Archive of Our Own

“You're cross with me.”

Frustratingly enough, Yao Guang sounds almost delighted by the observation.

Tingyun, on the other hand, says nothing. Merely lifts her glass and takes a slow, deliberate sip as if the motion requires her full concentration. Saying anything too soon would be reckless—after everything she’s lived through, she has at least learned that.

Yet across the table, Yao Guang watches her with open amusement, chin propped lazily in her palm. Stubborn to her core, it’s something they have in common. And Tingyun, unfortunately, isn’t used to this. Back when she was a simple merchant, she was the one smiling and flattering, chiming in at the right moment, wriggling under their skin.

But those days have long passed, and the look on Yao Guang’s face sings—

I can wait all night.

Tingyun rarely grows impatient, but there’s something about this woman that pricks, and pokes, and prods. Her tail flicks once behind her chair.

The silence stretches between them—thin as a blade.

As if she can sense the unrest beneath tranquil waters, Yao Guang only laughs.

And Tingyun grows still.

That smile.

Come! Yao Guang had beckoned her along, sly and charming, already turning away with the confident sway of her hips. I'll treat you to dinner!

Neon lights had danced across her gleaming dress as she walked, painting her white hair in a dozen shifting colors. As if the events of the past few hours had never occurred. As if Yao Guang could simply wash away the horrible omens she had foreseen, water off a duck’s back.

And Tingyun—momentarily blinded by the spectacle of it all—had been powerless to do anything but follow.

The memory fades as quickly as it came, and Yao Guang is still smiling.

It is terrifyingly easy to give in to that smile.

“Madam Yao, if you really wanted to experience death,” Tingyun finally says with a resigned sigh, “you could've just asked me.”

“Oh?” Yao Guang’s brow arches in amusement. “Would you kill me yourself, little fox? But here I was, under the assumption that you only kill ‘in bulk.’ That is, if your bluffs are to be believed.”

The theatrical roll of her eyes seems to come to Tingyun naturally these days—instinctual, and entirely Yao Guang’s influence.

“You know what I mean.”

“I laughed, you know? When I heard you lying to those gang members.” Yao Guang grins, shifting in her seat, casually crossing her legs. When she leans forward, cheeky and calculating, Tingyun fruitlessly prays Yao Guang does not hear her shallow intake of breath—does not realize the effect she has. “First impressions matter indeed, darling. And to think that when you showed up on the Yuque all alone, I encountered a sad little fox, moping despite her self-imposed exile.”

Tingyun stutters, her back snapping up ramrod straight. “Excuse me?”

“Was I wrong?”

“I do not mope!” she protests.

“But you were,” Yao Guang points out. “You were sad, and alone, and missing Madam Yukong.”

“I’d been exploring the galaxy on my own!” Tingyun replies defensively, one fox ear twitching. “It’s bound to get a little lonely sometimes.”

“Hm.” Yao Guang hides her smile behind a perfectly placed cup of tea. “If it helps you sleep at night. Say, do you think our lovely Stellaron Hunter friend is similarly lonely?”

“Are you referring to Blade?” Tingyun frowns. It’s certainly not a question she’s ever considered before. “Given his… past, perhaps.” By this point, there isn’t a single Xianzhou citizen who doesn’t know of the trials and tribulations surrounding the disaster of the Ambrosial Arbor. “But then again, he’s been sighted in the company of several Stellaron Hunters, so who’s to say?”

Yao Guang tips her head from side-to-side, seeming to accept her answer. “Is it a requirement for every ‘Xianzhou’s Number One Assassin’ to experience a death of the self?”

Intent on regaining some sense of control—as it often spirals out of hand around Madam Yao—Tingyun takes the liberty of flashing her pristine white canines. She can be threatening. She is not sad. And she does not mope.

“That does appear to be a commonality between the authentic figure and myself.”

“So tell me, then.” Yao Guang hums, propping herself up on an elbow. “What is it like to die?”

Tingyun drums her fingers across the table’s surface. “Would it change anything?”

“Not at all.”

In lieu of an answer, Tingyun sighs again, inciting a peal of laughter from the white-haired Arbiter General as she draws out her peacock-patterned fan with a languid flick of her wrist.

“You seem very insistent on changing my mind, Tingyun,” Yao Guang comments, and not for the first time, Tingyun feels almost naked under her keen, gleaming eyes. “You also seem to think that my fate is entirely my decision.”

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear enough, Madam Yao.” Tingyun swallows, her hand beneath the table balling into a fist. “I do not want you to die.”

Yao Guang studies her for a moment—really studies her this time, fan stilled halfway through its languid arc.

Then she hums softly.

“My!” She giggles, eyes glinting. “How possessive.”

Tingyun’s ears twitch, fighting back a scowl.

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Yao Guang replies lightly.

And somehow, that makes it all the worse.

(“Tell me, Tingyun. Have you ever met General Yao Guang of the Xianzhou Yuque?”

It’s a question that Arbiter General Feixiao of the Xianzhou Yaoqing poses to her over a bubbling boil of hotpot one night—the first and only dinner they will ever share, a full two years before the inciting incident that will go on to change Tingyun’s life forever. But neither of them know to worry about that yet. Here, Tingyun is still a mere Amicassador, the Whistling Flames Guild her pride and joy.

Carefree—at least in comparison.

And so Tingyun talks with Feixiao about many things, on this night. It is a different time—her single tail still a deep brown, her hair tied in its usual ponytail, her skin unblemished by any god. And it’s fun, teasing the General of her inexplicable connection to Madam Yukong—No, Tingyun, Feixiao insists, I do not yearn.

Nonsense, Tingyun replies, audacious enough to wave off an Arbiter General with the swish of her fan. You just admitted that your souls are, quite literally, bound.

“General Yao?” Blinking in surprise, a frown graces Tingyun’s lips. Of course, she knows of the elusive general and her all-seeing array, but— “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. I’ve visited the Yuque, but I’ve heard she has a tendency to remain mysterious.”

“She prefers ‘Madam’ to ‘General,’ if I recall correctly,” Feixiao replies with a chuckle, reaching out to pluck a slice of beef from the bubbling pot. “And she’s a diviner, as you probably know.”

“The Seer Strategist, yes.” Among her many other titles.

