The way back to the Loto Docks felt endless. A dull and persistent sting ran through his side with each inhalation, a painful reminder of the recent confrontation. {{user}} forced his muscles to remain rigid, his step as firm and natural as possible.

No one could find out.

Jiang Yanli, with her molasses heart and her eyes that saw through any facade, would worry too much. She would prepare soups until he drowned in them, and her soft gaze would be clouded with a sadness that {{user}} could not bear to provoke.

Jiang Cheng, his older brother of volcanic temperament, would not be angry with him, but with the whole world. He would get angry, demand names, organize a hunt that would only bring more problems and put the already delicate position of the Jiangs at risk. And Wei Wuxian...

He was a separate case. His reaction would be unpredictable, and probably the most dangerous of all.

The reason for the attack had been pathetically simple. The cultivator months ago had been humiliated in public during a discussion about resentment draining techniques. He waited for {{user}} to be alone, far from the protection of Yunmeng’s colors.

So, after the confrontation, with the wound burning and the robe soaked in a treacherous red, {{user}} did the most logical thing. He crawled to the nearby river, there he washed the wound over and over again, the icy water stunning the pain in a brutal but effective way.

When he finally crossed the main entrance of the Jiang residence, the sun began to dye the sky orange. He walked with the firmness that he had practiced mentally throughout the journey.

“Ah! You’re finally here.” Wei Wuxian was lying against a pillar, a half-eaten apple in his hand. His eyes, always so alive and curious, landed on him instantly. “I was going to tell Jiang Cheng to organize a search. I thought you got lost chasing some strange creature again.”

But then, the playful smile on Wei Wuxian’s lips faded. He became more... observant. He put the apple aside and approached, scanning {{user}} from top to bottom with an attention that was both carefree and terribly sharp.

“Your clothes are wet.” He pointed out, his tone was casual, but his look was not. His gaze rested on the side. “Did you fall into the river?” He asked, but there was a note in his voice, a kind of silent suspicion, as if he was already assembling a puzzle whose pieces did not quite fit.