The judgment had passed.
Though the elders refrained from punishing Ling Tian or Xiao Ning'er, tension still hung in the air. Rumors slowed, but didn't disappear — like embers smoldering beneath ash.
That evening, Ling Tian stood on the edge of the Institute's training cliff, staring at the distant horizon. Stars blinked above like silent witnesses to fate.
He heard her footsteps before she spoke.
"You shouldn't have to keep defending me," Xiao Ning'er said quietly behind him.
Ling Tian didn't turn. "I defend what matters."
She stepped beside him, gazing out at the same distant view.
"…There's a place I go to, when I need silence," she said after a moment. "A mountain spring outside the city walls. Hidden, warm… safe."
He raised a brow slightly. "Are you inviting me?"
She met his gaze — calm, unreadable — but her cheeks held the faintest color under the moonlight.
"Yes," she said. "As thanks."
The journey was short. The night wrapped them in soft silence as they ascended through mossy trails and bamboo groves. At the summit, surrounded by jagged stones, steam rose from a natural spring, the water glowing faintly under moonlight.
Xiao Ning'er stepped into the spring first, her back turned. She let the robe fall to her shoulders before slipping into the warmth — a motion so fluid it could've been mistaken for moonlight flowing across water.
Ling Tian sat nearby, watching with quiet respect — not just for her body, but the vulnerability she was allowing.
"I used to come here after training, when my body couldn't handle the pain anymore," she said, leaning back against the rocks. "The water healed more than just wounds."
Ling Tian removed his tunic and slid into the other end of the spring. The heat wrapped around them both, a gentle barrier from the world.
For a while, they said nothing.
But the silence wasn't empty — it pulsed with something unspoken, like the slow drawing of a bowstring.
"You're not just different, Ling Tian," she said at last. "You're not… from here, are you?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, then softened.
"You always were sharper than the rest," he replied.
She turned her head toward him, water glistening on her skin.
"Then tell me," she asked softly, "why help me?"
He looked at her, eyes deep and unreadable.
"Because I've seen a world where no one helped you," he said. "And I couldn't let that happen again."
The answer shook her — because she believed him.
Slowly, she moved closer, the water rippling between them. Her hand brushed his.
It wasn't a kiss. Not yet.
But the way their fingers intertwined beneath the surface…the way her breath caught…the way she leaned just slightly into him…
It was the beginning.
Of trust.
Of something neither of them dared name.
But both of them felt it:
Bound by fire.