The landing was smooth.
Cāng Jì touched down at the edge of the clearing with a grace that belied his earlier dramatics. His golden scales gleamed. His wings folded against his back. His tail curled once, twice, and then stilled.
He looked, Zhen thought irritably, like he knew exactly how impressive he was.
"Get off," he said.
"We are getting off."
"Get off faster."
Zhen climbed down. Tao Zi climbed down after her. Neither of them let go of each other's hands.
Han Shān was waiting.
His arms were crossed. His expression was unreadable. His icy blue eyes swept over them—taking in the tangled hair, the flushed cheeks, the way their fingers were still intertwined.
Zhen squared her shoulders.
"Papa," she said.
"Zhen."
"We are friends again."
"Mm."
"And also the other thing."
Han Shān's eyebrow twitched. It was the smallest movement, barely perceptible, but Zhen had been studying her father's face her entire life.
"The other thing," Han Shān repeated.
