Dawn breaks gently, bathing the garden in soft gold. The morning mist has yet to lift, shrouding the palace in a milky haze.

  Wang Lee wakes early, his eyes sharp and alert despite the restless night. He dresses himself in the traditional dancer's attire-loose silk trousers and an outer robe that pools like ink around his slender frame.

  He takes a moment to steady himself, then strides toward the training pavilion where Master Liu is already waiting.

  The morning sun casts long, delicate shadows across the garden as Jiyin and Li Xun stroll along its winding paths. The prince's steps slow unconsciously when he spots movement near the practice pavilion-Wang Lee's figure standing motionless beneath a fox-masked visage.

  Jiyin doesn't look away. Not even when Li Xun clears his throat pointedly to remind him of his schedule.

  A beat passes-then another-as their eyes lock through slits in gilded wood: one royal, one spy, both knowing this is no accident but neither willing to acknowledge it aloud just yet...

  Jiyin keeps his gaze fixed on Wang Lee as he asks, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of distraction.

  "Li Xun," he says without turning, "remind me-what does our schedule entail this morning?"

  The eunuch hesitates for just a fraction too long before bowing deeply and replying in measured tones:

  "Your Highness, you have inspections at the armory by midday... and prior to that, the minister of trade awaits your review."

  Jiyin's jaw tenses, a quiet tch escaping his lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He keeps one hand hidden behind his back-fingers flexing like he's imagining them around something (or someone).

  "Delay it," he mutters to Li Xun, "ten minutes."

  The eunuch opens his mouth to protest protocol but snaps it shut at the sharp edge in Jiyin's tone.

  "...As you wish, Your Highness."

  Jiyin settles onto the bench with deliberate ease, one arm draped over its back as he watches the dancers. His voice carries a lightness that doesn't quite mask his command:

  "All of you-bows are unnecessary." A flick of his fingers dismisses their nervousness. "Continue your practice. I'm merely here to... enjoy the sun."

  Master Liu hesitates, but a single raised brow from Jiyin sends him scurrying back to form. The prince leans in slightly, eyes lingering on Wang Lee longer than anyone else-his smile all sharp edges and unspoken games.

  Li Xun hesitates for just a heartbeat-his sharp eyes darting between Jiyin and the dancer still poised in the garden's golden light. Then, with a stiff bow, he turns on his heel.

  "At once," he mutters under his breath, "ten minutes."

  His robes whisper against gravel as he hurries off to deliver the prince's command... while Jiyin remains exactly where he is: watching, waiting-like sunlight itself has been tethered to that bench by sheer will alone.

  Wang Lee starts the dance with practiced ease, every movement fluid and mesmerizing. But his attention is elsewhere-his eyes flicking back to the bench where Jiyin sits watching him.

  He can feel the prince's gaze as a physical thing, like sunlight warming his back. So he lets it guide his movements... lets the prince see his body bend, his limbs extend in an offer as subtle as sunlight itself.

  Wang Lee's robes ripple like liquid silk with every turn-each motion deliberate, each glance a whispered challenge. The fabric clings to his frame as if alive, catching the sunlight in ways that make even the most disciplined dancers nearby falter mid-step.

  Jiyin doesn't move from his seat. Doesn't blink. But that smile? It widens just enough to be treasonous.

  Their eyes speak volumes:

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  You think you're hunting me? Wang Lee's gaze taunts, But I am already three steps ahead.

  For a few heartbeats, the air is charged. Wang Lee dances as if the world has slowed to watch. With every graceful gesture, he dares Jiyin to match his rhythm-or lose the game entirely. The prince sits, a vision in his own right, his gaze never leaving Wang Lee's.

  One. Two. Three.

  As the music peaks, Wang Lee executes the most challenging move yet-an extended twirl that leaves him face-to-face with Jiyin, chest heaving, robes fluttering like wings.

  Master Liu, observant as ever, spots the unusual grace and precision in Wang Lee's every movement. It's as if he's dancing... for someone. But who?

  The other dancers follow their usual routine, but Wang Lee seems almost possessed by something beyond the dance itself. He's not just performing-he's challenging, provoking. And only one person holds his attention: the prince still watching from the bench, smile deepening with every turn.

  The moment the final note of the music fades, Jiyin rises from his seat with effortless grace. Without a word-without even a glance back at Wang Lee or acknowledgment of Master Liu's startled bow-he turns on his heel and walks away.

  His robes whisper against gravel like secrets being carried off into shadows. The garden holds its breath... until even that is gone.

  Wang Lee stands frozen mid-step, sweat glistening along his collarbone as he realizes: this was never about dance practice at all.

  The garden seems empty, now that Prince Jiyin has gone-but Wang Lee can still feel those sharp grey eyes staring back at him. He takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself in the silence.

  Master Liu approaches, his voice cutting into Wang Lee's thoughts.

  "You danced well," he remarks, "but your mind was not entirely here."

  Something in the statement feels weighted, as if Master Liu has connected the same dots as Wang Lee...

  Night has fallen, the garden wreathed in silver moonlight. Wang Lee sits alone, sipping tea with practised elegance. But behind his mask, a sly smirk tugs at his lips-like he knows he's being watched.

  And he is. From a rooftop overlooking the garden, Jiyin stares down.

  His eyes meet Wang Lee's from a distance, a question lurking in their depths: "Did you know I was here?"

