Shu Mingye woke slowly. His eyes blinked open, squinting against the soft glow filling the cave. Everything shimred faintly, like starlight had been trapped inside the walls. For one very brief, very quiet mont, he wondered if he was dead. Then his side throbbed.
Ah. No. Still alive. Just unlucky.
With a groan that ca from sowhere deep in his soul, Shu Mingye rolled onto one elbow and pushed himself upright. His hair was sticking to his face, his shoulders were sore, and his pride was nowhere to be found. He sat there for a beat, rubbing the back of his neck and gathering what was left of his dignity before turning his head.
Linyue lay right beside him, still unconscious. Her long lashes rested against her pale cheeks, her breathing soft and even. She looked so calm it was almost insulting, as if she had picked this glowing cave floor as the perfect place for an afternoon nap. Not like soone who had collapsed mid-sentence after drinking suspiciously shiny water. Typical.
A little farther away, Song iyu was sprawled on the ground. Her limbs pointed in at least four confusing directions. No dramatic shouting. No wild hand gestures. Just silence. Which was unusual and slightly concerning.
The only person upright was Shen Zhenyu. He knelt beside Song iyu, checking her pulse with the sa calm expression he always wore. Honestly, that man could probably watch the sky fall and still only arch one very polite eyebrow.
Shu Mingye groaned quietly and ignored the pounding in his head. His attention went straight back to Linyue. He reached out and gently pulled her into his arms. Her skin was still cool to the touch. His hand brushed her cheek, and his heart gave an uncomfortable thump.
Still breathing. Still cold. Still her.
“…Trouble,” he muttered. “Even unconscious, you’re nothing but trouble.”
He let out a soft sigh and rested his chin on her head. Just for a mont. Just long enough to forget the pain in his ribs and the chaos around them. She felt small against him. Light and cold. She looked like she belonged here, surrounded by quartz walls and soft light, as if the cave had been made to fra her. Untouchable. Serene. And sohow, he felt like an intruder just holding her.
Shen Zhenyu’s calm, level voice broke the silence. “So that’s what the riddle ant. The spring recalls what ti forgot.”
Shu Mingye didn't bother looking up. He just gave a little nod. This wasn’t just a spring that healed wounds. It reached deeper than that. It tugged at sothing buried, pulling loose pieces of the past—mories they had shoved away, dreams they had stopped dreaming, monts they wished they could hold on to or wished they could forget.
He didn’t say what he saw. He didn’t ask what Shen Zhenyu saw either. So things were not ant to be shared. But as his gaze drifted back to Linyue’s face, sothing tightened in his chest. Sothing stubborn. Sothing dangerous. Sothing already too far gone.
He hadn’t just fallen into a dream. He had fallen again—harder, faster, deeper—straight into her. And this ti, he was pretty sure there was no climbing back out. Not without leaving half of himself behind. Like common sense. And maybe his dignity.
A soft groan broke the cave’s heavy silence.
Song iyu stirred, finally waking. She blinked a few tis, frowned at the glowing cave around her, and pressed both palms to her temples as if trying to rember where she had put her brain.
“…What happened?” she mumbled, voice unusually small.
Shen Zhenyu, sitting nearby with a thoughtful expression, answered calmly. “It must be because of the spring.”
Normally, Song iyu would leap to her feet, throw her hands in the air, and start listing possible magical side effects including spontaneous marriage and forgetting how to speak. But now she just stayed where she was, hugging her knees and staring at the glowing water in silence.
Shen Zhenyu’s brows knit in concern. This was not the usual Song iyu behavior. “iyu,” he asked gently, “are you alright?”
Her head lifted, and she gave him a wobbly smile. Her usual sparkle wasn’t gone, but it had definitely gone on vacation. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I will be.” Then her gaze shifted to where Linyue still lay in Shu Mingye’s arms. “Sister Linyue hasn’t woken up yet?”
Shu Mingye didn’t bother answering with words. He just shook his head once.
Trying for sothing close to her usual tone, Song iyu tilted her head and offered a crooked grin. “Maybe she’s just using this chance to sleep longer. Sister Linyue does have excellent priorities.”
Shu Mingye didn’t even crack a smile. His eyes stayed locked on Linyue, dark and unreadable.
The air settled into silence again. They sat around the glowing spring, each lost in their own heavy thoughts. Ti beca slippery in the cave. Was it minutes? Hours? There was no way to tell. No sunlight. No shadows. Only the soft, eternal shimr of blue quartz walls and the quiet hiss of mist curling from the spring.
And Linyue… still hadn’t woken up.
Shu Mingye held her a little tighter. He glanced down at her face again, as if sothing might have changed in the last few seconds. Nothing had. Her lips were slightly parted. Her lashes didn’t move. Her expression was peaceful in the most frustrating way possible. She looked like she was dreaming about clouds. Or buns. Or clouds made of buns. Whatever it was, she clearly had no plans of waking up.
Shu Mingye’s jaw tensed. For the first ti in his life, a very stupid question pushed its way into his head.
When she woke up… would she still be real?
He didn’t know what she had seen. The spring had clearly shown them sothing. He knew what he had seen, and that mory still sat heavy in his chest. And now, sitting here with her weight pressed against him, he wasn’t sure which terrified him more—rembering what the spring had shown him… or realizing how much he never wanted to forget it.
The silence stretched too long.
Finally, Shen Zhenyu stood up and brushed imaginary dust off his robes. “I’ll try to find a way out,” he said calmly, his voice echoing against the quartz walls, breaking the tension just enough.
“I’ll co with you!” Song iyu called quickly, jumping up and hurrying after him, clearly needing sothing to do before her thoughts swallowed her whole.
Their footsteps faded into the narrow passage, leaving only two people behind. And his rapidly growing collection of Very Unhelpful Feelings.
He looked down at her again. Still asleep. Still too peaceful. Everyone else had woken up. Even Song iyu, who had looked like a drowned starfish when she first ca to. But Linyue stayed where she was, head against his chest, as if she had decided the glowing spring was her personal bed.
His thoughts got louder.
What if she didn’t wake up?
The question hit him harder than he expected. He reached out before he could stop himself, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. His thumb brushed her cheek once. Then again. Then a third ti, because stopping suddenly felt illegal. She was so small. So cold. So painfully precious it made his head spin.
“Just a nap,” he told himself in the flattest voice he could manage. “A very long, overly dramatic nap.”
But his chest felt tight. A deep, slow squeeze that no amount of logic or fire could burn away. She had caused him nothing but trouble since the day they t. Trouble he would take again and again. He scowled at himself. This was not the ti. But his hand wouldn’t listen. His heart definitely wasn’t listening either. And now, the quiet truth he had tried so hard to bury was screaming in his head.
He had fallen. Hard. And she didn’t even know it.
Didn’t know how much space she had taken in his heart.
Didn’t know she was the reason his thoughts kept tangling like thread.
Didn’t know she had sohow beco the soft ache sitting quietly in his chest.
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