The next morning, the snow had stopped.
The sky above the ruined temple was a dull silver, and frost clung to the branches like breath held too long. Lin Xiyan adjusted his cloak as they stood at the temple gate, looking down the winding path that led back to the main road.
Shen Liufeng slung the travel bag over his shoulder. "You're sure about this?"
Lin looked at him, eyes clear. "We can't stay hidden anymore. If Fang Ziyue found us, others will too."
He didn't need to say who.
The Lotus Sect.
The very ones who once branded them "liabilities," who feared the truth they carried about the Lotus Pact—an old agreement that, if revealed, would fracture the current balance of power in the martial world.
Lin tightened his grip on his sword. "Let them come. I'm not afraid."
Shen glanced at him, lips curved in a soft, almost rueful smile. "You've changed."
"So have you," Lin replied. Then, after a pause, added, "We're no longer boys. That means we don't have the luxury of running."
They set off.
The path was quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath their boots. It wasn't until the forest thinned and the road forked toward the southern plains that Shen broke the silence again.
"Do you remember the old teahouse in Yulan Town?"
Lin blinked, then chuckled. "The one with the terrible rice wine?"
"And the worse music."
They both laughed, the sound easy, surprising even themselves.
"We should go there," Shen said.
"Now?" Lin raised a brow.
"After," Shen corrected. "When all this is over."
Lin didn't reply at first. Then—quietly—he said, "You're thinking about 'after' again."
Shen looked at him. "Aren't you?"
Lin turned his gaze toward the trees. "I used to think there was no 'after' for us."
"And now?"
Lin met his eyes. "Now I want it."
That night, they made camp near a frozen stream. Shen lit a fire while Lin laid out their cloaks as makeshift bedding. The cold crept in despite the flames, so they sat close—closer than they had in years.
Shen poured warm water from the kettle. Lin reached out to accept it, and their fingers brushed.
Neither pulled away.
"You never liked the cold," Shen murmured.
Lin smiled. "That's why I always found you. You were the only warmth I had."
The fire popped softly.
Shen shifted closer, draping a part of his cloak over Lin's shoulders. Lin leaned into him, head resting lightly against Shen's collarbone.
For a while, neither spoke.
Their hands found each other beneath the fabric, fingers intertwining without ceremony.
Shen's thumb brushed the back of Lin's hand. "Do you still have nightmares?"
"Not when you're here."
Shen exhaled, the sound tender. "Then I'll stay."
Lin tilted his head, lips close to Shen's neck. "Always?"
Shen turned slightly, their foreheads touching. "Even if the world turns against us."
They didn't kiss, not quite. But their breaths mingled, soft and uneven, and the warmth between them was more intimate than anything physical.
Later, as the fire died down and they lay wrapped in each other, Shen whispered, "Tomorrow, we find out what the Lotus Sect wants."
"And after that?"
Shen pressed a kiss to Lin's hair. "We survive."