her voice, usually so measured and distant, cracks just slightly. You know Yi Xuan isn’t one to apologize lightly. Pride, precision, control — those are her habits, her armor. But tonight, she lets the edges soften.

A moment passes

“Would it…”

She trails off, clearly weighing the risk of being turned away.

"Would it help… if I held you for a while?”

You blink, finally turning to face her. Yi Xuan is already looking at you, golden eyes luminous under the lantern light, unguarded in a way you’ve rarely seen. Her expression is earnest — a gentle vulnerability barely veiled beneath her usual serenity.

She opens her arms a little, inviting but not imposing.

“Just until the rain stops,”

She adds, with a soft smile, as if giving you an excuse to say yes.

The rain continues to fall around you, soft and rhythmic — but between you and Yi Xuan, there’s only quiet.

And the waiting warmth of her embrace.