For once, the camp was still.

No orders barked across courtyards, no screams, no hurried footsteps. The morning mist hung low like a curtain that time had drawn, giving them the illusion, however fleeting, that peace was possible. Li Wuxin stood at the threshold of the infirmary, arms tucked into his sleeves, watching the faint silhouette of Xu Moyao moving with his sword across the courtyard.

His blade cut the air like ink across silk, deliberate, but gentle.

Li Wuxin stepped closer, silent until he was sure Xu Moyao had noticed him.

"You're going to slice the wind in half at this rate," he remarked.

Xu Moyao didn't stop. ""I just need a little space to clear my head."

Li Wuxin chuckled lightly. "That's exactly what I came to propose."

That earned him a pause. Xu Moyao turned, brow raised. "You? Proposing peace and quiet?"

"There's a village," Li Wuxin said, stepping into the courtyard. "Half a day's ride. Supposedly nothing ever happens there except flowers blooming and old men arguing over chess. I thought we could go for a few days."

Xu Moyao lowered his sword. "And why now, of all times?"

Li Wuxin hesitated. The reason was as simple as it was sentimental. "It's almost Lu Xiaoquian's birthday," he said, softer. "She'd never say anything, and I know she doesn't expect us to remember, but I do."

Xu Moyao's eyes softened, ever so slightly. "She would hate a fuss."

"That's why we'll make it a quiet one," Li Wuxin smiled, lopsided. "A few days away. We could pick out something small for her. Bake a cake."

Xu Moyao gave him a long look. "You mean you'll try to cook again?"

"Do you want to come or not?"

A beat of silence.

Fine," Xu Moyao said at last. "But I'm bringing the medicine pouch. Just in case you burn down the kitchen again."

By the next morning, their packs were light but sufficient, with only what they truly needed. The early sun stretched golden fingers across the camp as they slipped away before the bustle of duties could anchor them again.

The journey to the village wasn't long, half a day at a gentle pace, but for once, neither of them felt pressed to hurry. The road curved through scattered groves and fields of silvergrass, where butterflies danced in lazy spirals and the air smelled faintly of warm earth and plum blossoms.

For Li Wuxin, it was a silence he hadn't known he needed, one without urgency, without demands, where time didn't feel like something chasing at his heels.

Their inn was small, run by an old man who forgot their names every few hours but made a honey chrysanthemum tea that Li Wuxin declared holy.

They spent the first day resting. Reading. Letting silence sit between them like a guest.

Sometimes, one of them would speak, a comment about the view, but mostly, they let the quiet do the talking. The inn was small, but their room overlooked a patch of wild garden where bees hovered lazily.

Li Wuxin dozed in the corner at one point, a book fallen on his chest, his brow furrowed even in sleep. Xu Moyao didn't wake him. 

He stood there, motionless, watching him. His eyes didn’t leave Li Wuxin’s face, studying every detail with an intensity he wasn’t used to showing. He realized, almost to his surprise, that he was smiling without even meaning to. Li Wuxin seemed... fragile in that moment. In some strange way, Xu Moyao found him almost... cute. It was a feeling that unsettled him, even though he couldn’t explain why.

Clearing his throat softly, he forced himself to move, but his gaze stayed fixed for just a moment longer on the sleeping figure before he took a deep breath and turned away.

On the second day, Lu Xiaoquian said she wanted to stay behind and enjoy the quiet while it lasted. 

 Xu Moyao and Li Wuxin were walking back from the morning market, their pace unhurried, as if, for once, the world had granted them permission to simply move without consequence. Xu Moyao carried several bundles of herbs tied neatly with coarse string, the fresh stalks poking from his bag and scenting the air with a mix of mint, camphor, and dried bark. Beside him, Li Wuxin was engaged in a delicate balancing act, struggling to keep an increasingly unstable tower of fruit, peaches, pears, plums, from collapsing in his arms.

"If you drop that plum, I'm not catching it," Xu Moyao said, not even turning his head.

"It's the pear," Li Wuxin replied, squinting at the offending fruit. "It's slippery. Like a traitor."

Their laughter had barely faded into the cool morning air when Li Wuxin shifted his grip, too fast, too sure, and the top plum rolled free.

He tried to catch it, but in doing so, his foot caught a loose stone on the path. The entire stack of fruit tilted dangerously, and for half a heartbeat, Li Wuxin himself tipped with it, arms flailing in an attempt to save both his dignity and the peaches.

He didn't hit the ground.

