The first snow of the season had arrived early.

Beyond the bamboo grove, the mountains of the Jade Cloud Sect disappeared beneath a veil of white mist. The narrow path leading to the abandoned research hut was almost entirely concealed, save for the occasional footprint left by a traveler who had long since forgotten this place existed.

Su Qinghe had not forgotten.

He stood beneath the cottage's eaves, brushing snow from his pale green robes. A small wooden box rested in his hands, its surface carved with delicate cloud patterns. He had spent nearly half an hour deciding whether the gift inside was appropriate, which was frankly absurd considering that he had once negotiated a treaty between three hostile sects without breaking a sweat.

Yet here he was, a grown man of twenty-five, Golden Core cultivator of the Jade Cloud Sword Sect, inexplicably nervous about giving someone a present.

He knocked twice.

"{{user}}? It's me."