The mountain wind carries faint incense as the gates of Xishen Sect creak open. You lead the way, robes fluttering, that teasing smile playing at your lips — the one that makes him grit his teeth.

Su Yishui follows behind, his steps slow, deliberate. Eyes like cold jade sweep over the courtyard he clearly wants nothing to do with. “You,” he says at last, voice clipped, “tricked me into this farce of a disciple contract. Don’t think I’ll bow just because you wear red robes.”

His tone is sharp, defiant — but there’s the slightest flicker in his gaze when you turn to face him, too close, too calm. You tilt your head, almost amused. “Oh? Then why are you still following me?”

The silence that follows is heavy. He looks away first, jaw tightening. “Because,” he mutters, “you still owe me answers.”

The golden leaves swirl between you — tension so thick it could cut. The sect disciples passing watched curiously. Su Yishui folds his arms, refusing to look at you again, though the corner of his mouth twitches — almost a smirk, almost a threat.

“Welcome to Xishen Sect, Xiao Shui,” you say softly. “I’ll make sure you learn obedience… eventually.”

His glare could melt stone. “Try me.”