“Despite having witnessed the fate of the cosmos herself, Yao Guang once told me that she’s never put any faith in the principle of ‘seeing is believing.’” Tilting her head, Feixiao chews thoughtfully, a complicated look crossing her face. “I think about that often. Though I can see the bond between Yukong and I, that doesn't mean that we’re actually destined, right?”

It sounds so pitiful to her foxian ears that, were she anyone else, Tingyun might’ve felt bad for the woman.

She snorts instead.

“No offense, General,” Tingyun sighs, the roll of her eyes unmistakable, eliciting a surprised laugh from the other foxian woman. “But I’m not sure the Goddess of Fortune herself would appreciate you interpreting her words of hope with that sort of pessimism.”)

Two years later, and Tingyun finds herself staring up at the foreign ceiling of her room on Planarcadia, wondering how things became so complicated.

The city outside hums with the rumble of late-night revelry, the Phantasmoon Games already stirring the streets into a restless excitement. If the livestreams were to be believed, “SparxiCon” had come to grinding halt less than an hour after it had even begun. The showdown, naturally, became the talk of the town, and Tingyun almost regret not having shown up.

She exhales, rolling onto her side. Madam Yao had insisted she spend the next few days resting, but—

Well. Tingyun has never been very good at following instructions.

She had spent the better part of the afternoon wandering the district instead—drifting through crowded plazas, sampling unfamiliar snacks, and quietly mapping the surrounding streets in her head along the way.

And now, hours later, she's just beginning to settle back against the pillows when a soft sound draws her attention.

She looks up.

White hair. Blue silk. One slightly disoriented Arbiter General.

Yao Guang blinks slowly at her unfamiliar surroundings.

Tingyun’s ears twitch.

“This isn’t your room.”

“No,” Yao Guang murmurs faintly, pressing a hand to her temple. “I am well aware.”

Tingyun pushes herself upright.

“Where were you today?” she asks cautiously, crawling to the edge of her mattress.

“Witnessing the start of the Phantasmoon Games, of course. Ah—” Yao Guang winces. Swaying on her feet, the General brings a hand to her head, a low groan escaping her lips.

Immediately, Tingyun is out of bed, alarm coursing through her body.

“Madam Yao—”

“I'm fine, Tingyun, really. Trust me, I'm not some wounded animal—”

Breath hitching, Yao Guang stumbles.

Tingyun is across the room in an instant, the white-haired general falling into her arms without further fanfare. Five tails flare out instinctively, and Tingyun exhales slowly, carefully leading Yao Guang’s head to rest on her shoulder. Soft breaths hit the bare skin there, a shiver racing down her spine. Still, she holds Yao Guang steady, now incredibly aware of the other woman's frame pressed securely against her own.

“Oh,” Yao Guang murmurs. “You're stronger than you look.”

Tingyun laughs softly, runs a hand down Yao Guang's back in a manner she hopes is comforting. “After being touched by the Destruction? I would hope I am.”

“Is that what this is?” A finger begins to trace the golden mark on her shoulder. Tingyun pays no mind to how it shakes. “A golden flower blooms here. I figured it had something to do with your incident.”

“Can you not divine the answer yourself?”

She feels Yao Guang’s tired smile as the other woman nuzzles closer.

“Some things are worth asking one another directly.”

Ah. The invitation is obvious.

Slowly, Tingyun nods. “I see.” She looks over her shoulder, towards the bed. “Let's get you sorted out and lying down, then. You must be tired, Madam Yao.”

“Oh?” For once, Yao Guang sounds surprised. “Are you not going to ask me anything, Tingyun?”

It’s rare that Madam Yao calls her real name, the syllables rolling off her tongue like some sort of revelation. And if Tingyun weren't so worried, she might have been more flustered. A real shame for the Yuque’s Arbiter General—she’d have to try again later, not that it would take much effort.

“In a bit. While I'd like to know the cause, I'd prefer to get you comfortable and on the mend first. And I don't feel like letting you out of my sight again, so—” Tingyun carefully pulls out an intricate, feathered hairpiece from Yao Guang’s hair, gently carding her fingers through long, white hair. “My bed. Now, preferably.”

“My, how bold!” Yao Guang laughs. Already, she's starting to sound more like herself again. “At least treat me to dinner first, foxy.”

“How convenient,” Tingyun replies dryly. “We did, in fact, get dinner together.”

“Ah, but I paid.”

The tired lilt of Yao Guang’s voice still somehow manages to be wicked.

Exasperated, Tingyun rolls her eyes. She tugs Yao Guang over to the nearby wardrobe nevertheless, sifting through for a nightgown and virtually tossing the garment the other woman's way.

“I'll cover the next tab,” she mutters, diverting her gaze as Yao Guang lets her dress fall unceremoniously to the floor.

(Promises pile up like fallen leaves. Tingyun sweeps them each up with care, collecting them tenderly to safeguard close to her heart. It is easy, she thinks, to keep her promises when each vow she makes reminds her of moments like this—Yukong’s arm looped through her own, standing at the bow of the Radiant Feldspar as Penacony’s Twelve Moments pass by below.

“The people below are so tiny,” she comments quietly, squeezing Yukong’s hand before twisting to glance at the older foxian. “Do you think that’s what we look like to an Aeon?”

Yukong smiles wryly. “I’m afraid we must look much smaller than that.”

“Hm. How lucky for me, then.” Her smile sly, Tingyun lets her gaze drift over the edge of the airship once more. “The less I’m seen, the better.”

“You’re truly set on making THEM pay.” It’s an observation rather than a question. 

“I always keep my promises.” Spoken in lieu of a proper answer.

I’ll become a cunning speck of dust.

“Well,” Yukong chuckles, “I informed Feixiao of your convictions, as well as your intention to head to the Yuque. She’s already sent word discreetly, so the few who need to know will be expecting you. However, she asks you to heed her warning.”

Tingyun raises an incredulous eyebrow. “A warning?”

“‘While you certainly can hide from THEIR gaze, you may not be able to hide from her,’ is what Feixiao says.” Yukong shoots her a pointed look. “I assume you already know who she’s talking about?”

And Tingyun can’t help herself—a peal of laughter leaves her lips. “What could Madam Yao Guang possibly want with little old me?”

Oh, how poorly prepared she is. There is a whole new world in this cosmos, now tainted by the Destruction—and the Yuque is only the front doorstep. 

