Yulan Town had not changed.
The same crooked signs hung above tea shops with peeling paint. The air smelled of spice, smoke, and the faint sweetness of plum wine. It was the kind of place that looked like it had forgotten time—and preferred it that way.
Lin Xiyan tugged his hood lower. Shen Liufeng walked beside him, equally cautious.
"She'll be here," Shen murmured.
"She always was," Lin said, a half-smile flickering at his lips. "That's the problem. She never learned to run."
They reached a small bookstore tucked between a smithy and an herbalist's shop. The faded sign above read: Ink & Iron.
Inside, the scent of old paper mixed with the tang of metal oils. Swords and scrolls lived side by side on the shelves, quiet proof that its owner straddled both knowledge and violence.
From behind a dusty curtain emerged a woman in dark robes, her hair tied with a simple silver pin.
"You're late," she said, her tone dry.
Lin bowed slightly. "And you haven't aged."
"Flattery doesn't suit you, Xiyan," said Yu Meiqing, eyes sharp. "Now tell me—why do two ghosts from the past come knocking after seven years?"
Shen stepped forward. "Because the past won't stay buried."
He handed her a small token—an old insignia, broken in half. Her eyes narrowed.
"The Lotus Pact," she whispered.
"Fang Ziyue is alive," Lin added. "And not working alone."
Yu Meiqing exhaled slowly. "Then you'll need more than swords. You'll need proof."
Lin nodded. "We think the temple records from Orchid Ridge still exist. If we find them, we can expose the truth."
Meiqing's lips curled faintly. "Still idealistic."
Then she stepped aside. "Come. You'll sleep here tonight. I'll send word to someone who may know how to reach Orchid Ridge."
That evening, as lanterns cast soft light across scrolls and shadows, Lin and Shen sat on the rooftop, watching the night.
Below, the town was calm. But above them, the stars shimmered like quiet witnesses.
Shen glanced sideways. "Back there… when she asked why we came—you didn't answer."
"I didn't need to," Lin said. "You were already speaking for both of us."
A pause.
Shen turned to face him. "But what if I hadn't? What if I froze again, like I did back then?"
Lin smiled faintly. "Then I would've spoken for you. That's what it means now, doesn't it? You fight when I falter. I hold steady when you fall."
Shen reached out, brushing hair from Lin's face with calloused fingers. "I still dream of losing you."
"You won't," Lin said softly. "Not this time."
Then, as naturally as breath, they kissed.
It wasn't desperate like before. It was warm. Familiar. Home.
And yet—just beyond the rooftops, cloaked figures watched from the shadows. A messenger hawk soared into the sky, its wings catching the starlight.
Back in the darkness, a voice whispered, "They've made contact. Begin the next move."