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He had just announced that he was a dying man living on borrowed time, yet he still had the audacity to ask them not to worry.
Ming Zhu’er and Linglong turned away from him, putting several sharp paces between themselves and the master. Their shoulders trembled, caught in a volatile knot of anger and helpless grief.
How dare he smile? How dare he speak as though his own mortality were a trifle?
Zhan Zhao watched them silently. The practiced smile slowly bled from his face—partly because the pretense was too heavy to sustain, but mostly because the full weight of his actions had finally settled in his chest. If someone were to ask him why he had risked everything for Bai Yutang when there was absolutely nothing to gain, he couldn't have given a simple answer. Some things defied the ledger of profit and loss. Some people simply became vital before you ever noticed they had taken root.
Slowly, his gaze shifted to Bai Yutang.
Zhan Zhao had braced himself for fury. For bitter accusations. For righteous disappointment.
He had not prepared himself for tears.
"Bai Yutang..." His voice emerged softer than a whisper, as though he were approaching a mangled animal.
Said man closed his eyes, and the tears spilled over. One after another, a silent, unchecked stream tracing the pale contours of his cheeks. His body had already endured too much; the volatile exchange of inner energy earlier should have left him confined to his quarters. Instead, fate had dragged him into this courtyard to bear a truth that tore at his very soul.
He shook his head—once, twice—as if sheer denial could rewrite reality.
The sight struck Zhan Zhao harder than any blade. He stepped forward, but Bai Yutang recoiled instantly. A fast, instinctive retreat, as though physical distance could keep the nightmare at bay.
Zhan Zhao froze.
He could understand Ming Zhu’er’s grief; the disciple had spent years under his wing and could not envision a world without his master. He could understand Linglong’s distress; her heart had always been too empathetic, bleeding for everyone's pain.
But Bai Yutang...
Bai Yutang’s reaction eclipsed them all.
The White Rat retreated another step. Then another. Zhan Zhao followed. Decades of martial training rendered their movements impossibly fluid; soon, they were drifting across the courtyard like a pair of tangled shadows. Bai Yutang yielded ground; Zhan Zhao pursued.
Their strange, silent chase drew the eyes of the others. Ming Zhu'er and Linglong watched, frozen, but neither man seemed aware of their audience. Their entire universe had narrowed to the space between them.
"Bai Yutang."
"Don't." The response was immediate, raw and broken. "Don't come any closer."
Zhan Zhao ignored the plea.
Bai Yutang’s rimmed eyes burned a deeper scarlet. "Why?" The question tore from his throat. "Why would you do something like this?"
White silk snapped through the air, but Zhan Zhao intercepted the strike effortlessly. Neither exchange carried a shred of killing intent; their movements were merely agony given physical form.
"You already know why."
"I don't!" Bai Yutang struck again, a desperate palm met by a fluid parry. "You don't get to decide that for me!"
"I would make the same choice again," Zhan Zhao replied, his voice a steady anchor.
The words landed with the crushing weight of a physical blow. Bai Yutang staggered, his stance faltering. "You would?"
"Yes."
"Even knowing this was the price?"
"Yes."
Bau Yutang let out a laugh—a miserable, hollow sound that fractured in the quiet air. "You're insane."
Another exchange. Sleeves brushing like rushing wind, palms meeting in a breathless stalemate. Neither willing to injure, neither willing to yield.
"Perhaps," Zhan Zhao conceded.
"Do you think it's worth it?" Bai Yutang’s voice cracked, stripping away the proud facade of the Jianghu legend. "Do you think your life is worth so little?"
Zhan Zhao’s gaze softened, reflecting a profound, quiet sorrow. "My life has value."
"Then why?"
"Because I couldn't watch you suffer anymore."
The courtyard fell dead silent. Even the wind seemed to die in the trees.
Bai Yutang froze, his breath catching.
Zhan Zhao stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "You've been chasing ghosts and answers for years." Another step. "I watched the world accuse you." Another. "I watched you blame yourself for sins that were never yours to bear." He stopped just inches away. "And I watched you carry that crushing burden entirely alone."
Bai Yutang’s chest heaved. "You are a fool..."
"I know."
"An absolute, miserable fool."
"I know."
A shaky, self-deprecating laugh escaped the White Rat, but it quickly crumpled into a sob.
"If going to the ends of the earth could uncover the truth and free you from that darkness, I would go," Zhan Zhao said, his eyes locking onto Bai Yutang's with unyielding certainty. "And if I had to stand at that crossroads again... I would still choose you."
The devastation on Bai Yutang’s face was almost too agonizing to look upon. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" his whisper dragged over raw nerves. "I already lost one brother."
The words hung like a pall over the courtyard. For a fleeting moment, the years seemed to collapse in on him—the suffocating loneliness, the old grief, the biting helplessness of the past.
"I spent years clawing my way out of that abyss," his hands trembled violently, his fingers curling into useless claws. "And now you're asking me to stand by and watch another person walk willingly into the grave?"
Zhan Zhao’s chest tightened, a pang of acute guilt piercing his heart. "Bai Yutang—"
"No."
In a blur of white silk, the White Rat crossed the remaining distance.
Before Zhan Zhao could react, he was pinned firmly against the cold stone of the courtyard wall. Bai Yutang’s hand gripped his shoulder—not with enough force to bruise, but with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity meant to ensure the man wouldn't dissolve into mist.
"Do you know what kind of man you are?" Bai Yutang demanded, his breath hot and uneven.
"I've heard several opinions," Zhan Zhao replied, trying to ground them both.
"You're infuriating."
"So I've been told."
"You throw yourself into the fire."
"I do."
"You carry everyone else's sins."
"I try."
"You never consider yourself."
Zhan Zhao parted his lips to counter.
"Don't argue," Bai Yutang commanded, his voice trembling.
For once in his life, the Imperial Cat obeyed.
A broken, breathless laugh slipped past Bai Yutang's lips, and then, his composure shattered completely.
"I don't want to lose you," he confessed.
The rigid grip on Zhan Zhao's shoulder gave way as the fight drained out of him all at once. His knees buckled, but before he could hit the stone, Zhan Zhao caught him. This time, there was no retreat. Bai Yutang buried his face against Zhan Zhao's chest, his fingers bunching desperately into the fabric of his robes—reassuring himself that the heartbeat beneath was still steady. Still breathing. Still alive.
For now.
Zhan Zhao cradled the back of his head, burying his face in the scent of wind and snow. "I'm sorry," he murmured into his hair.
Bai Yutang shook his head against his chest, a ragged exhale escaping him. "No," he whispered, his fingers tightening in a death grip. "That's the tragedy of it."
"What is?"
"If our places were reversed... I would have done the exact same thing."