The day passed like a heavy breath.
The sun had risen over the camp, but for Li Wuxin, everything seemed frozen in a pale, cold light. Outside, the usual rhythms of training and commands echoed faintly in the distance—familiar noises. He hadn't eaten since the day before—perhaps even the day before that—he couldn’t quite remember anymore. Food felt distant, unnecessary. Every bite he tried to bring to his lips was pushed back by an unrelenting wave of nausea, as though his body instinctively rejected any attempt at normalcy.

He sat for a while on the edge of his own bed, elbows on his knees, fingers buried in his hair. But the room made him dizzy. The walls felt too close, the silence too loud. The world seemed to spin slowly around him, as if he had become a stranger to everything surrounding him. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes. A weakness took over him, steady and persistent.

Without truly thinking, he got up. His limbs felt like stone, but he moved anyway. He walked slowly down the hallway, feet dragging slightly against the wooden floor, and pushed open the slightly ajar door of Xu Moyao’s room.

There was no particular intention. He hadn’t told himself he would go in. He just... went there. Like one returns to a familiar place when the body craves comfort more than the mind can justify.

The bed was made, simple and neat, as always. It was like stepping into a preserved fragment of someone’s presence. The scent enveloped him immediately: that discreet pine fragrance, sharp yet comforting, mixed with something more indefinable—something warm. Xu Moyao had always carried that scent with him, as if he brought the forest wherever he walked.

Li Wuxin stood there for a moment, unmoving. Then, he slowly crossed the room and lay down on the bed without removing his jacket. His face sank into the pillow.

And then, something inside him quietly gave way. He let his forehead rest deeper into the softness, and, cradled by that scent, he finally surrendered. His breath slowed. His thoughts dulled. He fell asleep.

He didn’t know how long he had slept when he felt something soft against his arm. A paw, light. Then a meow. Faint, high-pitched.

His eyelids slowly opened. The kitten.

He climbed onto his chest, purring faintly. Li Wuxin gently took it in his hands, lifted it, and placed it on his knees. He stroked it absentmindedly, his fingers gliding through the fine white fur speckled with gray.

And as he looked at it, something in his chest unraveled.

A wave of sadness overwhelmed him.

The kitten’s steady purring, the warmth of its small body against him—everything brought him back brutally to what he missed.

His eyes blurred. Tears rose before he could stop them.

He lowered his head, and the tears slipped silently down his cheeks. He cried, quietly, like one cries when there is no room left for words, no strength to pretend. He cried for the absence, for the uncertainty, for the unsaid things. He cried for Xu Moyao, and for himself.

It was then that he heard a soft sound. A discreet step, then a gentle knock on the door. He didn’t have time to answer. The door opened slowly.

"Li Wuxin...?"

It was Jiang Lingxian. His gaze still softened by the warmth that appeared whenever he looked at Li Wuxin. He seemed to be doing better since the injury with the spear.

He entered, without another word, and gently closed the door behind him.

Li Wuxin didn’t lift his eyes. He vaguely wiped his tears, but too late. The commander approached, sat slowly on the edge of the bed beside him.

"You’re falling ill," Jiang Lingxian murmured, placing a hand on his forehead. "You’re burning up."

Li Wuxin closed his eyes. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

The commander remained silent for a moment. His hand stayed on his former student’s shoulder, firm and reassuring.

"You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping. Do you think I will not notice?"

Li Wuxin took a deep breath. A silent groan escaped his throat. He didn’t have the energy to argue. Just enough to listen.

The silence stretched, and then Jiang’s deep voice returned, softer now, almost distant.

"You know... you were just seventeen when I found you. A boy soaked in mud and rain, your eyes burning with anger—but behind it, all I saw was fear. You didn’t speak. You fought like a cornered animal, ready to bite anyone who got too close. But I brought you back anyway. I watched you grow, step by step, bruise by bruise. And now… it breaks my heart to see you like this."

Li Wuxin finally opened his eyes. The kitten had curled up against him, unaware of the tears.

"And you," Jiang Lingxian continued, casting him a calm glance, "you did the same. You took Lu Xiaoqian, just like I took you in. With the same instinct. With that same rage to protect what can still be saved."

That sentence struck something in him.

He slowly raised his head toward the commander. A silence full of memories settled.

He saw again, like a frozen tableau, that winter night when, covered in mud and blood, he had been dragged into this very camp by an unknown rider, and a figure had bent toward him. Jiang Lingxian. That severe but not cruel gaze. And those words he had never forgotten:

"We don’t choose where we come from, but we choose what we do with what we find on our path."

It was that day something had changed. That day Li Wuxin had begun to understand that he could belong somewhere.

And today, Lu Xiaoqian looked at him the way he had once looked at the commander.
The thought made something shift gently inside him, a quiet warmth, a fragile pride. His lips curved into a faint, almost invisible smile. Just thinking of her, of the way she trusted him, gave him a reason to hold on a little longer.

Li Wuxin lowered his eyes to the kitten. Another tear fell, but this time, it was lost in a long, slow, almost peaceful sigh.

"Did I make a mistake?" he whispered.

Jiang Lingxian shrugged with wisdom.

"If loving is a mistake, then we’re all guilty. And I’m proud to have been guilty too."

Li Wuxin blinked, surprised. He hadn’t expected the commander to see that far into him. His eyes, still damp, lifted slightly in confusion.

"You... noticed?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jiang Lingxian offered a quiet smile, touched with something like tenderness.

"Of course I did," he replied. "You had never looked at anyone that way before."

Li Wuxin didn’t answer. He didn’t have the strength to pretend otherwise. Not anymore.
And in that instant, something settled in him, quiet, heavy, and undeniable. He realized the commander was right. He had loved. Without saying it. Without even daring to name it.

Jiang Lingxian slowly stood, placed a hand on Li Wuxin’s shoulder.

"Rest. He’ll come back when he can."

He walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned one last time.

"I don’t regret taking you in that day. And I believe Lu Xiaoqian will never regret that you did the same for her."

Then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving the room silent.

Li Wuxin remained there, sitting on Xu Moyao’s bed, eyes half-closed. He didn’t feel healed. Not reassured. But he felt a little less alone.

And in that room where the scent of pine still lingered, he closed his eyes.

And slept the kitten against him.