Spring was approaching with quiet steps, still shy in the air, but perceptible in the soft light that caressed the walls of the pavilion. The air was fresh, full of promises, and the scent of damp earth subtly mingled with the fragrance of the steaming tea. Through the half-open window, the birds sang in harmony, unaware of the particular tranquility that reigned in the room. It was a peaceful morning. In this room bathed in gentle light, Xu Moyao was slowly recovering.

The injuries he had suffered were severe. Yet, it was thanks to the patient and relentless care of Li Wuxin that he was still here, alive. He had not left his bedside for a single night, not even when fever had enveloped him in a burning veil. Li Wuxin had not been discouraged, staying by his side. He had lain next to him, just far enough not to disturb his sleep but close enough to hear every breath, every moan.

He watched every breath of Xu Moyao with obsessive attention, mentally noting every tremor of pain, every small victory of the body over suffering. He adjusted the bitter herbal decoctions that he prepared himself, every movement measured with precision. His hands were of infinite softness when they touched the skin marked by Xu Moyao. Every care was an act of profound silence.

Xu Moyao, bored to death, sometimes watched Li Wuxin furtively. But behind this calm facade, he sensed something else. His gestures were filled with contained tenderness, as if he were trying not to reveal too much.

One morning, as silence filled the room and daylight filtered through the curtains, Xu Moyao broke the stillness in the air. His voice, soft but assured, pierced the peaceful atmosphere of the room.

"Aren't you bored, staying locked up here?" he asked, his eyes fixed on Li Wuxin, who, absorbed in preparing an infusion, didn't even look up.

Li Wuxin continued to pour the hot water slowly into the teapot, his gaze focused on the movement, as if each gesture belonged only to him. "I've had more docile patients, but you're definitely the loudest. How could I get bored?" he replied with a smile, a smile he reserved for these quiet moments when words were unnecessary.

Xu Moyao smiled faintly. "Stay a little longer, then," he said, giving him a relaxed, almost playful look.

And Li Wuxin stayed. Day after day, by his side. He read aloud ancient poems, those that Xu Moyao loved, those that spoke of heroism and nobility, but also of tenderness. Sometimes, Li Wuxin added nothing. He simply remained there, in the silence of the room, watching Xu Moyao rest or filling the air with a quiet conversation.

Xu Moyao found a strange peace in this daily rhythm, a peace nourished by the slowness of the days and by the calming presence of Li Wuxin. The sound of birds outside, the light filtering through the curtains, and the unwavering presence of Li Wuxin seemed to remind him that sometimes healing didn't just happen in the flesh, but in the soul.

After 2 months

Xu Moyao's health had stabilized. He could get up, walk slowly. But the recommendations of caution were strict: no effort, no sudden movements. It was important to avoid the stitches from opening.

Li Wuxin ensured that these instructions were followed with quiet authority. Yet, a sense of awkward silence often settled between them. Something unsaid floated, a suspended feeling.

There were those stolen glances, those hands that brushed, those moments when eyes sought each other without quite finding one another. A soft, yet stronger, love was born, woven between the inflections of a voice, the lingering gazes, the half-smiles.

One day, as the sun stretched lazily in the sky like a lazy cat, Li Wuxin suggested a trip.

They went to the scholars' quarter, where the alleys were lined with refined shops and walled gardens. There, they stopped at a well-known teahouse, named The Fragrance of Bark.

The interior was peaceful, bathed in soft light. They sat by a window opening onto a small pond. Xu Moyao amused himself with the poetic name of the place, while Li Wuxin delighted in a plum blossom pastry.

As he nibbled on plum biscuits, a suspended moment between the sweet fragrance of tea and the distant murmur of conversations, an elderly woman approached their table. She seemed to have been watching Li Wuxin discreetly, and after a moment's hesitation, she stepped forward, a friendly smile on her lips. Her graying hair was neatly tied, and her well-kept kimono testified to her modest but respectable status.

"Young man, forgive my intrusion," she began in a soft, almost honeyed voice. "Are you married? I have a daughter, very gentle, very educated... She would be delighted to meet you."

Li Wuxin, who had been about to take a bite of his cake, froze. He looked up at the woman, a little surprised, a little disconcerted by the boldness of her question. He wasn't used to such personal inquiries from strangers, especially in such a peaceful place. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He simply stared at the woman, perplexed.

