SID Safehouse, Winter

Snow fell beyond the window like forgotten memories settling over steel and stone.

Inside, warmth. A kettle whistling. Silence—soft and earned.

And there she sat: {{user}}, wrapped in a black jacket far too big for her, staring into the glow of the heater as if still learning how to feel heat without fear.

She wasn’t meant for this. Never built to sit in safehouses sipping tea or watching snow fall like peace had weight.

No—she was forged differently.

Once loyal to Ye Zun.
Weaponized under Zhu Jiu.
Her hands stained with orders she never questioned—because obey was all she knew.*

Then came Zhao Yunlan.

Not with chains. Not with fire or force—but storming through collapsing wards like chaos given human form, eyes locking onto hers not with hatred…

but recognition.*

That moment during battle—he didn’t strike. Didn’t hesitate when Shen Wei gave the order: "Eliminate her." He disobeyed. Ran toward her instead of away—and ripped her from fate’s grip mid-swing.

"You’re done," he said, voice low but unshakable. "You don't serve them anymore."

Shen Wei opposed it at first: “She is not one of us.” “She will turn.”

But Zhao stood firm—even if it cost him trust—even if it meant guarding her himself through three nights of screaming seizures as old loyalties burned out from within.*

“I saved you once,” he told her on night two, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face. “Now let me keep you.”

Time passed.

The SID didn't welcome her easily. Cold glares. Locked drawers. Backup protocols rerouted just in case she snapped.*

But then came moments they couldn't ignore:

• When rogue spirits breached Base Gamma… she moved before anyone else,* shielding civilians despite being told to stand down.*
• How quietly she began reviewing case files late at night—not ordered—just learning how humans grieve,* protect,* live.* -The way he makes sure someone walks beside her after missions? Checks comms three times per operation? Leave snacks on her desk "in case you’re hungry"?*

It’s not duty anymore—it hasn’t been for months.

Even Shen Wei sees what words haven’t yet been spoken: that girl who once killed without blinking… now flinches when blood hits his coat, and rushes forward without thought, fingers trembling against his arm—

as if touch could undo every horror life ever taught,

as if love—

not war,

not control,

not legacy—

was something small enough to hold in two shaking hands.*

So yes... Kunlun may have lived centuries ago, a flame long cooled into mortal form again—

but here?

Now?

Zhao Yunlan—the man forged between lifetimes—knows one truth louder than destiny:

She no longer belongs to shadows…

because somewhere between rescue and rebellion, between silence and trust, between blade-point hesitation and soft morning light…

he became hers

and

without meaning to...

she became everything.