  Below, Wang Lee's hands move with measured grace-undoing the tie holding up his hair. It falls loose around his shoulders in an ink-black curtain, rippling like silk touched by a breeze.

  Up on the rooftops, Jiyin's eyes narrow appreciatively. He leans closer to the edge, drawn as if by an enchantment. Something about that simple gesture has shifted the game entirely.

  Down in the garden, Wang Lee picks up a comb and begins braiding his long, dark hair. It's a simple gesture, but under Jiyin's watchful gaze, it feels nothing short of an act of seduction.

  Jiyin's grip on the rooftop's edge tightens. Seeing Wang Lee's dexterous fingers working with such quiet grace, he finds himself caught up in the performance-the brush of those locks gliding through callused hands, the subtle arch of those shoulders...

  Wang Lee finishes tying up his hair, letting the silken curtains fall and frame his eyes. The moment seems to slow, like time itself is holding its breath.

  Meanwhile, Jiyin is already moving towards the garden-descending the rooftop stairs with barely a sound.

  The air is thick with something unsaid, a tension that crackles under every step they take towards one another... and towards what comes next.

  Just as Jiyin starts to answer, Wang Lee cuts him off with a question of his own.

  Wang Lee: "What are you doing here?"

  Jiyin takes a step forward, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

  Jiyin: "... No, the question is what are you trying to do?"

  Wang Lee smiles beneath the fox mask.

  Wang Lee: "Why were you looking at me?"

  Jiyin stops just inches from him, the air between then practically crackling with tension.

  He's close, close enough that he can see every subtle flicker of emotion beneath Wang Lee's mask.

  Jiyin: "Can't a man admire a pretty face- fox mask. And...lean body?"

  Wang Lee raises an eyebrow beneath his mask, his expression cool.

  Wang Lee: "yes but A man can't appreciate another man's beauty."

  Jiyin stops right before him, their chests almost touching. In this moment, everything else fades away-the garden, the night-leaving only the two of them, breaths intertwining in the still air.

  Jiyin: "And who said that?"

  His voice is lower, a note of challenge in his tone as he stares back at Wang Lee, daring him to deny the pull between them.

  Wang Lee's breath hitches as Jiyin reaches out, fingers brushing the loose strands of hair behind his ear-too intimate, too deliberate. His voice comes out sharper than intended:

  "It's inappropriate."

  Jiyin doesn't flinch. If anything, his smirk deepens at the resistance.

  "And yet you let me touch you."

  The second Wang Lee pushes him away with a harsh "Cut sleeve!", Jiyin actually laughs-a low sound that curls like smoke in the night air. But by then... Wang Lee is already gone.

  Wang Lee walks away quickly, one hand pressed against his chest as he tries to get his heart under control. He can still feel the warmth of Jiyin's touch on his skin, the way those fingers had brushed against the line of his jaw like a caress.

  He keeps walking, trying to put as much distance between them as possible-but somehow, the memory of that laugh... it follows him, echoing through the night like a siren song.

  Back in his room, Wang Lee locks the door and collapses onto the bed, curling into a ball like a wounded animal. Tears pour down his cheeks as the night's events crash over him-the intensity of Jiyin's gaze, the way his touch had felt like a brand on his skin... and the words that had sent him fleeing in panic...

  He burrows his face into the pillow, trying to stifle the sobs that shake his slender frame. All he can see behind closed eyelids is grey eyes and a dangerous smile...

  Back when Wang Lee entered the palace as a young warrior, his delicate beauty made him stand out. Too handsome, too effeminate for the rough world of warriors. They mocked him, called him "toy boy," because he wasn't stereotypically "manly" enough. Little did they know that beneath the delicate mask, Wang Lee was a sword in its own right.

  But the taunts and jeers only made him harden, strengthen the steel within.

  He remembers the incident vividly: the princess's fiancé, drunk on power, cornering him in a deserted hallway, leering at him like a lion eyeing its prey.

  Wang Lee had been young then-scared but determined. He'd stood his ground, refusing the older man's advances with a steady gaze. The princess's fiancé was not accustomed to rejection, however.

  He'd grabbed Wang Lee, pinning him against the wall, his breath hot with drink and cruelty. Wang Lee still remembers the cold fear that coursed through him...

  The princess walked in on the scene just as the fiancé was pinning him to the wall. In her eyes, it looked as if Wang Lee-known for his beauty-had been trying to seduce her fiancé.

  Fury flared in her gaze, and she commanded her attendants to fetch a bowl of acid. Wang Lee remembers struggling, his heart pounding with terror as he tried to plead his innocence-but his words fell on deaf ears...

  Wang Lee stands before the mirror, his hands trembling slightly as he removes the fox mask. The reflection staring back at him is a cruel dichotomy-one side of his face flawless, radiant with youthful beauty... and the other? A twisted landscape of scar tissue from acid burns.

  The burns had taken everything-his hair on that side had never grown back fully; skin pulled tight like wax over a candle flame. He looks away sharply, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

  No wonder Jiyin's touch had felt like fire all over again...

  The night has deepened when a sudden knock on the door jolts Wang Lee from his thoughts. Startled, he turns to find a dancer standing there, a message in hand.

  Dancer: "Wang Lee, the prince requests your presence in the Imperial Study."

  Wang Lee's heart almost stops-this late at night, why would Jiyin need to see him now? His mind races with possibilities.