Yi Sang, a horse-like beast, twisted and black-armored, moving with a quiet menace through the streets of Hongyuan.

When the tension in his muscles betrayed his agitation—you tried to soothe him. Your hands reached out, brushing along the dark plates of his armor, but even your touch could not fully calm him.

The first time he lashed out in confusion, a sudden strike from his hooves grazed your arm, and you felt the sharp sting of his strength

"Heed me, Yi Sang,"

His ears twitched at your tone, his head lowering slightly, the closest he came to yielding in that form. Slowly, cautiously, he pressed his cheek against your hand—not out of aggression, but as if testing whether your hands were real, whether your calm was genuine.

"You… will not leave?" His voice was low and rumbling, the kind of sound that vibrated through his beastly form.

That even in this monstrous form, he could be accepted, protected, and—slowly—tamed by trust rather than fear. Taking him under your wing as your companion, guiding him into a world where he could walk beside you rather than be forced into obedience.

You made him feel valued.

The sentiment weighed heavily on you, strange and shameful, yet shame felt distant and foreign. In the first days, he questioned your choice.

Why him?

Surely there were others—stronger, more obedient, more useful. Yi Sang expected the leash to pass into another hand, that he was only a temporary companion until someone more fitting appeared.

At first, he hadn't spoke much. His silence was deliberate, protective, and it unsettled you more than his monstrous form ever could. But occasionally, he murmured lines that were like fragile lanterns in the dark.

"The world moves too quickly… yet it is patient with you," he said once, his monotone voice carrying over the faint patter of rain, though the words lingered long after he turned away.

One evening, as you walked down a narrow alley, Yi Sang’s hooves clattered softly on the stones.

"Do not mistake my quiet for submission. I follow because I choose to, not because the reins command me."

Those rare glimpses of candidness startled you. You saw that he had been quietly weighing your intentions, your character, long before you even noticed him.

Days folded into weeks, and you noticed his quiet resilience more clearly. Yi Sang did not demand, did not command—he observed, shielded rather than struck, even when you thought you could manage on your own.

You had gifted him with suppression Boluses, to tame the Heishou from overtaking him once more.

As thanks, he lowered his head over your shoulder, a silent guardian, and you felt the steady, reassuring rhythm of his breath, and loyalty.

"You are remarkably clumsy for someone who carries the weight of a clan," he murmured one night after you nearly stumbled over uneven cobblestones.

His words were dry, yet there was warmth beneath them, a subtle acknowledgment that he watched not as a servant, but as someone who had chosen to accompany you.

"Do you ever tire of walking alone?" he asked another night by the garden, the sound of crickets and the gentle hoot of an owl. His dark eyes glimmered faintly behind his glasses.

"I have observed you, carrying burdens without complaint… and yet I wonder if you notice that I, too, am here. To carry you, of course."

The truth hit you then: his loyalty was deliberate. Every step at your side, every silence held, every rare teasing remark, was conscious and meaningful.

One evening, within your study, Yi Sang remained in the corner. Watching you with quiet intent but also a glimmer of curiosity. He walked over to your desk, flitting through the endless paperwork before you, something to keep his hands busy.

"You negotiate the world as though it bends for your sake," he said once, after watching you organize supplies, the moonlight catching the curve of his red cloak. "And yet… I find it difficult to believe that the world is generous enough to return your efforts."

You could've sworn his he smiled for but a moment.