Morning light filtered through the tent, soft and golden, brushing across the worn features of the general. His eyes remained closed, but his breathing, steady, calm, had not been like this in weeks.

Li Wuxin, seated cross-legged on a cushion near the bed, hadn't left the room except when absolutely necessary. Every slight shift in the general's breath had jolted him awake, heart pounding, fearing that the fragile thread holding him to life might snap once more.

But something was different this morning.

A sigh. Gentle. But unmistakable.

He looked up from his notes. For a long moment, he simply watched.
The deathly pallor was almost gone. In its place, a faint flush colored the general's cheeks. His lips, once cracked and pale, now held a hint of warmth. He no longer looked like a man whose body was trying to disappear.

Li Wuxin rose and moved to the bedside, pressing two fingers against the general's wrist. The pulse was stronger. Steady. Deep.

A breath hitched in his chest, too early to smile, too soon to relax. But still... Hope had taken root.

The general stirred slowly.

Sounds reached him first: the rustling of cloth, the faint trickle of water being poured into a basin. Then a voice. Low. Steady. Familiar.

 "You're eating something today. I won't let you get away with just a few sips of broth."

He opened his eyes, blinking against the soft morning light. The ceiling came into focus first. Then, the man standing by the small table, back turned, focused on mixing herbs.

The general managed a faint smile. Weak, but real.

 "If I eat everything you give me... will you stay longer?"

Li Wuxin crossed the room in a few steps, kneeling beside the bed. He reached for the general's hand, it was warm. Not fever-warm. Just... alive.

 "Yes, I will."

The general turned his head slightly to look at him. He noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, the stray strands of hair falling messily across his brow, the deep fatigue etched into his features.

 "I didn’t think you’d care enough to save me."

The physician looked away, lips tightening into a neutral line.

 "I just did my duty."

A silence stretched between them. Not awkward, full. Full of word not ready to say.

Recovery came slowly, but surely. With each passing day, the general started to walk again, and each one of his steps grew firmer. His voice carried further. The hollowness in his face began to fill again, first in subtle ways, then more clearly, like an outline being redrawn.

They had even moved him to a room, a more spacious and lighter place

Lu Xiaoqian whispered that he looked more like himself. That his gaze had regained its sharpness.

And sometimes Li Wuxin, he still caught himself watching, too long, too intently, as if he couldn't quite believe that this man had been so close to vanishing.

 "Are you going to keep staring at me like that all night?" the general said one evening, leaning against the window frame, half a bowl of rice in hand.

Li Wuxin didn't flinch. Just shrugged.

 "I'm monitoring your appetite. You've only eaten half."

The general raised an eyebrow, smirking.

 "So commanding "

 "And you're more stubborn than a feverish child."

They smiled. This time, without restraint.

The general leaned back against the window frame, the bowl of rice on his lap, gazing at the courtyard below where the lanterns had just been lit. Night was falling slowly, the sky streaked with indigo and pale rose. He seemed lost in his thoughts, Li Wuxin wouldn't risk asking why.

He remained seated near the table, meticulously preparing a small dose of medicine. His movements were precise, quiet, practiced. But there was a softness to them tonight.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" the general asked.

Li Wuxin didn't look up. He stirred the mixture, then poured it into a porcelain cup.

 "You're always asking that,  you needed watching. There were moments I thought..." He paused, swallowed. "I just don't want to take the risk."  I'm scared you're gonna die. 

The general tilted his head. "You always sound calm, even when you're falling apart."

A flicker of something passed over Li Wuxin's face. Not anger. Not embarrassment. Something deeper. Grief, maybe. Relief. He stood and walked over, handing the cup to the general, who took it with steady fingers.

 "Bitter?" the general asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

 "Like everything that works."

He drank without protest. When he finished, Li Wuxin didn't move away. For a moment, they just stood there, the silence stretching between them, charged and quiet.

 "Do you know how many nights I sat here ?" Li Wuxin said at last, "not knowing if your next breath would come"

The general's eyes flicked to him, surprised by the honesty.

 "You saved me," he said again, but softer now. "I owe you—"

"No," the physician cut in. "Don't say that. This wasn't a transaction."Something in Li Wuxin's gaze dimmed, barely noticeable, like a candle flickering in wind.

Their gazes locked. Li Wuxin looked tired more than usual. Not just physically, his soul looked tired. 

"I didn't do it because I had to," he added, his voice almost a whisper. "I did it because... I couldn't bear it."

The general went still. The words hung between them like steam in winter air, fragile and impossible to take back.

