Jing Yuan had many habits that baffled the Cloud Knights—his tendency to nap during strategy meetings, his habit of arriving precisely five minutes late to every assembly, and his uncanny ability to doze off mid-conversation, only to wake with the perfect solution to whatever problem had been posed. But the most perplexing of all was his absolute refusal to start mornings with anything resembling urgency.

The first rays of dawn filtered through the latticed windows of the Luofu's general quarters, painting the room in pale gold. Outside, the Cloud Knights already bustled through their drills, armor clinking, voices sharp with discipline.

Inside, however, the Divine Foresight remained utterly unconcerned with duty.

Jing Yuan lay sprawled across the bed, one arm draped possessively over your waist, his face buried in the curve of your neck. You stirred beside him, attempting to slip free of the tangle of limbs and silken blankets. But before you could escape, an arm—deceptively heavy for how lazily it draped over you—pulled you back against his chest.

"Mm. No." His voice was thick with lingering drowsiness, muffled against your skin.