Finally, they returned to camp in the late afternoon of the next day. Dust shimmered in the warm light, kicked up by the steady rhythm of boots and drills. Soldiers moved with the usual brisk efficiency, tending to weapons, shouting orders, hauling supplies.

But several paused mid-task, their eyes flicking toward the pair approaching from the outer path. The general strolled in with the camp doctor at his side, both of them looking a little too relaxed, a little too unhurried. Their robes bore faint signs of the city — a smudge of ash from roasted skewers, a crease in the collar that hadn’t been smoothed out, a lingering scent of something sweet.

No one dared to comment outright, but the sideways glances and barely contained curiosity spoke volumes. Xu Moyao, for his part, didn’t seem to notice — or pretended not to. His pace remained steady, his posture loose but not careless. Beside him, Li Wuxin walked with hands tucked calmly behind his back, entirely unbothered by the attention, as if strolling into camp alongside the general was the most natural thing in the world.

Whatever assumptions hung in the air, neither of them acknowledged them. They passed through the rows of tents in silence, sharing a moment that needed no remark

Inside the pavilion, Li Wuxin rolled up his sleeves.

"You mentioned yesterday that you didn't think I could cook."

Xu Moyao raised an eyebrow. "I stand by that."

"Well, I intend to prove you wrong."

The two of them walked side by side toward the kitchen of the pavilion. It started off well enough, rice soaking, vegetables chopped with relative precision. But once the wok was over the fire, things began to unravel. Li Wuxin added too much garlic, and the peppercorns went in at the wrong moment. Smoke curled upward.

Xu Moyao watched with an expression that hovered between fascination and horror.

"Is it supposed to smell like that?" asked the general

"It's... experimental."

The quiet of the pavilion was only broken by the suspicious smell of something... burning. And then, a soft plop.

Li Wuxin was bent over a wok, brows furrowed, his expression intense as if performing delicate surgery on vegetables that were slowly melting. Or burning. Perhaps both.

Xu Moyao stood behind him, watching the scene with the focus of a general studying an enemy strategy gone terribly wrong.

"You're not supposed to stir it like that," he said softly, trying to mask his growing concern with a calm tone.

"I'm improvising," Li Wuxin replied, holding the spoon the wrong way around.

A small tch sound echoed as a piece of overcooked carrot leaped out of the pan, landing on the floor with a faint sizzle.

Xu Moyao took a step forward, extending his hand cautiously.
"Let me try"

"No."Li Wuxin shot him a dramatic look. "

There was a brief silence before they both burst into laughter at the same time, Xu Moyao shaking his head gently as he took the pan off the heat with a firm hand.

"What exactly was this supposed to be?"

"Stir-fried vegetables," Li Wuxin replied with admirable nonchalance, wiping his hands on a towel.
"With a hint of... regret."

Xu Moyao bit into the dish, out of sheer bravery , and immediately regretted it.

"Is that... cinnamon?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly.

Li Wuxin shrugged, looking innocently clueless.
"It said brown powder on the jar. Looked convincing."

"That was for incense."

Another silence fell. Then, Li Wuxin dropped his head onto the table with a muffled groan.

"You're going to hold this against me forever, aren't you?"

Xu Moyao leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a tranquil smile on his lips.
"Only occasionally "

Li Wuxin lifted his head, narrowing his eyes.
"Cruel man. I'll remember this."

Without even realizing it, Xu Moyao had stepped closer, extending a hand toward the still-smoking dish.
"Let's salvage what we can. Add some broth. And maybe... remove the cinnamon."

"Fine. But if we both end up poisoned, I'm blaming your leadership."

"And I'll blame your seasoning."

In the end, what they produced was technically edible, but only barely , he took a bite and immediately reached for water.

Li Wuxin coughed after tasting his own portion.

"Did the vegetables offend you somehow? I admire your courage... not just in the kitchen, but in serving this to someone else."

"Keep talking like that and I'll make dessert too."

They dissolved into laughter again, and this time it didn't stop for a while.

Night fell with a whisper.

The air had cooled by the time Li Wuxin walked Xu Moyao back to his quarters. The moon was full and low, haloed in mist. Crickets sang softly in the grass.

The lamp inside Xu Moyao chamber cast a soft glow. Neither of them moved to leave.

"You remember the music from last night?" Xu Moyao asked suddenly.

"The one with the guqin and the flute?"

Xu Moyao nodded.

"It had a rhythm like... like rainfall. Soft, but steady.My mother used to hum it when she taught me to dance — said if I could follow the sound of the rain, I’d never miss a step.”

Li Wuxin tilted his head. "Show me."

" May I have this dance?" he asked, his hand reaching out with quiet grace."

Li Wuxin hesitated. Then he reached out.

There was no music this time. No audience. Just the two of them, swaying slowly in the lamplight, feet brushing the rug, hands loosely clasped. Li Wuxin followed Xu Moyao's lead with surprising grace.

They moved in quiet circles, smiles soft, shoulders relaxed. At one point, Li Wuxin's hand settled lightly at Xu Moyao's waist, and he leaned in, resting his cheek against the general's shoulder.

Their hearts beat in a shared rhythm.

No words were exchanged. None were needed.

In that moment, beneath the soft flicker of the lamp and the sound of wind brushing against canvas, they were two men caught in the quiet gravity of something unspoken, yet deeply understood.

As the dance continued, the world outside seemed to fall away. The air between them was warm, the quiet hum air adding to the intimacy of the moment. Li Wuxin's mind wandered as he felt the steady presence of Xu Moyao beside him. It was a rare, fleeting thing, this peace. The weight of the general's hand resting lightly on his back, the subtle pressure as they moved, felt as if they were not only sharing a dance but something more: trust, comfort, a connection neither had dared to voice. Li Wuxin couldn't help but wonder how many others had seen this side of Xu Moyao, this softer, unguarded version of that man. And in the quiet stillness, he realized, perhaps it didn't matter. Tonight, it was just the two of them, just the simple, shared rhythm of a dance that spoke more than words ever could.

And they danced until the lamp burned low.