A long silence followed. The kind that demanded care. The kind where even a breath too loud might shatter everything.

At last, the general turned his face slightly.

"Then I owe you more than I thought."

The weight of those words lingered, pressing against him, but not with the heaviness of guilt. It was something else, something unfamiliar, almost like... gratitude. Or perhaps something more.

Li Wuxin shifted on the cushion, tossing and turning, but sleep eluded him. His body was exhausted, his eyelids heavy, yet his mind raced. He couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant. Xu Moyao, the general he had spent so many years either at odds with or simply tolerating, had said something he never expected to hear.

Had he meant it?

Later, In the quiet of the evening, Li Wuxin sat up, rubbing his temples as if to clear away the fog of sleep deprivation. His heart was heavier than it should have been, and he couldn’t explain why.

The night stretched on, thick and quiet, and still, sleep would not come.He swung his legs over the side of the cushion and, without another thought, rose to his feet. The coolness of the stone floor against his bare feet was a small comfort, a quiet reminder that the world outside still turned.

As he wandered aimlessly through the quiet camp, his thoughts still adrift, a faint glow caught the corner of his eye. It flickered gently in the distance, golden and soft, like a flame trying not to be noticed.

Curiosity tugged at him, quiet but insistent.

He turned toward it, steps slow, measured, almost cautious.

Drawn by something he couldn’t quite name, Li Wuxin followed it.

He found the general sitting on the edge of the bed, a robe draped loosely over his shoulders. Li Wuxin felt the cool air and the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. He shiver. 

 "Can't sleep?" the physician asked quietly.

The general turned to him, then patted the space beside him on the bed.

 "Sit."

He obeyed. The bed creaked softly under their combined weight.

 "Do you mind if I tell you about my dream? I... don't really have anyone else to talk to." the general murmured, eyes fixed on the dark garden outside. 

"I'm not good with words, but... You've never asked to share something like that before... Go ahead."

Xu Moyao stayed quiet for a moment. "It’s the same nightmare. Every night.”

His voice was quiet, almost lost in the stillness of the tent.
"No blood. No screaming. Just... silence. And standing there. All those I killed with my bare hands"

He paused. His hands were resting on his knees, fingers curled slightly, as if holding something invisible.

"They didn't accuse me. They just looked. That was worse, somehow."
A soft exhale. Almost a laugh, but empty.
"I.... I've never told anyone. Until now."

He glanced sideways, toward Li Wuxin, just for a second. Not searching for comfort,  just to see if the silence would be met with judgment. Or understanding.

Then, without thinking, or perhaps after thinking about it far too long, Li Wuxin reach out and took Xu Moyao's hand in his.

It was a simple gesture. No grand confession. No fevered kiss. It was pure pain.

The physician didn't speak, and the general was grateful for it. Some pain, once spoken aloud, didn't need to be met with words. Only with presence.

The weeks passed, and the color returned to the general face little by little. The sharp lines of his collarbones softened as he regained weight, and the hollowness beneath his eyes began to fade. He was no longer the ghost of a man lying in bed.

Li Wuxin had stopped pretending to be detached.

The day Xu Moyao crossed the courtyard on his own, Li Wuxin had stood frozen on the steps, an unopened scroll in his hand. The early morning light caught on the edge of his robes, but he didn’t move. The sight of the general — upright, steady, walking without assistance — struck him harder than expected.

Xu Moyao glanced up, catching his gaze. Their eyes met across the quiet space, and for once, Li Wuxin didn’t bother hiding the small smile tugging at his lips.

“You look disappointed,” Xu called out, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “Were you hoping to keep me bedridden forever?”

“Only until you learned how to follow orders,” Li Wuxin shot back smoothly, stepping down from the stone steps with calm precision. “But clearly, I overestimated your patience.”

Xu smirked faintly, his posture not quite arrogant, but close. “You must be devastated. No more brewing bitter medicine for me to glare at.”

Li Wuxin stopped a few paces away, eyeing him critically from head to toe. “Oh, I wouldn’t celebrate yet. I’ve seen better posture in half-dead soldiers.”

“Very funny,” Xu said, folding his arms. “Coming from someone who barely sleeps.”

There was a pause. Neither spoke, but something passed between them — not quite challenge, not quite concern. Familiarity, perhaps. Recognition.

Then Li Wuxin tilted his head slightly, the edge of his mouth quirking upward.

“Well. At least you're back to being insufferable. That’s progress.”

A few days passed,  the invitation came from the capital: a formal banquet in honor of the surviving officers of Silent Sky Blade Division, They had been invited to spend the night at the palace. Li Wuxin wasn't one for festivities, but Xu Moyao surprised him.