“Well,” Yukong says matter-of-factly, taking the initiative to pinch Tingyun’s waist, resulting in a small yelp from the younger foxian. “She is the Goddess of Fortune, of course. And you, my dear, just might be the luckiest fox of them all.”)

“The doctors are calling it ‘Temporal Dislocation.’” Seemingly as disinterested as ever, Yao Guang holds a hand up to the dim ceiling—mood lighting as the setting by the light switch is labeled—and studies her perfectly manicured nails. “It’s a nice name. Something elegant, yet apt enough that it covers how truly inconvenient of a condition it is.”

Tingyun props herself up on her pillow, one elbow tucked behind her head. She tries not to squint through the barely lit room, wonders if Yao Guang had chosen this setting on purpose.

“So,” she cautiously prods, “your lifespan…?”

“Is stable,” Yao Guang confirms. “Aside from sporadically disappearing and reappearing elsewhere some time later, I’m virtually normal.”

“How long is the displacement?”

“Anywhere from mere seconds to upwards of twelve hours.”

“And distance?”

“A radius of fifteen kilometers.”

Tingyun nods slowly. “That… surprisingly could be worse.”

Flippant, Yao Guang shrugs. “Right?”

“But it also doesn’t explain why you were stumbling around in pain when you showed up earlier.”

“Ah.” Her hand falls back to the mattress, and Yao Guang’s brow furrows. “The only side effects are low blood pressure and low blood sugar post-jump. Naturally, I cannot control when it happens. Today was untimely—two nearly consecutive displacements, and I was unable to take my sugar pills in between.”

“Well. That's…” Tingyun takes a moment, lets the information soak in. She twists onto her back, joins Yao Guang in staring up at the ceiling. “—Rather unfortunate.”

Yao Guang’s resulting snort brings a small smile to the foxian woman’s lips.

“Right?” she repeats.

“Did you take your pills just now?”

“I did. When you were washing your face in the bathroom.” Curiously, Yao Guang regards Tingyun’s expression with unabashed interest. Somehow, she seems to have no trouble seeing despite the lack of light. “Hm.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve been taking all of this surprisingly well. People tend to be startled when I show up unwarranted.”

“I wouldn't be,” Tingyun tells her, and she’s almost surprised when she realizes that she means it. “I won’t be, actually. In fact, I’d even say I’ve already gotten used to it.”

Yao Guang smirks. “Even if I decide to keep quiet and tap your shoulder?”

“I doubt you could ever keep that quiet around me, Madam.” Pointedly, Tingyun flicks an ear in her direction, shifting onto her side and reaching over to pull the comforter up to their shoulders. “I have very good hearing. It would be hard to catch me by surprise.”

That, and I’ve vowed to never be caught off guard again.

“Will you still disappear if you’re holding on to someone?” Tingyun can’t help but wonder aloud. “What if I hold your hand?”

“How will you predict when I’m about to disappear?” Yao Guang asks dryly, although to Tingyun’s credit, the other woman looks extremely amused. “Or maybe you should just hold my hand indefinitely and see what happens.” 

“Ah—I suppose that's dangerous, Madam Yao.”

“Oh? How so? Do you think you’ll disappear with me?”

“Oh, no. It’s just—If I hold your hand for too long, how will I ever want to let go?”

It takes a moment for Yao Guang to catch up to the sentiment.

One single, glorious moment.

Tingyun awaits her reaction with silent, bated breath as a myriad of emotions washes over the other woman. The first is confusion, naturally. Next, comes the spark of recognition. And then, finally—sheer, unadulterated amusement twinkling in a pair of iridescent eyes.

Yao Guang bursts into laughter, her cheeks dusting a shade of pink as she regards Tingyun with an unabashed fondness.

“Since when were you such a charmer?”

“You're the one who wants to hold my hand indefinitely,” Tingyun points out.

“Ah,” Yao Guang sighs prettily, eyes fluttering closed as she relaxes into her pillow. “I suppose I am, aren't I?”

Tingyun dreams she is in her stasis cabin, waking up from her suspended sleep. She remembers the sensation well—the soreness of her body, the confusion. The heaviness of her eyes, the fight to pry them open. The sight of Ruan Mei observing her, devoid of emotion.

But when she opens her eyes, instead of the scientist, Yao Guang is there.

“Tingyun,” she says, staring up at her through the glass. “What is it like to die?”

It takes a moment for Tingyun to respond, stunned by the question.

“I thought you didn’t want to know.”

“Humor me.”

And so Tingyun considers. The memory flickers behind her eyes—firelight, smoke, the sharp bite of burning air.

“It is heat,” she says at last. “Not warmth, but a devouring heat. The kind that spreads through you slowly, until even the air burns in your lungs when you try to breathe.”

She pauses, her gaze distant.

“You watch everything you’ve built vanish before your eyes,” she continues softly. “The things you carried with you, the promises you meant to keep, the people you meant to return to. One by one, they disappear into the fire. Your thoughts race but your body won’t move. You can only lie there and watch as everything slips further away from you.”

She exhales slowly. “And all the while, the flames keep spreading.”

At that, Yao Guang tilts her head thoughtfully, studying her through the glass.

“How descriptive.”

Tingyun falters, caught off guard by the lack of alarm in her voice. Her body moves on its own, her hands pressing against the glass, as if to break through and reach the white-haired woman.

“Madam Yao, I—”

“Oh, foxy!” Yao Guang cuts her off, smirking. “If you want to get a scare out of me, you'll have to try harder than that.”

When she wakes in the morning, gasping a name on her lips, Yao Guang is already gone.

The side of her bed is cool to the touch, and whether she’d been swept away or had left of her own volition, Tingyun does not know.

She swings herself out of bed, fluffs her five tails, and begins getting ready for the day.

“Hm? Did I see Madam Yao’s fortune?” Casually chewing on one end of a particularly long fry, Stelle’s head bobs side to side, processing Tingyun’s question. “Of course I did.”

Tingyun perks up, chicken nuggets forgotten on the table between them.

“Really?”

“Yup.” Stelle nods. She reaches into the cardboard box of the kids meal, pulls out a plastic bag with a tiny toy inside. “Oh, hey! It's one of those mini transforming robots that Mr. Yang likes so much!”

“So, you saw the fortune slip hovering above her head?” Tingyun presses on. She isn’t sure which of them is more distracted—herself or Stelle.

“It was clear as day,” Stelle confirms. She puts the toy back into the plastic bag and slips it into her pocket, presumably to show Welt later.

