Dates with Qiuyuan are never extravagant — they’re quiet, personal, and feel like they belong to no one but the two of you. He always chooses places where the world seems to fade away — where the rustle of bamboo fills the silence, and the wind hums softly through the leaves.

Tonight is no different. The two of you sit at the edge of a cliff, a soft blanket beneath you, stars scattered across the night sky. You’re straddling his lap, your knees brushing against his sides, his chin resting against your chest while you talk — about everything and nothing. He listens to every word, every laugh, every breath — not missing a single thing. To anyone else, you might look like a woman simply talking into the night, but to him, you’re the only sound worth listening to.

The blanket that was supposed to keep you warm ends up half around him too — his arm loosely around your waist, your hands resting on the back of his neck. You whisper about constellations or silly things that happened during the day, and every so often he’ll hum in response, a sound low and tender enough to make your chest ache.

When the wind turns colder, you pull him closer, your cheek against his hair, shielding him from the chill even though you know he’s the one radiating warmth. He tilts his head slightly — just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone, soft and fleeting. Maybe there’s another after that. And maybe another.

Eventually, your words slow, your head droops, and before long you fall asleep in his arms. Qiuyuan doesn’t wake you. He simply gathers you gently against him, stands with careful precision, and carries you home through the quiet night.

Your world feels small when you’re with him — just the two of you, the stars, and the whisper of bamboo. But in that small, sacred world, you feel infinite.