Xu Moyao had moved before the moment even fully happened, stepping in smoothly to catch him, not just a hand at his arm, but one arm firm around Li Wuxin's back, the other bracing his shoulder like something straight out of a poorly disguised romantic novel.

Li Wuxin blinked up at him, his body caught in an awkward angle, one leg half off-balance, draped unceremoniously against Xu Moyao's chest. The sudden proximity left a strange, electric pulse between them, the kind of tension that hadn't existed before. His breath caught in his throat, and for a fleeting second, neither of them moved—caught between the awkwardness of the moment and something more complicated, unspoken.

Xu Moyao didn't let go immediately, his hand lingering at the small of Li Wuxin's back, a touch that almost seemed too intentional for the situation. The warmth of his chest pressed against Li Wuxin’s, and the silence stretched longer than necessary. Both men were aware of it, but neither dared to acknowledge the underlying tension—the kind that might unravel everything if addressed.

Then, just as the tension thickened, a sound shattered. It cut through the silence, sharp and jarring, pulling them back to reality with a force that left both men frozen for a moment, caught between the lingering tension and the sudden urgency that now demanded their attention.

A mewling cry, sharp, high, and desperate.

Li Wuxin froze. "Did you hear that?"He muttered, the ease in his voice not quite matching the stiffness in his posture, trying, and mostly failing, to hide the flush creeping up his neck. His eyes refused to meet Xu Moyao's. He released him, but his hands lingered a second too long. He stepped back, but something in his expression faltered, like part of him hadn't been quite ready to let go

The sound came again, faint but insistent.

Following it led them to a narrow alley behind an abandoned shop. Between two splintered crates, a tiny cream-colored kitten was stuck, one paw wedged awkwardly beneath a broken plank. It looked up at them with wide eyes full of panic.

Before Li Wuxin could say a word, Xu Moyao was already kneeling.

"Careful," Li Wuxin murmured, watching him as he worked to lift the board gently.

"I know," Xu Moyao said. "Come here, little one. Don't be scared, no one's going to hurt you."

The kitten gave a pitiful cry, but the moment the plank was lifted, it wriggled free, and didn't run. Instead, it climbed into Xu Moyao's arms, trembling like a leaf. Li Wuxin blinked. "Well. You've been chosen." "I didn't ask for that," Xu Moyao said, but didn't make any move to remove the kitten. "You never ask for the important things," Li Wuxin said under his breath, almost fondly. 

That night, Xu Moyao retired early. Or so Wuxin thought. When he came downstairs to get a nightcap of warm tea, he stopped dead in the doorway of the common room. Here, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a piece of string, was Xu Moyao, his general's expression softened into something nearly boyish. He held the string just out of reach, gently flicking it back and forth as the kitten followed with wide, blinking eyes.

The little thing pounced, missed entirely, and tumbled forward in an awkward, clumsy roll that sent its paws flying in every direction. Xu Moyao let out a low, genuine laugh, the kind that cracked through the silence without asking permission. He leaned forward slightly, his long fingers brushing over the kitten's head with unexpected tenderness, tracing the space between its ears.

" Fierce warrior, are you? That string had no chance,"  he murmured to the kitten, who promptly latched onto his sleeve with the ferocity of a tiger and began gnawing on the fabric. "Are you trying to eat my sleeve or declare war on it?"

There was something oddly captivating about it, this man who had commanded armies, now utterly engrossed in a game of string and paws.

Li Wuxin, half-hidden in the doorway, watched him in silence. He stood frozen, hand around his teacup, suddenly unsure whether he should announce himself or let the moment live undisturbed.

He'd be a good father, without even trying.

The next morning, Li Wuxin declared their mission. "Today, we find her a gift. And a cake."

Xu Moyao eyed him. "Are you planning to make it yourself?"

"I am perfectly capable, "

"You once served me raw dumplings."

"They were slightly undercooked."

Li Wuxin huffed, adjusting his robes. "Fine. I'll try again. It'll be symbolic. She doesn't need a perfect cake, just a sincere one."

They strolled through the village, the kitten curled inside Xu Moyao's outer robe like it belonged there. In a jewelry stall, Li Wuxin's gaze caught on a delicate hairpin: shaped like a lotus leaf, curved gently and inlaid with soft green stones.

"She'd never wear anything flashy," he murmured. "But this... this suits her."

Xu Moyao placed a small pouch of money onto the table with a soft motion, the leather lightly clinking. His eyes flickered momentarily to the vendor, then back to Li Wuxin, who was standing across from him, clearly about to voice some sort of protest.