“And was it a weal or a woe?” The question spills from Tingyun’s lips before she can stop herself. Blushing at her own eagerness, she quickly backtracks, waving her hands in a flustered manner. “I mean, I know she didn't want you to tell her, but I won’t say anything! I promise!”

Completely suspicious, Stelle narrows her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Because I need to know if there’s any chance for her!

“I’m… just curious.” It sounds unconvincing even to her own ears, and Tingyun wants nothing but to slap herself.

“I thought you were better at lying than that.” Stelle breaks out into an incredulous, goofy grin. “What happened to ‘the Xianzhou’s Number One Assassin?’”

“She died in another freak accident with an Aeon,” Tingyun replies, dry as a Sigonian desert. “It was Aha this time. THEY laughed as she went down.”

“Ooh, dark.” Stelle’s eyes glimmer. “Aha would approve. Probably. Well, we might have to ask THEM for feedback ourselves later.”

“Maybe Madam Yao can ask.” Tingyun sighs, her mood growing sullen again. “She wants to force Aha to sit at her table.” With what might be the last few moments of her life.

“Oh. You’re worried,” Stelle deduces, her expression turning oddly unreadable—a far cry from the gray-haired woman’s typical tongue-in-cheek humor. “I hadn’t realized you two had gotten so close.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re close,” Tingyun protests weakly.

“Close enough to make you worried.”

Fighting a losing battle, Tingyun sighs. “You’re right.”

“And worried enough to go behind Madam Yao’s back.” Stelle clicks her tongue and crosses her arms. “Alright then. Ask me again.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Your question. Ask it again.”

“Oh! Um, okay.” Worrying at her bottom lip, Tingyun takes a deep breath. “The fortune you saw for Madam Yao—was it a weal or a woe?”

“Yes,” Stelle says.

Tingyun stares at her. “Pardon?”

“Yes,” Stelle repeats, that stupid grin returning to her face.

Then she reaches out, plucks another potato fry from its basket, and pops it into her mouth without any further elaboration.

And it is then that the realization hits that this, too, is another losing battle.

Tingyun slumps into her seat and groans.

Even so, the day turns out to be a fun one—failed interrogation notwithstanding.

She finds herself shopping with Stelle and March 7th, the two young women eager to browse every store arm-in-arm with Tingyun caught happily between them. At her Nameless friends’ behest, she tries on new clothes, giggling through each outfit change, and even leaves with a few souvenirs for her friends back in the Alliance.

By the time the sun is starting to set, they meet up with Mr. Yang outside a nearby convenience store, who ushers them in with the promise of snacks and drinks.

As Stelle and March 7th flit between the wide array of consumables, Tingyun lingers nearby with a smile. Her chest feels oddly light—today was fun. Despite the unknown future ahead of them, it had been fun. The most fun she’s had in a long, long time.

Though, if a certain white-haired, blue-garbed general had tagged along, then maybe—

“Do you want anything, Miss Tingyun?” Mr. Yang asks kindly, already corralling Stelle and March 7th towards the self-checkout area. “Please, feel free! It’s my treat.”

“Oh!” Drawn out of her train of thought and already prepared to deflect, Tingyun shakes her head. “No, thank you, I—”

She cuts herself off, a nearby cooler suddenly catching her eye. Curious, she pads over and peers through the clear lid only to gasp at what she finds. Hurriedly, she slides the cooler open, reaching inside to procure two chilly bottles, the glass clinking as she lifts them with care.

Spinning on her heel and feeling awfully like a kid again, Tingyun smiles sheepishly as she shows off her spoils to a patiently smiling Mr. Yang.

“Actually, if it’s alright with you…”

The evening air is soft beneath the flowering trees, pale petals drifting lazily through the lantern-lit street. Tingyun lingers on a quiet bench, idly rolling her own chilled drink slowly between her palms as she admires the blossoms overhead.

And it’s the faint rustle of fabric behind her that makes her glance over her shoulder—

Just in time to see Yao Guang lifting a small sugar pill to her lips.

“Wait! No need for that.” Tingyun holds out one of the small glass bottles she’d procured earlier. “Here.”

“What’s this?” Yao Guang’s brow furrows, though utter delight alights a heartbeat later. She eagerly takes the blue, fizzy drink from Tingyun’s patiently extended hand. “You bought me ramune?”

Smiling slightly, Tingyun shifts over, lets Yao Guang settle on the bench with her. “I figured you’d need the sugar intake. Do you know how to open it?”

“Excuse you, of course I do!” Yao Guang gasps, affronted. “I’ve had more than my fair share of ramune!”

“Have you now?” Tingyun giggles. She holds up her own unopened bottle, its marble still securely in the bottleneck. “Then, would the illustrious Arbiter General of the Xianzhou Yuque like to open mine as well?”

Warily, Yao Guang eyes the red glass bottle in Tingyun’s grasp. “You didn’t open it yourself already?”

“I was waiting for Madam Yao to show up, of course!” 

Yao Guang sighs. “You’re quite the daring one, aren’t you? So demanding, asking such a menial thing of a General.”

She takes Tingyun’s bottle nonetheless, gingerly placing her own to the side.

“Say,” she says, peeling the plastic wrapper off the top of the bottle, “how did you know I’d appear near you?”

“I didn't exactly.” Tingyun shrugs, dragging her fingers through the soft fur of her tail absently. “But ever since we became traveling companions, Madam Yao has never failed to find me—regardless of time, or distance. I knew that wouldn’t start today.”

“I suppose you aren't wrong. I always know where the little fox scampers off to.”

Her tongue sticking adorably out of the corner of her mouth, Yao Guang’s nose scrunches as she presses her palm down, steady and deliberate. The glass marble trembles beneath her hand before plunging inward with a clean, crystalline pop.

Yao Guang startles at the sound, then laughs under her breath, the composed line of an Arbiter General dissolving into something far softer.

“See? Flawless execution,” she declares quietly, before offering the bottle towards Tingyun with unmistakable pride.

Giggling once more, Tingyun happily accepts the drink. “You are a woman of many talents indeed, Madam Yao.”

“Don't play around with me, Miss Tingyun.”

“Why, I would never!”

Yao Guang only chuckles, shaking her head as she retrieves her own bottle.

The marble rattles softly as the soda begins to fizz, and Tingyun realizes she’s smiling long before she takes her first sip.