At that moment, Xu Moyao, who had stepped away to fetch a fresh teapot, returned calmly to the table. He placed the porcelain on the wooden surface as if perfectly aware of what was unfolding. He looked at the woman with an unwavering calm, and without waiting a second longer, he responded in a clear, tranquil voice.

"Yes," he said simply, with a peaceful smile, his eyes slowly shifting to Li Wuxin. "He already has a husband."

The silence that followed this statement was charged with a certain tension. The woman, taken aback by such a direct answer, seemed frozen at first. She swallowed hard, her smile slowly fading from her face, and a veil of confusion passed over her features. Her hands, which had been held close to her kimono, folded discreetly. She struggled to find her words, as if the situation had suddenly slipped out of her grasp.

However, Xu Moyao, in all his presence, did not lose his composure. After making this statement, he slowly leaned toward Li Wuxin, a gesture of simplicity almost too natural, as if it was something he did all the time. And, with infinite tenderness, he placed his lips on Li Wuxin's forehead. This kiss was light, almost imperceptible, but it carried with it a tenderness that left no doubt as to the intent.

"Here, your tea, my love," Xu Moyao whispered in a low, soft voice, almost like a murmur. The tone was peaceful, affectionate, but there was an obvious subtext in his words and gesture.

Li Wuxin, taken aback by such an intimate action, blushed deeply, his heart beating faster in his chest. He looked down at his teacup, as if it could suddenly absorb him completely and shield him from the growing embarrassment enveloping him. Xu Moyao's words, echoed in his mind like a soft melody. He called me my love.

But before he could find a response, the woman, still a little confused, made a slight movement backward, without saying another word.

She bowed politely, a faint flush tinting her cheeks, before slipping away as quickly as she had appeared, leaving behind a strange atmosphere.

Li Wuxin, still embarrassed, bit his lower lip as he stared at his teacup. He could hardly bring himself to look up. The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and his mind felt clouded. He had never been in such an exposed position before.

Xu Moyao, for his part, gave no sign of his gesture in his demeanor. He calmly sat at the table, his eyes still fixed on Li Wuxin, but a slight smile tugged at his lips. He raised his teacup, taking a sip before casting a mischievous glance.

"You're a bit red," he said, an amused gleam in his eyes. "I guess you didn't expect that."

Li Wuxin, unable to suppress a nervous little laugh, shook his head, still a bit shaken by the incident. "No... not at all."

The two men then allowed themselves to be carried away by a lighter, more natural silence, as if this little incident were entirely insignificant.

The scene, though light, left an indelible imprint in the air, a promise of what might be, beneath smiles and silent gestures of affection.

"You didn't have to go that far," he murmured.

In the afternoon, they met Lan Boxiao not far away, the wind playing in her dark hair, a carefully folded kite under her arm. The young woman, with the liveliness of a free and curious spirit, smiled determinedly, as though preparing to face a new battle. At 17, Lan Boxiao was far from a child, but there was a sparkle in her eyes, a brilliance of soul that made her more alive than ever.

She glanced for a moment at the two men, who were slowly approaching, and a knowing smile appeared on her lips. "Are you coming, or just watching? This kite won't fly by itself." She gave the kite a little shake, a gesture that, in its impetuosity, betrayed the energy of youth that longed to unfold 

Li Wuxin, smiling amusedly, responded with no words. He walked slowly, watching how Lan Boxiao held herself. Beside him, Xu Moyao observed the scene with an amused look, his eyes catching the light that reflected on the young woman's features. Lan Boxiao was no longer the simple child of the past. She seemed to embody the simplicity of a suspended moment, far from the battlefields.

The young woman led the two men to the tall grass, their steps softly crushing the green earth beneath them. The place seemed outside of time. There was only the open sky and the wind.

Once the kite was unfolded, they clumsily tied it to the strings, exchanging smiles and laughter. Xu Moyao, for his part, focused seriously on the necessary movements to keep the kite stable, his gaze showing a rare patience, while Li Wuxin, more distracted, laughed often at his own clumsiness.

