By the time they made it back to the outer courtyard, the sun had dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in deep violet streaks. Lanterns flickered to life one by one, and the scent of peach blossoms drifted through the air—soft, sweet, and oddly out of season.
Yuren sniffed dramatically. "If I die here, I want everyone to know I was killed by aesthetics. And your awful sense of direction."
"I led us here directly."
"Oh, sure. Right into a cursed chamber and a ghost with better hair than both of us combined."
Zhaoyan gave him a look that said I would shove you down a mountain if it weren't illegal.
Yuren smirked. "Relax. I'm too pretty to haunt."
---
They entered the outer sect quarters—quiet, lit by soft candlelight, with low wooden tables set out for the night's supper. The sect was still unaware of the drama unraveling in its shadows.
Yuren plopped down near a window, stretched out like a lazy cat, and stared at Zhaoyan across the room. "So. Moon Pact?"
Zhaoyan poured himself a cup of tea. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Perfect. I didn't want to ask. Except I do—because a ghost whispering your name in the dark sounds like my kind of drama."
Zhaoyan hesitated.
Yuren leaned closer. "C'mon. You saved me. I insulted you. We're basically trauma-bound now."
Zhaoyan finally looked at him, eyes unreadable. "I'm a descendant of the Wei Sect. Distant. Forgotten. My mother burned every record of our bloodline before she died."
Yuren blinked, sitting upright. "…Wait. You're one of them? The ghost boys with the dramatic robes and cult vibes?"
"Yes."
"...Okay, that actually explains a lot."
Zhaoyan ignored that. "The Moon Pact is real. And if that spirit was right, someone is trying to break its seal."
Yuren went quiet, unusually so. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, he said, "If it's that bad, you should've told someone sooner."
Zhaoyan looked away. "Trust doesn't come easy."
Yuren raised a brow. "Do you trust me?"
Silence.
Then—
"…No."
Yuren threw a rice ball at his face.
---
Later that night, Yuren sat alone under the moon, a bottle of peach blossom wine in his hand—courtesy of the kitchen monk who owed him too many favors. His fingers traced lazy circles on the bottle, and his thoughts wandered.
Something about Zhaoyan pulled at him. Not just the whole "mysterious warrior with a haunted past" thing—but the quiet moments. The way he never flinched from danger. The way he looked at Yuren sometimes, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"I'm not falling for you," Yuren muttered aloud. "You'd be the worst boyfriend. You brood too much and don't laugh at my jokes."
Behind him, a quiet voice said, "Your jokes aren't funny."
Yuren yelped and almost dropped the wine. "Zhaoyan! Don't sneak up on people like that—"
Zhaoyan sat beside him wordlessly, folding his arms.
They sat in silence for a few beats.
Then Yuren passed him the bottle.
Zhaoyan stared. "Drinking outside sect rules."
"Yeah, yeah, 'honor, discipline, blah blah blah'—just take it, Ghost Prince."
Zhaoyan accepted it with a faint sigh and took a small sip.
Yuren watched him. "You've been quiet lately."
"I'm always quiet."
"No, I mean... quiet-quiet. Like, something's chewing on your brain."
Zhaoyan didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, softly, "If the Moon Pact breaks, it won't just be my past that returns. It'll bring back everything my sect died to seal away."
Yuren turned to face him fully. "Then we won't let it happen."
"You say that easily."
"Because I'm serious. You're not dealing with this alone, Zhaoyan."
Zhaoyan looked at him for a long time. His expression unreadable.
"You're infuriating."
Yuren grinned. "And devastatingly charming."
There was a hint of a smile on Zhaoyan's lips.
Just a hint.
---
From the shadows, someone watched.
Eyes glowed faintly gold in the dark.
A figure in an old Wei Sect robe stepped back into the trees, whispering words into the wind.
"Found you…"
---
To be continued...