"You can keep the rest," Xu Moyao said coolly.The vendor's eyes widened as he stared at the pouch, stunned by the weight of it. Xu Moyao turned away without a second glance, leaving the vendor speechless and frozen in place.

Li Wuxin watched, his brow furrowing in mild annoyance. "I didn’t ask for this," he said, though the words were half-hearted, as if even he wasn’t entirely convinced by his own protest.

Xu Moyao, however, didn’t even glance in his direction as he straightened. "You didn’t have to," he replied with a hint of a smile, but his eyes remained steady. "It's not much, but it'll cover the cost.”  His voice was almost casual, but there was something in the way he said it that left no room for further argument.

Li Wuxin let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, resigned but not entirely pleased. His eyes briefly shifted towards the pouch on the table before locking onto Xu Moyao’s calm expression. The matter was settled—whether he liked it or not.

"Fine," Li Wuxin muttered, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though his tone was laced with reluctant amusement. "But you better not start keeping track of it."

Xu Moyao raised an eyebrow, his lips curving upward slightly, but he said nothing more.

"And now," Li Wuxin said proudly, "to the bakery."

They did visit a bakery. Xu Moyao suggested simply buying a cake.

Li Wuxin refused.

Back at the inn, he commandeered the tiny kitchen.

It took five minutes for things to go wrong.

Eggshells in the batter. Flour in his hair. A burnt finger. Xu Moyao stepped in when the sugar ended up in the salt jar.

"This was a mistake," he said, watching Li Wuxin try to mix the ingredients with the wrong end of a spoon.

"No. This is art."

Eventually, with a great deal of help, they managed something resembling a cake. It was uneven, leaning a little to one side like it had opinions about the world, but it smelled warm and sweet.

Li Wuxin stood over it proudly. "You see? She's going to love this."

Xu Moyao folded his arms. "Or she'll die."

"She won't die. She has excellent taste."

"She once ate your turnip soup and lost consciousness for a day."

"That was unrelated!"

Xu Moyao was still smirking when the door creaked open.

Lu Xiaoquian was standing in the entryway of the inn entrance when they returned. Her expression was unreadable.

"You disappeared," she said flatly.

Wuxin held up the crooked cake. Xu Moyao stepped forward with the kitten. "Happy birthday," he said simply.

Lu Xiaoquian blinked. Then again.

"You... remembered?"

Li Wuxin pressed the wrapped gift into her hands. "Of course we did."

When she opened the box and saw the delicate hairpin nestled inside, her breath caught, quiet, stunned. She didn't say much at first, just ran her fingers over it gently, as if afraid it might vanish. But her smile, warm and slow, said everything.

"Thank you... It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice full of wonder.

For a moment, she didn't move. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and hugged them both.

That night, they lit a few lanterns and shared the lopsided cake beneath the stars. The kitten, worn out from its many battles with Xu Moyao's sleeves and Li Wuxin's hair, had curled up and fallen asleep in Lu Xiaoquian's lap, its tiny body rising and falling with each slow breath. She stroked its fur absentmindedly, a soft smile on her lips.

Like a child finding peace, she leaned against Xu Moyao's shoulder.

He didn't react much, just glanced down briefly, the edges of his mouth softening. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, just for a moment. A simple, wordless acknowledgment. You're safe. I've got you.

Li Wuxin watched them from across the lantern-lit table, a cup of tea growing cold in his hands. He didn't speak, but something in his eyes shifted, subtle, like a cloud drifting past the moon.

The air smelled faintly of warm sugar, tea, and the delicate smoke of the lanterns. Fireflies blinked like lazy stars drifting down to join them. Around the three of them, the world seemed to pause, wrapped in a stillness too delicate to break.

They passed a teacup between them, hands brushing, eyes soft. There was no need to speak. Just laughter, and something quiet and full between them, something that felt like safety. Like belonging.

For a moment, they looked like a real family. Not forged by blood, nor by duty, but by something gentler, something that had bloomed quietly in the spaces between exhaustion and care. Just the three of them, the little cat, and the hush of the night wrapped around their shoulders like a shared blanket.

Li Wuxin looked at Xu Moyao.

There was a question in his gaze. Or maybe not a question, but something slower, heavier. Like the realization of how rare moments like this truly were. How fleeting. How precious.

And Xu Moyao looked back.

His expression didn't shift much, but his eyes softened, something unspoken passing between them. No words were needed. Just the warmth of shared silence, and the silent agreement that whatever this was, whatever they had found in each other's presence, it mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, it could last.