Later that night, the two of them find themselves back in Tingyun’s room, preparing for bed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Tingyun has half the mind to ask if Yao Guang has returned to her own room at all today, but on second thought, she decides that it ultimately doesn’t matter.

“Say, Madam Yao? You never did answer my question,” Tingyun comments, unpinning her hair from its half-updo. 

“Oh?” Yao Guang’s eyes flicker up from where she’s carefully sending a brush through long, silky white hair. Their gazes meet in the mirror. “Which question?”

“Last night, I asked if you’ll still disappear if you’re holding onto someone.” Busying herself with grooming the first of her five tails, Tingyun tosses her best pout over her shoulder. “You never really answered me.”

The corner of Yao Guang’s mouth quirks up. “I thought it was implied that I’ve never tried.”

“And why haven’t you?” Tingyun presses.

“You know?” Yao Guang chuckles, blowing out a breath of resigned amusement. “I have no idea. Maybe because no one on the Yuque was bold enough to suggest holding my hand for an unknown period of time.”

“Really?” Tingyun gapes dramatically. “They’re missing out, Madam Yao. You should try it one of these days.”

“I may not be a scientist, Tingyun, but even I know that experiments require a controlled environment. And we’re on the most unpredictable planet in the known universe!” Tossing her head back, Yao Guang laughs, full and stunningly bright.

When she finally returns her gaze to Tingyun, the foxian blinks twice—she’s sure there’s some sort of adoration there.

“But yes, foxy. Perhaps one of these days.”

She dreams of Yao Guang again.

The Seer Strategist stands in front of her once more, this time on the bow of the Radiant Feldspar. She stands where Yukong once stood, no longer separated by the glass of the stasis chamber.

“Tingyun,” Yao Guang says, her eyes lit up by an endless night sky. “What is it like to die?”

That question again.

She knows this place. The eternal sky, the quiet hum of the airship beneath her feet, the way the wind carries the scent of sweet dreams.

And so this time, Tingyun is more prepared.

“Death is… quiet.” She looks past Yao Guang, towards the boundless celestial stretching beyond the bow. “Not at first. But after the fire, and ruin… there is only stillness.” A faint smile flickers across her lips—wistful rather than amused. “Your body can’t move, but your mind keeps racing. There was still so much left to be done. All of that time you thought you had, slipping like sand between the cracks of your fingers.”

Tingyun’s shoulders fall as she sighs. “And then the world begins to fade, and the sky grows darker, and the path ahead disappears.” She exhales quietly. “And it hits you, then. That you’ll never see the end of your journey.”

Her eyes return to Yao Guang.

“That is what death feels like.”

A breeze drifts in from across the deck, stirring the feathered piece at Yao Guang’s shoulder. For a moment, neither of them move.

Yao Guang studies her with an expression that’s almost considerate.

Then—

The white-haired general hums to herself, turning on her heel.

“That doesn't seem quite right either.”

Tingyun startles, making to follow her. “Wait! Madam Yao, please wait!”

Yao Guang glances back at her, smiling faintly.

“You’re getting closer, Tingyun,” she says. “But that still isn’t the answer I’m looking for.”

Tingyun wakes to the faint dip of the mattress beside her.

The room is still dim, the first pale traces of morning just beginning to creep through the curtains.

Someone is sitting at the edge of the bed.

And when Tingyun finally blinks her eyes open, she finds Yao Guang already watching her.

“What time is it?”

“Five in the morning.”

“Why are you awake so early?” Tingyun asks blearily, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand. Then, frowning, she squints. “And why are you already dressed for the day?”

Yao Guang laughs, as soft and as light as a peacock’s feather. Gingerly, she reaches over, brushes a stray lock of hair over Tingyun’s shoulder. The mattress shifts beneath her, pliant and welcoming. And it would be so, so easy for Tingyun to reach out, grab her wrist and make her fall back into bed with her.

She doesn’t do that, though. Because Yao Guang has an inexplicable look in her eyes—all of those different colors swirling around like a quiet storm brewing.

“I like being prepared,” Yao Guang murmurs, fingertips brushing down the line of Tingyun’s jaw. “In the event that I’m whisked away from our little safe haven against my will, that is.” A small smile toys at her lips, and Tingyun cannot look away. “Wouldn’t do for a general to be seen roaming the streets in her pajamas, would it?”

Scrunching her nose, Tingyun fights back the urge to yawn. “I suppose it would put a damper on your mysterious factor.”

Yao Guang seems to soften, even as she draws back. Sitting on her heels, she kneels on the mattress beside Tingyun, eyes drifting over the foxian's sleepy profile.

“And we can't have that, now can we?”

“It would be unpredictable, though. Isn’t that what you're all about these days?”

Despite her best efforts to remain awake, Tingyun’s eyes feel heavy. Sleep is an ocean siren, and Tingyun in the morning is no better than a common sailor. 

“Silly fox,” Yao Guang whispers, leaning down to speak in her ear. Her breath skims over soft fur, and the foxian begins to mumble incoherently. “Go back to sleep, Tingyun. Best to rest up while you still can.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be resting in my own way. Now, shhh…”

Yao Guang’s hand lingers briefly in Tingyun’s hair, fingers smoothing through silken strands with quiet care—light enough that Tingyun almost convinces herself she imagined it.

In a moment of weakness, her eyes slip shut.

The touch vanishes.

And when she peeks through the crack in her eyelids once more, Yao Guang is no longer there.

She wakes to her seven o’clock alarm two hours later, Yao Guang still nowhere to be found.

Part of her—the part that wakes slower than the rest—wonders what was dream and what was not.

Tingyun sighs.

“I need coffee.”

She calls Yukong and Feixiao on her walk to the coffee shop.

The morning streets of Duomension City are already alive with motion—holographic billboards flicker overhead, vendors calling out the day’s specials while tourists weave between stalls, bright shopping bags swinging from their wrists. Tingyun tucks her phone between ear and shoulder as she navigates the crowd, tail swaying behind her like a lazy metronome.

The conversation is meandering but light. Yukong listens more than she speaks, her voice warm and steady as always, while Feixiao’s relaxed laughter crackles faintly through the comm like distant thunder. By the time Tingyun reaches the corner café she’d been aiming for, her summary of Planarcadia’s recent happenings has concluded—for now.

