Chapter 11

The commotion outside gradually faded into the distance. Before long, the soft, melodious voice of a woman could be heard nearby, slowly drifting closer.

"Qin-gege, is this the academy where you studied?"

Xiao Ye froze. Then, he heard a quiet chuckle.

That faint sound of laughter was enough to steal the breath from his lungs. He stood motionless, transfixed, as they approached. 

It had been months since they last met, but Qin Yuxuan remained as radiant as ever, his features refined, his demeanor elegant. The crowd that had followed them earlier had scattered, leaving only the two of them—one striking and charismatic, the other poised and graceful—a pair as breathtaking as a painting. 

By the time the sun set, the school had already dismissed its students, the young scholars having long since dispersed. 

The teacher pushed the door open and halted in surprise. Qin Yuxuan stepped forward swiftly, bowing with respect and bringing tears to the elderly man’s eyes.

Xiao Ye watched quietly from a distance, his gaze lingering until Qin Yuxuan bid farewell to the teacher and finally turned back around.

"I never expected such a small courtyard to have its own quiet charm," the woman remarked, smiling as she glanced around.

Xiao Ye felt Qin Yuxuan’s gaze sweep in his direction and instinctively lowered his head to avoid it—before remembering that Qin Yuxuan couldn’t see him. For a moment, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or dejected.

"Brother Qin, what is this plant?"

Xiao Ye stiffened. The woman was pointing at him curiously, smiling as she drew closer. He wished he could vanish into the earth, but in no time at all, the two of them were standing before him.

"A peony."

The familiar, clear voice pierced straight through him, sending a tremor through him, as if he could feel the warmth of Qin Yuxuan’s breath against his skin.

He had thought they would never meet again—yet here they were, close enough to touch.

The woman smiled. "Though this peony may not be as magnificent as the ones in the city gardens, its branches are strong, its leaves tender, and it has a quiet, delicate beauty. Compared to it, those others seem almost garish..."

As she spoke, she reached out with slender fingers to caress his leaves.

Instinctively, Xiao Ye willed himself to move, to shrink away—but his true form remained rooted in place. He watched helplessly as her fingers drifted closer, then squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the ache that surged within him.

But it never came. No foreign touch, no trace of her fragrance. When he finally dared to open his eyes, he saw that Qin Yuxuan had stepped forward, a soft smile on his lips, his fingers gently clasping hers.

"You’ve been walking for so long, Ying’er. You must be tired... Why don’t we head back for dinner and rest?"

The woman’s face flushed at his touch, and with a shy nod, she followed him away.

Xiao Ye stood there, dazed. The ache in his chest seemed to dull, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧  ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅

When the moon rose above the willow trees, he lingered outside the house before silently slipping inside.

A single candle flickered within, casting its golden glow against the walls.

He reached out, fingertips grazing the thin paper of the window. The warmth seeped into his cold skin. And then, he let go.

With murmured spell, he conjured up a sheet of parchment and spread it across the ground. Hesitating for only a moment, he dipped his brush to write—only for tears to stain the paper before the ink could.

Tonight at midnight, in the academy courtyard.

The unsigned note was carefully folded and placed just outside the door. He lingered, waiting before tapping lightly against the wood and vanishing into the night.

If Qin Yuxuan recognized his handwriting, perhaps he would come.

The trees cast long, swaying shadows, and a warm breeze brushed against his face.

He had never known why he cultivated, why he had strived to step into the mortal world. But now, it seemed, the answer was clear. It was for this—for the chance to meet him.

He had fallen in love, had known its sweetness. And now, he knew the bitterness of its passing.

Yet he didn't resent Qin Yuxuan, nor regret their fleeting romance.

Loving had never been a mistake. Had he not found joy and happiness in it?

But while Qin Yuxuan had gifted him fleeting moments of bliss, he could never offer him forever.

So they had met, and now they would part.

A foolish dream, that was all it had ever been.

How could a spirit like him ever hope to remain by a human's side, to grow old together? Especially when they were both men.

Still, he was grateful. Grateful for Qin Yuxuan’s tenderness, for kindness he had shown. Perhaps Qin Yuxuan would remember this peony, cherish it, But he would forget the name "Xiao Ye."

Xiao Ye, however, would not forget.

He would never forget the way Qin Yuxuan had whispered in his ear, "You are my Xiao Ye."

He would remember every word, every moment—from the moment they met to the day they parted.

He would remember how Qin Yuxuan had waited for his peony to bloom, never losing faith in it, even when it had been nothing more than barren branches and lifeless leaves.

Flowers blossomed. Feelings faded.

Either way, the time had come.

He closed his eyes, drawing in his energy, long lashes damp with tears. There was a faint, wistful smile on his lips.