Zhao Lingxi came back from morning cultivation at the seventh bell, slightly later than usual, with frost still melting off her sleeves and the particular focused quiet of someone who had been pushing their limits and was pleased about the results.
She walked into the dining hall, scanned the table, and sat down beside Lan Yue.
Not across from her. Beside her. In the seat that had been empty all morning.
Lan Yue continued eating her congee with great concentration.
"How was training?" Zhao Han asked his sister, with the cheerful innocence of someone who was not at all watching the distance between two people's elbows.
"Productive." Zhao Lingxi accepted the tea that appeared at her elbow, which Lan Yue had poured before she consciously decided to, a reflex so established it happened before thought. She drank without commenting on it, which was also a kind of comment.
Lan Yue focused very hard on her congee.