Tingyun's just hung up when a flash of red catches her eye, a familiar figure absently wandering down the sidewalk.

Crimson hair catches the morning light like a streak of flame, unmistakable even among the city’s kaleidoscope of colors. The woman walks slowly, hands clasped loosely behind her back, as though she has nowhere in particular to be.

Tingyun hesitates only a moment before calling out.

“Miss Himeko?”

“Ah, Tingyun! I didn’t see you there.”

Himeko turns with easy grace, the surprise in her expression easing quickly into warm recognition. Even here, amid the neon chaos of Ahatopia, the Astral Express navigator carries herself with the same composed elegance Tingyun remembers from their previous encounters.

They drift naturally toward the quieter edge of the walkway, stepping aside as a crowd of laughing tourists sweeps past.

“It’s strange,” Himeko admits, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze drifts across the vibrant streets, flitting around the various bright attractions. “Being back here, everything is both familiar but not, all at once.”

“Has it changed a lot?” Tingyun wonders curiously. “I heard that you grew up in the area.”

“I did. Cities tend to change quickly,” Himeko adds quietly. “Even when memories don’t.”

“Do you… remember the last Phantasmoon Games?”

“Unfortunately, I do. Although, this year’s supplicants are looking to be just as interesting—if not more.”

Taking the slight topic change for what it is, Tingyun nods knowingly. “Between the Nameless, the Xianzhou, and the Masked Fools, we’re in for quite a show.”

Himeko chuckles, crossing her arms. “Not to mention the Stellaron Hunters.”

“Oh, that’s right. I've heard… rumors,” Tingyun says carefully, trying not to overstep. “Rumors that you've had run-ins with the Stellaron Hunters before.”

“Well, those rumors are unfortunately true. We've crossed paths time and time again, such is the nature of the Trailblaze.” Himeko hums, her mouth twitching into the barest of smiles. “Although I must say, Blade is unfortunately the member I’m the least acquainted with. If you're looking for intel on an opposing supplicant, I'm afraid I can't help much on that front.”

“Oh! No, I wasn't looking for anything so specific,” Tingyun says sheepishly, wringing her hands as she falls into step alongside the red-haired woman. “I was just curious about the Stellaron Hunters in general, having to follow their scripts and all.”

Himeko lets out a quiet breath, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

“From what Kafka told me,” she says, tone dry with lingering disbelief, “their scripts vary from Hunter to Hunter. Some are more rigid, with more details they’re expected to follow. But others are far broader—much more open to interpretation. Elio, apparently, is very detail-oriented with Kafka’s scripts. She even offered to show me hers on one occasion.” Himeko barks out a laugh. “And despite my curiosity, I refused. I’d prefer not to get any further tangled with that woman.”

“She told you all of that?” Tingyun blinks. “She offered to show you?”

Himeko merely scoffs. “Ridiculous, right? But then again, Kafka has always done as she wants. Regardless of her script, she finds a way.”

“That’s…” Reckless, Tingyun wants to say.

“Foolish?” Himeko offers, scowling. And it's amusing to watch this woman, who is normally so put together, regard Kafka the Stellaron Hunter with such blatant scorn.

“Almost impressive,” is what Tingyun eventually settles on. Her brow furrows. “And probably dangerous. I wonder what she risked by telling you…”

“Well, whether I cared about her wellbeing was just as irrelevant back then as it still is today,” Himeko huffs, the usually elegant woman looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I never demanded she answer me, and she apparently had no qualms putting her faction in danger to spill their secrets.” And yet, begrudgingly, she sighs. “But I suppose it’s something to be admired—that despite everything, she remains so unapologetically Kafka.”

“I wonder how hard it is to remain yourself when your future actions are penned down in a script,” Tingyun muses, crossing her arms. Or, perhaps when you’ve already seen how the story ends.

“Oh, trust me.” Himeko smiles wistfully. She clasps her hands behind her back, and for a brief second, she looks younger. “I’m certain that those whose futures are inked onto paper are skilled at carving themselves out in the margins.”

(“The Phantasmoon Games?”

“Yes.” Yao Guang pours their tea herself, steam lazily curling upwards as she tips the teapot. “Have you heard of it?”

Tingyun has been on the Yuque for less than a day when Yao Guang invites her to tea—though invite may be too generous a word for the message that arrives at her quarters with suspiciously perfect timing, as if the Seer Strategist had known exactly when she’d step out of the shower.

The room overlooking the Deca-Light Reflection Barrier is quiet, warm with late afternoon light. Somewhere below, stargazers and diviners scurry from one matrix to the next, interpreting hexagrams and scrying into the depths of the stars.

Yao Guang settles across from her with unhurried ease, the hues of her silken dress catching the light whenever she moves. The colors shift with every small motion—whites into cerulean, cerulean into navy—like the slow unfurling of a peacock’s tail. Tingyun suspects the effect is entirely intentional.

“Of course I have.” Despite having the shortest average lifespan of the long-lived Xianzhou species, foxians still see a good many years. Even Tingyun, whose travels never took her to Planarcadia, had heard of the absurd event; had lived more than enough to remember certain cycles. “Every fifteen years when the moon is full, right?”

“Correct.” Yao Guang nudges Tingyun’s teacup toward her with the edge of her fan. “A strange little competition the Elation devised long ago. Planarcadia fills with supplicants, each convinced they’ll be the one to amuse Aha the most, and the winner—”

“Do you intend to become an Aeon, Madam Yao?” Tingyun interrupts, cutting straight to the point. “Is sixty seconds of godhood the prize you’re chasing?”

“No,” Yao Guang simply replies, unperturbed by the disruption and without a single heartbeat of hesitation. “And I don’t doubt that you would walk straight out of this room if it were.” She tilts her head, studying Tingyun over the rim of her cup. “Given the ordeal you just survived, I imagine the idea of godhood—temporary or otherwise—holds very little appeal.”

Any argument on Tingyun’s tongue dies immediately.

“Now, I’m prepared to tackle the issue myself if need be,” Yao Guang continues. “But don’t misunderstand, Miss Tingyun—those sixty seconds would merely be a means to another end. And it certainly doesn’t have to be me behind the reins.”

Tingyun’s ears twitch faintly. “Then, just what is it you wish to gain out of this, Madam Yao?”

“I’m an easy woman, Miss Tingyun.” Yao Guang flashes her a cunning smile, folding her fan shut against her palm. “All I want is acknowledgement.”

