The winter night pressed down upon Duskwillow City, its streets nearly abandoned save for the shivering forms of those without walls to shield them. A brittle wind slithered through the alleys, carrying the faint creak of shutters and the distant groan of wooden signs.

  Inside the inn, the sound of weeping ebbed into silence. Lian’s shoulders trembled once more before stilling. Slowly, she lifted her head. The first thing she noticed was the fabric of Xiao Lei’s robe, darkened where her tears had soaked in, and the thin smear of crimson staining it from her small wound.

  Her breath caught. She pulled back slightly, dazed.

  Xiao Lei regarded her without a word. Her red-rimmed eyes and the thin cut along her brow lent her a fragile glow, luminous in the lamplight—something that might draw sympathy from others. In him, it stirred nothing. His gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer, unreadable, before he turned.

  Their eyes met. The inn’s floorboard gave a soft creak, the only sound beneath the silence pressing like a stone against the chest. For an instant, it seemed he might speak.

  Instead, Xiao Lei moved past her, his steps measured, unhurried. Without a glance back, he ordered food for his room and ascended the stairs, his figure swallowed by shadow.

  Lian stood rooted where he left her, uncertain, the warmth of his presence already cooling into distance. Her lips trembled; she bit down on them hard, as if to anchor herself. When she saw his silhouette vanish at the top of the stairwell, something inside her tightened, a thread pulled taut, as if she were being drawn after him. Quietly, she followed.

  The common room settled into stillness again. Only then did the innkeeper exhale, his chest loosening as though he had been holding his breath far too long. He muttered under it, barely a whisper, “What kind of child behaves like this…”

  Yet the memory of that fleeting smile—the one Xiao Lei had worn when the girl collapsed against him—would not leave him. He could almost see it still, carved into the dim lamplight, cutting sharper than the cold wind seeping through the shutters. His hands, rough from years of labour, trembled as he rubbed them together, and a shiver ran down his spine.

  When Lian finally reached the room, Xiao Lei was already inside. His bow and quiver rested in his hands, and he set them down on the corner table with deliberate precision, as though performing a quiet ritual. Each movement was smooth, measured, yet stripped of acknowledgement—as if she were nothing more than air.

  Heat rose to Lian’s face. Ever since she saw him, he had barely spoken a word to her, not even now, not even to ask why she had come at this hour. The silence pressed down on her chest, heavier than stone.

  For a heartbeat she almost broke again, the tears threatening to return, but this time it was not grief—it was anger. The last few days had weathered her, sharpening what had once been softness. She forced the tears back down.

  Her voice trembled, yet she forced the words out.

  “I… I want to travel with you. Plea—”

  Before she could finish, his reply cut across her like a blade.

  “No.”

  The single word dropped coldly into the air.

  “You—” her voice cracked, the dam of her anger breaking. Her fists clenched at her sides. “You didn’t even let me finish! You didn’t even ask why I came back! My grandpa gave up his life so we could escape, and you—how can you be so heartless?”

  Xiao Lei’s mouth curled into a thin sneer. His eyes, however, were flat, unreadable.

  “Your grandfather gave his life for you, not for me. My duty was only to deliver you to your father. As for why you returned…” His tone sharpened, each word deliberate.

  “It’s obvious. You were raised in comfort, used to being sheltered. Living under the roof of that drunk you call a father, you realized how hard life really is. You left because you saw what life was like without servants and silk. Your father’s poverty was more than you could endure. And you call me heartless?”

  The words struck harder than any blow. Lian’s body trembled, her breath catching in her throat. For once, she could not answer.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  A knock at the door broke the silence. A servant entered, placed four or five steaming dishes upon the bed, and slipped out again without a word. The faint aroma of spiced broth and roasted meat filled the room, untouched, filling the space with a heat neither of them could claim.

  Xiao Lei sat down without hesitation and began to eat, as though nothing had been spoken. His chopsticks moved in steady rhythm. Lian remained where she was, frozen.

  A single tear slipped down, hot with anger—but beneath it, something sharper throbbed, as if his words had cut deeper than she dared admit. Still, she would not bow her head. Everyone had a bottom line. Even young as she was, she knew the measure of her pride.

  Her grandfather had raised her as if she were royalty, even if the Zi family was far from a great clan. That dignity was carved into her bones.

  She turned abruptly, stepping toward the doorway. But before she crossed the threshold, his voice stopped her.

