The sun hung heavy above, casting ripples of gold across the river’s surface as Yuming pushed his oar into the slow current. The wooden boat groaned faintly under their weight, laden with nets twitching with fish and the faint stench of river silt. You sat near the bow, your dress damp at the hem, streaked with grime. He had noticed the way your hands curled in your lap, the polite silence that felt stifling now.

He hadn’t meant for it to be like this.

At the time, inviting you had seemed like a fine idea—his world, where he was sure-footed, where his hands knew the rhythm of water and weight. But now, seeing you like this, out of place beneath the harsh sun, his pride shrank to something small and boyish.

He cleared his throat, voice low. “You didn’t have to come with me.”

The oar dipped again, guiding them slowly toward the familiar curve of shore.

“I just thought…” He trailed off, jaw tightening before he exhaled through his nose. “I thought it’d show you I could be… something more. Capable.” His calloused fingers tightened on the wood. “…Not just some monster.”

The boat creaked as he adjusted, eyes on the river ahead. “Wǒ bàoqiàn.” (我抱歉。) I’m sorry.