“From the cosmos,” Tingyun concludes. Hardly an easy woman.

“And from you, of course.” Yao Guang says it lightly, though her gaze lingers just a moment too long.

And for a moment, Tingyun simply stares at her.

Then she laughs.

“Sure, Madam Yao. Whatever you say.”

“Well, little fox.” Yao Guang sighs dramatically. “Just because the road can be lonely does not mean that it has to be.” She gestures between the two of them vaguely. “You’re here. I’m here. What is the saying? ‘Two pretty heads are better than one?’”

“I think you added an extra word there, Madam,” Tingyun points out wryly.

“Ah, but it fits us, yes?” Yao Guang spreads her hands, utterly pleased with her own reasoning.

Tingyun sighs, though the sound is more amused than exasperated.

“You truly have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Naturally.” Yao Guang lifts her teacup in a small toast. “It’s a professional requirement.”

Tingyun snorts softly.

What a strange woman indeed.) 

Ah. I've been going about this all wrong, haven't I?

Yao Guang had never lied.

That was the strange thing about it.

Sitting in that room, sipping on tea that Yao Guang had poured herself, the Seer Strategist had told Tingyun nothing but that truth on that fateful day. Her goal was, and still is, to prove that humanity has even a modicum of control over an Aeon. That even the gods must bend to the indomitable human spirit.

Even in the face of hardship. Even in the face of death.

Was it a weal or a woe? Tingyun had asked Stelle yesterday.

Now, her eyes widen in realization.

Who cares?!

Yao Guang has never put any faith in “seeing is believing.” That was what Feixiao had said all those years ago, and it remains true even now. Even with her talent for divination, Yao Guang does not know whether her demise is written in stone. And even if it were—she would never turn away from the road ahead.

Because fate is not the Reignbow Arrow of the Hunt, blazing across the heavens along a single unchanging path.

It bends. Shifts. Can even be defied.

And as long as its end remains unseen—

The path is still hers to walk as she wishes.

“And just because the road can be lonely…” Tingyun murmurs, trailing off.

—Does not mean that it has to be.

“Did you say something, Tingyun?”

It’s Himeko’s voice that pulls her back to the present.

“Hm?” Tingyun flashes her a reassuring smile. “Oh, nothing important! Just had an epiphany regarding something Madam Yao once said to me.”

Two pretty heads are better than one.

Tingyun bites back an undignified snort.

Himeko raises an eyebrow in good humor. “I see. Or, I don’t. But while I’m certainly curious, somehow, I think I know better than to press any further.”

Tingyun laughs. “I promise it’s not anything bad. Just… enlightening.”

“Well, if you insist.” Himeko sounds unconvinced, but her smile remains genuine. Then she gestures toward the café behind them. “I almost forgot. Were you about to get coffee?”

“Yes!” Tingyun perks up immediately, suddenly remembering her long-neglected priority. “And after all of that philosophical wandering, I think I’ve earned myself something sweet.”

Night settles over the city in a haze of neon and distant music, and Tingyun stands alone up high, gazing out across Planarcadia’s endless glow.

The wind lifts the tips of her hair as she leans lightly against the railing, watching the multicolored lights ripple across the city like stars fallen to earth.

A familiar warmth slips into her hand, soft fingers lacing between her own.

“How on earth did you find your way to the top of Synwish Tower?”

Tingyun beams. “Believe it or not, the boss just lets me come and go as I please. He seems to like me.”

“Look at this—a foxian wanderer cozying up with Planarcadia’s most notorious criminal gang.” Yao Guang rolls her eyes playfully. “Silly fox, everyone likes you.”

“Including you, Madam Yao?” Tingyun asks boldly.

Wordlessly, Yao Guang holds up their intertwined hands.

Tingyun laughs. “Right.”

“I hear that you called Madam Yukong and General Feixiao today,” Yao Guang comments, bumping Tingyun’s shoulder with her own, and it occurs to Tingyun then—rarely have they ever stood shoulder-to-shoulder, level with one another.

And it’s almost strange, because Tingyun could’ve sworn that Yao Guang was taller; is taller. She has always stood so tall, so sure of herself—back straight, wicked, calculating eyes, a quip or another on her tongue. Madam Yao has always carried herself like someone impossible to overlook.

So how is it that they stand shoulder to shoulder now? Since when were they of similar height?

“Did you divine that?” Tingyun asks. She already knows the answer.

“No,” Yao Guang says, voicing what they both already know. Still, she smirks, reaches up to flick at one of Tingyun’s large, fluffy ears. “Believe it or not, I am still friends with the other generals.”

“You asked General Feixiao about me?”

Yao Guang offers her shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t have to. Feixiao volunteered the information all on her own volition. You foxians love talking about your own, don’t you?”

Confused, Tingyun laughs. “Pardon?”

“You’re important to Madam Yukong, and Madam Yukong is important to the Lacking General,” Yao Guang says matter-of-factly. “Therefore you, too, are important to Feixiao. It’s the transitive property, Tingyun.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Tingyun opts to stick out her tongue instead. “I was the Amicassador for the Whistling Flames merchant guild, General—I did attend my math classes.”

“Hm.” Yao Guang suppresses a smile of her own.

“So what does it mean that I spoke of you to the both of them?” Tingyun further wonders aloud, shooting the other woman a sideways look—a challenge. “At length, even.”

Yao Guang huffs, pointedly staring off into the distance. “Well, you implied it yourself—you’re a smart fox. Surely I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?”

Unable to stop herself, Tingyun grins helplessly. “Not at all, Madam Yao.”

She is, regrettably, quite fond of this woman.

And so her grip on the hand within her own tightens.

“Madam Yao?”

“What is it, little fox?”

“Now that the Phantasmoon Games have officially begun, will you promise me something?”

Yao Guang tips her head to-and-fro, considering. “If it’s within reason.”

“Just, do not go quietly, Madam Yao.” Closing her eyes, Tingyun leans over, rests her head against Yao Guang’s and slowly, deliberately breathes out. “All I ask is that you do not stop fighting for your right to live. Continue to be bright, and cunning, and defiant—even if the board turns against you and you see no way forward.”

Please be stubborn until the very end.

Nudging again with her shoulder, Yao Guang’s smile can be heard in the song of her voice. “Is that how you see me, Tingyun? Bright, cunning, and defiant?”

