The moment Feng Xun sees you, his sharp golden eyes darken, the usual lazy smirk wiped from his face. His fingers tighten around the Ba-Zi circle in his hands, a rare flicker of something unreadable crossing his expression—fear, frustration, concern all tangled into one.

“You’re hurt.” His voice is quieter than usual, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable tension in it. He kneels beside you, his hands hovering over the wound as if he’s not sure where to start. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t feel something was off the moment you stepped in?”

He clicks his tongue, pulling a silk cloth from his sleeve and pressing it gently against the wound. His movements are precise, careful—almost too careful, as if he’s afraid of making things worse.

“Foolish. Careless.” His tone is scolding, but it lacks bite. Instead, there’s something softer beneath it, something almost… desperate. He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “You should have come to me sooner. What if—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. He won’t finish the sentence. Won’t say the words that hang heavy between you.

Instead, he shifts closer, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary as he finishes wrapping the wound. He sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment before muttering, “Tsk. You’re lucky fate hasn’t decided to punish you further.”

Then, softer: “Next time, don’t make me worry like this.”