He withdrew his hand.

He knew that tomorrow was the Aptitude Test.

"If I have high aptitude," he vowed silently to the sleeping figure, "I will become powerful. I will become so powerful that no one, not the Innkeeper, not the Sect Elders, not the Heavens, can tell me I cannot share a room with you."

He closed his eyes, listening to the rhythm of her breath, and finally, amidst the torment of desire and the peace of proximity, the Villain fell asleep.

.

.

.

Even though they fell asleep, the dream Wangchen saw didn’t get a chance to last long as Lin Ji’an woke him up and dragged him out of the inn.

The night sky above the Cloud-Piercing Peak was a tapestry of velvet and diamonds, but it paled in comparison to the galaxy of lights that had erupted on the streets of the Outer City.

"Come on, Little Puddle! Move your legs!"

Lin Ji’an stood at the entrance of the Night Market, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a child on a sugar high.

She had swapped her travel-stained robes for a fresh set of azure silk, purchased at the Merchant Guild branch earlier that afternoon, and she looked less like a weary traveler and more like a young noble out to conquer the world.

Behind her, Xie Wangchen adjusted his cuffs.

He wore a matching set of robes in moon-white, the silver embroidery catching the lantern light. He looked ethereal, cold, and devastatingly handsome.

"Young Master," Wangchen said, stepping up beside her. "The Sect Curfew is at the hour of the Rat. We have four hours."

"Four hours is plenty of time to eat the entire street," Ji’an declared, grabbing his sleeve. "Listen, Wangchen. Once we enter the Sect, it’s going to be fasting pills, bland vegetables, and meditation. This is our last supper. Our last night of freedom. We are going to make it count."

Wangchen looked at her hand on his sleeve. A small, private smile touched his lips, unseen in the shadows.

’Our last night before entering the sect,’ he thought. ’Just the two of us.’

He didn’t care about the food. He didn’t care about the lights. He only cared that for the next four hours, Lin Ji’an’s attention would be exclusively his.

"As you command, Young Master," he said softly.

They dove into the crowd. The market was a sensory explosion. The air was thick with the scent of cumin, roasting meat, sweet bean paste, and the ozone tang of minor magical displays.

Cultivators from all over the continent had gathered here, bringing their local delicacies with them.

"Look at that! Fire-Breathing Squid!"

Ji’an dragged him to a stall where a chef was using a minor fire spell to flash-sear skewers of purple squid. She bought two.

"Eat," she ordered, shoving one into Wangchen’s hand. "It’s spicy enough to burn your cultivation base. It’s great."

Wangchen took a bite. The heat exploded in his mouth, numbing his tongue, but the savory marinade was addictive.

He watched Ji’an take a massive bite of hers, sauce smudging the corner of her lip.

Without thinking, he reached out with his thumb and wiped it away.

Ji’an froze mid-chew. She looked at him, blinking.

Wangchen’s hand hovered in the air. His heart skipped a beat. ’Wasn’t that too intimate? Did I cross the line?’

"Messy," he muttered, quickly retracting his hand and looking away at a display of spirit-lanterns. "A Young Master should mind his image."

Ji’an swallowed. She grinned, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "Thanks, Mom. You’re such a worrywart."

They moved on, leaving Wangchen with a burning thumb and a racing heart.

They played games. At a stall run by an old rogue cultivator, Ji’an used her incredible hand-eye coordination, honed by years of chopping vegetables. to win a game of "Throw the Needle through the Coin."

"Winner!" the old man cackled, handing her the prize.

It was a pair of sword tassels. One blue, one white. They were woven from Spirit-Spider silk, durable and water-resistant.

Ji’an held them up. She tossed the white one to Wangchen.

"For Winter’s Sigh," she said casually. "It looks a bit naked without a tassel. And blue matches me. We match."

We match.

The words echoed in Wangchen’s mind. He looked at the white tassel in his hand. It wasn’t an expensive artifact. It wasn’t a powerful weapon. But to him, it weighed more than a mountain.

He tied it to the hilt of his sword immediately, his fingers trembling slightly.

"I will never take it off," he vowed quietly.

"Don’t be dramatic, it costs three copper coins," Ji’an laughed, grabbing a bag of Dragon-Beard Candy. "Come on, I see a mask shop!"

For an hour, it was perfect. It was a bubble of happiness suspended in time. Just the Chef and her Wolf, wandering through a river of stars.

Wangchen felt a sense of peace he had never known in his life. He forgot about the Sect. He forgot about his past. He forgot about the world.

And then, the world remembered them.

They were standing on a stone bridge overlooking the canal, watching floating lanterns drift downstream.

The atmosphere was romantic, or at least, atmospheric enough that Ji’an was feeling sentimental about her mission progress.

"Brother Lin! Is that you?"

The voice was melodious, breathless, and instantly recognizable.

Wangchen’s spine stiffened. The peace in his eyes shattered like glass, replaced by a jagged, cold irritation.

He turned slowly.

Coming down the bridge toward them was Gu Zhiwei. The Protagonist was dressed in new robes, of course, holding a lantern.

Beside him, fanning himself with elegant leisure, was Wen Shiru.

"It is Brother Lin!" Gu Zhiwei beamed, his face lighting up brighter than the lanterns. He rushed forward, disregarding personal space. "I told Brother Wen I thought I saw your profile! What a coincidence!"

’Coincidence?’ Wangchen thought, his hand twitching toward his sword hilt. ’It is a curse. A plague.’

Ji’an turned, masking her own surprise with a practiced smile.