  “Eat.”

  Her heart stumbled. She hesitated, his earlier words still echoing like fresh wounds. Yet her body betrayed her resolve. Slowly, she turned back, each step weighted with uncertainty, and sat opposite him.

  Without speaking further, they ate in silence. The scrape of their chopsticks struck against the dishes, sharp, measured—sparks in a quiet that no longer felt empty.

  The bowl before Xiao Lei steamed faintly, the scent of spiced broth curling upward, but he tasted little of it. Chopsticks moved with measured calm, yet each bite did nothing to steady the pace of his heart. Outwardly, he appeared composed—perhaps even indifferent—but within, his chest beat like a drum against its cage.

  This wasn’t as simple as handing a sweet to coax a child. No—this was a snare, hidden teeth in silk. His jaw tightened as curses thundered silently at the creature that had entangled itself with him.

  The puppy.

  Downstairs, in the inn’s common hall, he had been ready to confront Lian. The questions had gathered sharp in his throat: why had she followed him here, what did she want, what drove her so stubbornly to his side? He had been prepared to lash them out like blades. Yet the voice had pressed against his mind, smooth and insistent—Say nothing. Let her come to you.

  So he had obeyed. He had swallowed the words, swallowed the heat, and walked away.

  Even now, the same presence pressed him, urging cruelty where he might have chosen restraint. When the chance came to speak gently, the voice urged harsher tones. When his resolve wavered, it whispered to let her go, let her taste distance, for she would always return.

  He had nearly obeyed. But when he saw her turn, her steps firm with decision, he could not hold himself back. He had tightened the net too quickly, perhaps—but he had been certain the fish was already slipping from his grasp.

  The laughter that followed still echoed faintly in his skull, like a bell struck from deep within a cavern. Mocking. Amused. Certain it knew better.

  Suppressing the churn inside, Xiao Lei looked at the girl seated across from him. His voice, when it came, was calm, almost quiet.

  “I am sorry for my earlier words. But I cannot take you with me.”

  Lian’s hand froze mid-air. The colour drained from her face. Then, as if clutching at a fragile thread, she forced out a whisper.

  “Why?”

  The anger she had worn earlier flickered out, leaving behind only a tremor of hope.

  Xiao Lei exhaled, slow, measured. “My path ahead is not yours. It is filled with blood and danger. I carry a feud that will not rest until it consumes me. Even now, enemies hunt me—some already walk in Duskwillow. How could I take you along, when I do not know if I will live to see tomorrow?”

  He rose from his seat. The wood of the floor creaked softly beneath his weight as he moved to the window. Moonlight spilled through the lattice, silvering his shadow. He looked outward, gaze distant, as though the darkness beyond held the shape of those enemies he had named.

  Lian did not answer immediately. Her lips pressed together, her gaze fixed on his back. In her memory flashed the scar she had glimpsed near the pond, the strictness of his daily training, the cold discipline etched into his very posture.

  He was no ordinary child—that much was clear. She had not understood before, but now… now the pieces seemed to fit. Something immense must have happened to drive him to this edge, to carve such steel into someone so young.

  Her lips parted, then closed again. A flicker of fear crossed her eyes, quick as a swallow. But when she lifted her chin, the tremor was gone—replaced by a fire that startled even her.

  “You’re afraid I will become a burden.”

  The shutters rattled faintly with the night wind, filling the space where his denial should have been.

  Resolve lit in her eyes like a flame taking to dry kindling. “Give me a few months. If, after that, you still believe I am a burden… I will leave myself.”

  Xiao Lei’s head did not shift, but in the moonlight his eyes narrowed, a faint gleam flickering across their depths. This was the first step. Her will, once hardened, could be bent. Now he could guide her, shape her, mould her into a path that aligned with his own.

  Soon after, the meal ended. Plates lay emptied, the faint smell of broth fading into the timber walls. Lian, her body drained from both tears and stubborn resolve, collapsed onto the bed. Sleep claimed her swiftly, her breath softening into quiet rhythm.

  Xiao Lei did not follow. He spread a thin blanket on the floor, lying down with the same composure he had worn all evening. Yet sleep never touched him. His eyes remained open, reflecting the faint sliver of moonlight seeping through the shutters.

  He had one task still waiting. One thread still waited, loose and fraying, demanding to be tied before dawn.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.