On the third day inside Shadowvale, Lu Xingchen's body began to fail.
At first it was only light dizziness. He thought he had slept poorly. Shen Ye, walking ahead, noticed his footsteps slowing and stopped to look back.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Lu Xingchen forced a smile. "Just a little dizzy."
Shen Ye frowned. He studied Lu Xingchen's face a moment, gaze dropping to the fine sweat beading at his temple.
"You're feverish." He walked over and pressed a hand to Lu Xingchen's forehead—quick, withdrawn before Lu Xingchen could react.
"Maybe I'm just tired from walking all day—"
"Not tired." Shen Ye cut him off, voice sinking. "It's erosion."
Lu Xingchen blinked. "Erosion?"
"In shadowfolk territory, a light spirit wielder's power is suppressed and reflected back. The light in your body is trying to resist this environment, but it can't match the shadow force of all Shadowvale." Shen Ye's gaze turned complicated. "Your body is consuming itself."
Lu Xingchen's smile faded. He knew the word—the Light Spirit Hall elders had spoken of it. Light and shadow in conflict. Weakening at best—
"Let's turn back," he said. "I can't hold you back."
"Turn back?" Shen Ye laughed coldly. "Shen Ming's people are already watching us. Going back now means walking into a trap."
"Then what do we do?"
Shen Ye was silent a few seconds. Then he did something Lu Xingchen did not expect—he caught Lu Xingchen's wrist.
"Come," Shen Ye said, voice low. "I'll take you somewhere. My mother left a seal there. It can temporarily block Shadowvale's shadow force."
"Your mother… left it?"
Shen Ye did not answer. He pulled Lu Xingchen forward. His hand was cold as ice, yet the small patch where they touched felt faintly warm.
After about an hour they reached a hidden cliff face. Shen Ye pressed a spot on the stone. A faint light flashed. The rock slid silently apart, revealing a narrow cave.
"Inside."
The cave was unexpectedly warm and dry. In one corner stood a stone bed covered with dried but still soft grass. Ancient runes were carved into the walls, glowing faintly—marks of light spirit arts.
"My mother… was a light spirit wielder," Shen Ye said from behind him, very quietly, as if confessing a secret long hidden. "She was deceived into coming to Shadowvale. After my father forced her, she never left. But she carved her last light spirit power into this place, hoping it would protect me."
Lu Xingchen stared at him in shock.
Shen Ye walked in and sat on the stone bed. The faint runes lit his face, making him look paler and more fragile than usual.
"Lie down," he said. "Rest here a few days until the erosion eases. Then we move on."
Lu Xingchen sat on the edge of the bed but could not stop asking: "What about you? Will you be all right going out alone?"
"I'm shadowfolk," Shen Ye said. "This is my land."
"But—"
"Lie down." Shen Ye cut in, a thread of impatience in his voice. "Your face is white as paper. Push any harder and you'll be dead."
Lu Xingchen looked at him and smiled faintly. "You're worried about me?"
Shen Ye's expression stiffened. "I don't want the mission to fail. Don't flatter yourself."
Lu Xingchen did not call him out. He knew Shen Ye too well—the harder his mouth, the more he cared underneath.
He lay down. The dried grass gave off a faint herbal scent, as if long ago someone had lain here waiting for something.
"Shen Ye," he said softly.
"Hm."
"Thank you."
Silence.
Lu Xingchen thought he would not answer. He was about to close his eyes when he heard Shen Ye say, very low:
"Don't overthink it. I just don't want to owe you."
Lu Xingchen smiled and said nothing. His eyelids grew heavy. Consciousness blurred. As he slid toward darkness, he thought he felt something cool touch his forehead.
Shen Ye's hand.
Lu Xingchen burned with fever all night.
He dreamed endlessly. The forest of his childhood. His mother's terrified face. A claw reaching from the dark—
"No…" He struggled in sleep. More cold sweat beaded on his brow.
A cool hand closed around his wrist.
"It's all right," a low voice said at his ear. "There are no shadowfolk here. No one will hurt you."
The voice was like a shard of ice—calm and firm. Lu Xingchen did not know if he imagined it, but he felt that chill seep into his dreams, driving the fearful shadows back bit by bit.
Gradually he stilled.
The night was long. Shen Ye sat at the bedside, one hand on Lu Xingchen's wrist, the other checking his forehead again and again. The faint runes lit his furrowed brow and those eyes that were usually cold and distant but now full of worry.
He did not sleep all night.
Whenever Lu Xingchen struggled in his dreams, Shen Ye tightened his fingers and murmured at his ear—sometimes comfort, sometimes command, sometimes only his name, over and over.
"Lu Xingchen."
"Lu Xingchen."
"Don't be afraid."
I don't know what you're afraid of. But don't be afraid.
Lu Xingchen woke to crisp birdsong the next morning.
He opened his eyes to ancient runes on the cave ceiling. Their faint glow had dimmed somewhat, but remained warm and soft.
His first thought was the bedside.
Shen Ye sat there, back against the stone wall, head slightly bowed, apparently asleep. He was paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes—the mark of a sleepless night.
Lu Xingchen stared, heart struck hard by something he could not name.
He did not remember what he had said or done in the fever. But he remembered that voice—cold, low, yet somehow steadying.
"…You watched over me all night?" His voice was hoarse.
Shen Ye's lashes fluttered. He opened his eyes, met Lu Xingchen's gaze, startled, then quickly let go of his wrist and stood.
"Don't misunderstand." His voice returned to its usual flatness. "I just don't want the mission to fail. Without a light spirit wielder, I can't get inside the Shen estate."
Lu Xingchen watched his hurried retreat and smiled.
"Shen Ye."
"What?"
"Thank you."
Shen Ye's steps paused.
"…I said don't overthink it." His voice was muffled, as if holding something back. "Hungry? I'll find food."
He almost fled from the cave.
Lu Xingchen lay on the bed, watching that disappearing back, and laughed softly.
Shen Ye, Shen Ye—how long are you going to keep pretending?
He lifted his hand. A trace of coolness still lingered on his wrist. He closed his fist and held that remnant warmth tight.
Something was growing quietly inside him.
Strange and warm—like some night long ago in Dawnlight Town, when his mother held him and told him stories until he slept.
He thought he was beginning to understand why people said feelings could grow slowly, day by day.
Day after day, until love appears.