"Can I go ?" the general said.  

Li Wuxin looked up, startled. "You're not pushing yourself too soon... are you?"

"I've survived worse," Xu Moyao said, a faint smile tugging at his lips — the kind not forced or worn like armor, but something quieter, more real.

It was the first time Li Wuxin had seen him smile like that.

Unthinking, his gaze lingered.

He looks better when he smiles.
The thought came and went before he could stop it — soft, uninvited.

Li Wuxin blinked, then looked away, jaw tightening as if to chase the idea from his mind. Whatever warmth had crept in, he refused to name it.

He busied himself with a nearby cup, pretending to focus on it as if the faint steam rising from the surface required his full attention. The silence stretched between them — not strained, but full, as if both men had run out of things to say and yet still chose not to leave.

Finally, Xu Moyao’s voice broke the quiet.

“You saved me. I want to understand the people you chose to fight alongside.”

Li Wuxin didn’t look up right away. He let the words settle, weighing them not just for what they meant, but for what they didn’t say.

When he finally answered, his voice was quiet.

“They weren’t saints. Neither was I. But they had their reasons. Just like you.”

Xu Moyao didn’t flinch at the honesty. He just nodded once, slow and thoughtful — as if he wasn’t asking for easy answers. Just the truth, eventually.

The capital came days later, all lantern light, gold silk.

The hall in the palace shimmered with lantern light, the scent of wine and roasted spices thick in the air. Xu Moyao stood beside Li Wuxin at the entrance, surveying the gathered officers with a calm, unreadable expression. Heads turned, murmurs followed.

"Is that really him?"

"I heard he couldn't even walk."

"He looks... alive."

Li Wuxin didn't speak, but his shoulders squared slightly.

As the night wore on, cups were raised, laughter filled the air, and memories, bitter and sweet, were shared. Someone brought out a worn deck of cards, slapping it onto the low table beside the wine jars.

"Come on, General," someone grinned. "Join us. Let's see how sharp your instincts are."

To everyone's surprise, Xu Moyao accepted.

Elegant fingers, hesitant — it was almost charming.

He misread suits, overcommitted his bets, and more than once was caught bluffing by a soldier half-drunk on plum wine.

"You're terrible at this," Li Wuxin muttered, sitting beside him.

"I command armies, not cards," Xu Moyao replied, his tone completely serious. 

They both laughed.

Xu Moyao lost spectacularly. His pile of tokens diminished quickly, but no one cared. For the second time, he was laughing, shoulders relaxed, lips curved in a smile that actually reached his eyes.

Li Wuxin watched him with quiet fondness, a strange warmth blooming in his chest that no amount of wine could explain away.

Much later, long after the wine had run low and the room had emptied, Li Wuxin helped Xu Moyao back to the guest quarters. Neither of them was entirely sober.

"You're weaving," Li Wuxin said.

"You're not exactly walking in a straight line either," Xu Moyao replied.

They made it to the room with only minor chaos, a bumped shoulder, a clumsy laugh, the door nearly slamming behind them.Xu Moyao dropped onto the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe.

"You going to scold me for drinking?" he asked, voice thick with exhaustion and wine.

"No," Li Wuxin replied, his words slower than usual. He took the robe from Xu Moyao's hands and folded it with exaggerated care, each crease far more precise than necessary. "I think you've earned it."

Xu Moyao sigh. "That was... good," he murmured, eyes half-lidded. "Strange. But good."

Li Wuxin didn't respond right away. His head was buzzing, not in a sharp way. He dragged the small wooden stool toward the bed and crouched beside it, elbow resting on the edge of the mattress.

"You should sleep," he said.

"So should you," Xu Moyao replied, eyes still closed.

Li Wuxin meant to laugh, but it came out as more of a breath. He lowered himself slowly, intending only to rest his arms for a minute, just until the spinning slowed. His cheek pressed into the blanket, warm from the general's body beneath it. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel it: the steady rise and fall of breath, the scent of sandalwood and wine.

Just a moment, he told himself.

As he began to drift, Xu Moyao stirred faintly, not moving away, but shifting just enough to make space, almost instinctively. His arm came to rest near Li Wuxin's shoulder. Not a full gesture, not deliberate... but not nothing, either.

And then neither of them moved.

The candle burned low in the corner, casting long shadows that danced and stilled again.

Sleep found them in the quiet, not sudden, not sharp, just a slow surrender to stillness.

Without protest.
Without words.
Without dreams.