The kiss was brief, delicate—just the softest brush of lips that carried the weight of unspoken longing, a shared tenderness born from fire and hardship. Yet before the moment could settle into anything deeper, a sharp, deliberate cough shattered the stillness like a rock cast into still water.
Kai Feng and Yin Shuang broke apart quickly, their cheeks flushing with sudden embarrassment. Their eyes darted to the side as Han Long emerged from the shadows of the trees, a small boar slung across his shoulders, blood trailing faintly behind him on the forest floor.
"Supper's here," Han said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. With a grunt, he heaved the carcass off his shoulder and dropped it unceremoniously near the fire. The boar landed with a heavy thud, its dead eyes staring emptily into the flames.
Yin pulled back completely now, her expression carefully composed as she stood and moved toward the boar, offering to help. But Han brushed past her without acknowledgment, drawing a blade from his belt and setting about the task of cleaning the animal with grim efficiency.
Kai rose to his feet and took a step back, giving Han room. "Good catch," he said, though his voice carried a tension that neither gratitude nor politeness could conceal.
"This'll do for tonight," Han replied curtly. "We'll need strength for tomorrow."
The words hung ominously in the air. None of them needed to say what tomorrow meant.
They worked in silence for a while, Han preparing the meat, Kai gathering more firewood, and Yin fetching water from a nearby stream. When they finally returned and sat around the fire, the boar had been skewered over a makeshift spit, slowly turning, its fat sizzling and dripping into the flames, filling the air with the scent of roasted meat.
Kai reached into his satchel, rummaging for something to prepare tea. Instead, his fingers closed around a smooth, round object nestled in the folds of cloth.
He pulled out a small gourd flask.
"Huh," he murmured, surprised. "How did this end up here?"
He held it up for the others to see, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Wine. Not exactly medicinal, but I suppose it could lift the spirits."
Han shot him a sidelong glance. "Convenient."
Kai uncorked the gourd and sniffed it. "Still fresh. Strong, too. Someone from the Inner Pavilion must have snuck it into my pack."
Without waiting for approval, he took a sip and passed the gourd to Yin, who hesitated briefly before accepting it.
"Here's to unfortunate surprises," she said dryly, taking a small, composed sip. Her lips twisted into a wry smile as she handed the flask to Han.
He took it without ceremony and drank deeply, ignoring the silence between them all.
As the fire crackled and the scent of cooked meat intensified, the boar was finally ready. Kai carved the meat carefully, handing strips to Yin and Han before taking his own share. The warmth of the wine and food dulled the edge of fatigue in their limbs but couldn't quite ease the tension between them.
Kai broke the quiet first, raising his cup of wine again. "Well, it looks like we're familiar enough with each other now. What do they call it? Three sages gathered around a fire?"
His attempt at humor died a quiet death in the cold air.
Han said nothing.
Yin simply blinked, expression unreadable.
An awkward silence settled like a second cloak.
Kai cleared his throat, setting the gourd down. "Right. Tough crowd."
They continued eating. The crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of wind in the trees filled the silence. Somewhere far in the distance, a nightbird cried—long and mournful, like an omen that didn't dare reveal its meaning.
After several minutes, Yin spoke, her voice quiet but carrying weight.
"We may not be aligned in our ways," she said, eyes fixed on the flames, "but let us work together for Meng Yao's sake. Shen Zhenhai is dangerous, more than either of you truly understand. If we approach this without unity, he'll crush us one by one."
Kai looked up from his meat, eyes thoughtful. Han paused mid-bite, lowering his hand slowly.
Yin continued, still staring into the fire. "He won't hesitate to kill her. She's only alive now because she's useful leverage. When that leverage fades…" She let the sentence hang.
Kai nodded slowly. "Right, we do it together."
Han hesitated, his fingers tightening around the gourd before he passed it silently back to Kai. "Together," he agreed finally, though his voice was hoarse.
They drank. No grand toast, no declarations. Just three cultivators sharing a drink around a fire, each carrying burdens they couldn't put into words.
The fire dimmed slightly as the meat dwindled, bones crackling as they fell into the coals. The air grew colder, wrapping around them like a reminder that comfort was temporary. Tomorrow would bring danger. Perhaps death.
They sat in a triangle, the fire at the center, casting each of their faces in flickering gold.
Yin's thoughts wandered. She stared into the fire, its glowing embers pulsing like the heartbeat of the world itself. The heat did little to ease the chill pressing against her chest. Tomorrow they would face Shen Zhenhai, a man who had once been her master, a man who had poisoned her mother and turned the cultivation world against itself through his lies.
She thought of Jiang Xue—beautiful, invincible, untouchable—and yet now only a memory, a guiding spirit in her daughter's Qi. Was she truly dead? Could she still live, hidden within the veil of immortality?
Yin's fingers brushed unconsciously against the hilt of the Peerless Sword strapped to her back. She closed her eyes briefly, listening for any whisper of her mother's voice, any echo of comfort.
Nothing came. Only silence.
Kai sat opposite her, his own thoughts a tangle of doubt and duty. The revelations Yin had spoken earlier disturbed him deeply. Shen's madness was one thing, but a deeper conspiracy involving Elder Pu and possibly others? If his own sect had played a role in the fall of Azure Cloud, then the rot was closer to home than he'd ever feared.
He remembered Meng Yao's smile, her gentle hands, the soft way she said his name when she was uncertain. He had sworn to protect her and he had failed. Tomorrow, he could not afford failure again.
He turned slightly, glancing toward Yin. Their kiss earlier had been brief, but it lingered in his memory like the warmth of a fading fire. A part of him longed to say something more, to acknowledge what was growing between them, but the time wasn't right. Not now.
Not with everything at stake.
Han, meanwhile, stared into the flames with a thousand emotions crashing within his chest. Shame, guilt, longing, and rage danced behind his dark eyes. Meng Yao's voice still echoed in his ears, the gentleness of her presence, the calm with which she soothed him during his recovery. Her smile, her hands, her compassion.
He didn't deserve her.
He knew it now, perhaps more clearly than ever.
But he couldn't let her die.
Not when he had promised himself that he must not fail.
A soft breeze whispered through the trees, stirring the branches overhead. The fire hissed softly as a few droplets of dew fell from a branch into the fire.
The three said nothing more for a long time.
Eventually, one by one, they settled in for what little sleep they could manage. Han lay close to the fire, curled on one side, his arm across his chest. Kai kept his back against a nearby tree, one hand resting lightly on his bundle of belongings. Yin sat for the longest, still upright, eyes tracing the stars as they emerged above the forest canopy.
She didn't know when she drifted into sleep—only that she dreamed of silver water, a quiet meadow and the distant sound of a woman's voice calling her name.