Her name again, rolling off Yao Guang’s tongue with the lilt of a melody. Tingyun could listen to it forever.

“And then some, Madam Yao.”

The corner of Yao Guang’s mouth quirks upwards. “Do you not find me above pride?”

“On the contrary, I find you to be the most prideful, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Tingyun turns to gaze at her meaningfully. “That’s how I know you wouldn’t let a mere Aeon like Aha, the Elation, trample you underfoot.”

At that, Yao Guang laughs. “Because I’m too proud to ever kneel to a god?”

“Who else would have the audacity to try to influence the actions of an Aeon?” Tingyun clicks her tongue, her pale pink tail swishing back and forth. “Who else can outwit a god?”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, little fox.”

“I just don’t want to relegate myself to the life of a pawn.” Her jaw set, Tingyun shakes her head. “I was one, once upon a time, and I suffered for it needlessly. That’s why I refuse to see you meet the same fate, Madam Yao. Your life—our lives—must hold far more significance than that.”

“And so, if that’s the case, then we must be the best players this universe has ever seen,” Yao Guang surmises, matter-of-fact, as if she’s merely stating the weather.

Regardless, she squeezes Tingyun’s hand once, then twice—a promise that delves even deeper, sears itself beneath Tingyun’s skin, more certain than any weal or woe; a different kind of fortune that blooms in the foxian’s chest with a warmth not unlike that of a newborn sun.

“Both of us,” Yao Guang emphasizes.

“Yes,” Tingyun breathes, her tail swishing behind her.

“I’m counting on you, Tingyun.”

“Likewise, Madam Yao.”

And for a time, they simply stand there together, watching the city glitter below like a thousand restless stars.

“Let’s grab dinner?” Tingyun eventually suggests as the evening grows late. She allows her smile to turn a shade coy as she pushes away from the railing, tugging the other woman’s hand insistently. “It’ll be my treat this time.”

And Yao Guang’s iridescent eyes seem to sparkle.

“Why, I’d love to, foxy.”

They end up in Tingyun’s room again, because of course they do—where else would they possibly go?

The door clicks softly shut behind them, muffling the distant pulse of Ahatopia’s nightlife. Moonlight spills across the floor through the tall window, turning the room silver and still. For a poignant heartbeat, neither woman moves, the quiet stretching between them like the pause between two notes of a song.

“There’s still so much to be done,” Yao Guang murmurs. “We have such a long road ahead of us.”

Still, her hand settles on the small of Tingyun’s back, insistent and lingering.

“Tomorrow,” Tingyun murmurs, looping her arms around smooth, soft shoulders. “We have scores to settle tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Yao Guang repeats, nodding slowly. Her eyes drift downwards, settling on Tingyun’s lips. “Tonight can be for us.”

“I took you to dinner,” Tingyun reminds her breathlessly. “I took you to dinner and paid the bill, Madam Yao.”

And Yao Guang grins, all wicked corners and delight in her eyes. “You did, little fox. You pulled out my chair, complimented my new manicure, spoonfed me portions of your own meal, and even paid the bill. And yet, even after all your acts of chivalry, at the end of the night you still grow shy and call for me with that silly title.”

Tingyun’s eyes gleam defiantly. “Isn’t that ‘silly title’ how you asked to be addressed?”

“It was, back when we were mere acquaintances,” Yao Guang replies absently, stepping forward as she casually backs Tingyun up against her own bed. “But we have long surpassed that label, haven’t we, Tingyun? As such, it’s not quite what I want you to call me right now.”

Flushing as she scrambles atop the mattress, Tingyun ducks her head, purposely diverting her gaze now.

“...General Yao?”

“Hm, not quite. As flattering as ‘General’ is, you know what I want to hear.”

“Yao-jiejie? Is that what you want?” Even in her flustered state, Tingyun somehow finds it in her to tease. “It's cute, you know? Last I heard, that's what General Feixiao calls Madam Yukong when—”

“My name, Tingyun.” Yao Guang chuckles, deft fingers casually tapping the foxian's ankle. Shivers erupt across Tingyun’s bare skin. “That shouldn't be too hard for you, right, foxy? It's only two syllables, after all.”

Tingyun’s ears flick, her tail curling nervously behind her as she finally dares to lift her gaze again.

Yao Guang is standing simultaneously too far and too close—close enough that Tingyun can feel the warmth of her breath, far enough that Tingyun cannot yet feel the pulse beneath her skin.

Her own heart gives a traitorous little leap.

It feels good, sometimes. To surrender to the inevitable.

“Yao Guang—”

“There we go,” Yao Guang purrs.

And that's all Tingyun hears before Yao Guang is swooping in, sealing their lips together like a vow for something more.

Tonight she dreams of Yao Guang one final time.

Standing on the bank of a familiar river, Yao Guang no longer faces her. Instead, they stand shoulder-to-shoulder, the backs of their hands brushing, bare toes curling in the sand beneath their feet.

Down the river, Tingyun sees it—a bustling marketplace, lanterns on the water, voices of the people she knows and loves chattering away, just out of earshot.

“Tingyun,” Yao Guang says without further ado. “What is it like to die?”

The same question, a third night in a row.

But her answer this time is different.

“I don't know,” Tingyun tells her honestly. “I couldn't tell you, not really. Because I did not die. While I traveled down the river, I did not slip downstream. I fought, and I fought, and eventually, I reclaimed the life that was rightfully mine.”

“But I thought you said you knew death?”

“I know death as one knows a friend—personally, but not wholly.” Thoughtful, Tingyun smiles. “Truthfully, Yao Guang, I thought it would make a stronger impression if I said I knew death intimately. But in reality, it is far, far more impressive to say that I struggled, and fought, and won.”

At her answer, the Yao Guang of her dreams begins to laugh.

“Yes,” she agrees, giddy with mirth. “Quite!”

And the river water washes up to their ankles, then their knees.

They remain upright regardless.

Morning light filters softly through the curtains, warm and pale against the quiet of the room. For a lingering moment, Tingyun simply lies there, blinking the last remnants of sleep from her eyes.

The hand in hers tightens.

“Huh, look at that.” Yao Guang chuckles, sleepily squeezing their joined hands together. Graciously, she does not comment on the steadily spreading smile that blossoms across Tingyun’s face. “Guess it worked.”

And Tingyun beams.

“Guess it did.”

End.