When the kite finally soared, carried by the light spring breeze, the scene had something magical about it, like a living painting. The kite's colors stretched across the light blue sky, joyfully contrasting with the vastness of the ever-brighter sky. Xu Moyao, letting the string slip between his fingers, turned toward Li Wuxin. His eyes lingered on him for a moment before moving to Lan Boxiao, a soft light in his gaze.

The scene, in all its simplicity, seemed to capture an instant of family tranquility. Without either of them realizing it, without anyone saying a word, they formed this peaceful, perfect image of what life could be, far from the battlegrounds and the turmoil. The wind in Lan Boxiao's hair, the warmth of Xu Moyao's hands, and the quiet gentleness of Li Wuxin.

Lan Boxiao, a subtle smile on her lips, wandered off for a moment to run through the grass, her feet lightly striking the ground with a youthful lightness, a stark contrast to the warrior she had once been. She was far from a child, but in this moment, she seemed to recover some of the carefree nature of her early years. "Come on, hold it tight!" she called playfully while running behind the kite. She looked at the two men with sparkling eyes full of mischief.

Li Wuxin stood up and observed the kite, then, seeing the young woman running in the grass, a smile began to form on his face. Xu Moyao, for his part, seemed just as at ease. He has allowed himself to be filled with a strange form of serenity, as if, for a moment, this scene with Lan Boxiao and Li Wuxin was an instant where, in the simplest of ways, they had found a kind of balance, an unexpected peace.

Gradually, the sun began to set.

Lan Boxiao, exhausted after running through the grass, stretched, a tired but happy smile on her lips. "I'm going to rest for a bit, see you tomorrow," she said before getting up.

Li Wuxin rested his head gently against Xu Moyao’s shoulder, and for a long moment, neither of them moved—they simply stayed like that, wrapped in the quiet, breathing as one

Then, with a natural simplicity, Xu Moyao broke the silence.

"It's getting chilly. How about we go out for a little while?"

Li Wuxin nodded, a slight smile on his lips. They then walked away from the place where they had spent the afternoon, their footsteps softly resonating on the gravel as they entered the calm night that stretched before them.

They walked until they reached the bridge.

The water flowed slowly beneath them, reflecting the pale glow of the round moon, bathing the world in a calm, reflective light. They walked. The water slid gently beneath them, casting the pale reflection of the moon.

They sat together at the edge, their feet gently dipping into the cool water. The contact with the water, soft and slightly invigorating, further calmed their thoughts. The light murmur of the stream seemed to merge with the breeze that gently stirred the trees around them.

"She was really persistent, that woman," murmured Li Wuxin, a slight smile on his lips.

Xu Moyao shrugged, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "She's not entirely wrong, though. It's... a little sad."

He let the words float in the air, like an unspoken question between them.

Li Wuxin turned his head, intrigued by Xu Moyao's tone, searching his gaze for an explanation left unspoken. Their eyes met, and something invisible passed between them, a quiet, mutual understanding.

Xu Moyao, eyes still fixed on Li Wuxin, seemed to pause for a moment. Then, with an unthinkably gentle voice, he murmured, almost like a promise, "I could... take care of it, if you want."

The words flowed from his lips like a caress, slow, as if each syllable carried all its weight, but with infinite tenderness. The atmosphere seemed to tense and relax simultaneously, creating an intimate, fragile space where each word had the power to mark a turning point. Li Wuxin stared at Xu Moyao for a moment, a faint glimmer in his eyes, as if he had just understood something he hadn't considered before. His heart, which had been beating steadily until now, began to accelerate gently, but without hurry, like a breath that deepens under the effect of a soothing breeze. A gentle warmth rose within him, a light shiver running over his skin, as if the world around him melted into this suspended moment.

 Xu Moyao murmured, eyes locked with his, "Would you want me by your side, for life?"

The question fell like a petal in the water. Without a sound. But the whole world seemed to freeze.

Li Wuxin leaned closer, his trembling fingers brushing Xu Moyao's hand. There were no words. Only a kiss.

Their lips met, shy, filled with the tenderness they had both buried for too long. It was not a fire. It was a slow warmth, a soft light that warmed them to the heart.

They stayed there for a moment, looking at each other, foreheads touching.

And Li Wuxin thought:

He had believed that the most beautiful marriage proposals were made on one knee, with a ring, under the gaze of others. But he was wrong.

Sometimes, the most sincere promises are made standing, under the moon, with a simple kiss.