The medicinal wing was quiet in the late afternoon.
Sunlight filtered through the paper windows, warm but faint, barely cutting through the lingering chill in the air. Shelves of herbs lined the walls—neatly arranged, familiar in a way that made Lin Yue's chest tighten despite herself.
The scent of dried foxglove and bitter root was a song she knew by heart, but today, the melody was out of tune.
She stood at one of the low tables, carefully grinding dried roots with slow, deliberate motions.
Too slow.
Her arm trembled slightly as she worked. It was a betrayal of the flesh, her meridians straining like frayed rope holding back a flood.
Lin Yue paused, resting the pestle against the bowl until the shaking subsided. She did not sigh. Did not frown. She had learned long ago that frustration only wasted energy she could not afford to lose.
Her breathing was shallow today.
The relic's earlier response still lingered in her meridians, subtle but persistent—like a dull ache that refused to fade. She reached instinctively toward her side, stopping herself just in time. She reached for a golden core that had been gone for five years, her fingers finding only the hollow phantom of power.
Not here.
Not now.
Footsteps approached.
Lin Yue straightened automatically, schooling her expression into calm neutrality just as a familiar voice spoke.
"You know, most people sit down when they look like that."
She looked up.
Xu Wen leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, expression easy but eyes sharp with concern. He had changed out of his training robes, hair still slightly damp from washing, a faint scent of soap following him inside. He was a burst of uncomplicated life in a room full of ghosts.
"I look fine," Lin Yue said.
He snorted. "That's what everyone says right before they collapse."
She smiled faintly despite herself. "You're observant."
"Occupational hazard," he replied cheerfully, stepping inside. "Sect Leader Shen told us to report anything unusual. I figured you qualify."
Lin Yue set the pestle down carefully. "I'm not 'unusual.' Just tired."
Xu Wen glanced at the bowl. "You've been preparing stabilizing draughts all afternoon."
She didn't deny it.
"That much strain, even on a healer—" He stopped himself, then corrected gently, "—especially on a healer, isn't nothing." He looked at her hands, seeing the tremor she thought she had hidden.
Lin Yue studied him for a moment.
There was no accusation in his tone. No pity. Just straightforward concern, unpolished and sincere.
"It needs to be done," she said.
Xu Wen pulled out a stool and sat without asking. "Then it can be done slower."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is that an order?"
"No," he said easily. "Advice. From someone who doesn't want to explain to the sect why the consultant passed out among the herbs."
A beat passed .
Then Lin Yue laughed quietly—surprised by the sound herself. It was a dry, rusty sound, like a gate that hadn't been opened in years.
"Very well," she said, easing herself onto the bench opposite him. "Slower."
Xu Wen grinned, victorious. "See? We're already getting along."
She shook her head. "You're persistent."
"I prefer 'reliable.'"
As she sat, the dizziness crept up again, subtle but unmistakable. Lin Yue closed her eyes briefly, waiting for it to pass. The world tilted, the rows of medicine jars dancing behind her eyelids.
Xu Wen noticed.
He didn't comment anything.
Instead, he slid a cup of warm water toward her. "Drink."
She opened one eye. "You came prepared."
"I learn fast."
She accepted the cup, fingers brushing his briefly. Her skin was cold, like river stone in winter.
"Thank you," she said.
The words were quiet. Genuine.
Xu Wen scratched the back of his head, suddenly a little awkward. "For what it's worth… the disciples like you. They say you explain things without talking down to them."
Lin Yue smiled, softer this time. "That's good."
"They also say you don't smile much."
"That's… also accurate."
He hesitated, then asked, "Does it hurt? Being back here."
Lin Yue looked down at the cup in her hands. She saw her reflection in the water—pale, diminished, a shadow of the woman who had once led this sect.
"Yes," she said simply.
Xu Wen nodded, as if that were answer enough. "Then… if you need help with the small things—fetching herbs, carrying boxes, keeping people from bothering you—I'm around."
She glanced up, surprised.
"Why?" she asked.
He shrugged. "You remind me of someone who takes care of everyone and forgets herself. Someone ought to balance that out."
He didn't say that she reminded him of Shen Rui, but the subtext was there—both women were drowning in their own sense of duty.
Lin Yue studied him for a long moment.
Then she nodded once. "I'll remember that."
"Good," Xu Wen said, standing. "Now rest. I'll tell the others you're busy doing important healer things."
She watched him go, warmth settling faintly in her chest—fragile, unfamiliar, but welcome.
When the room was quiet again, Lin Yue leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
For the first time since returning to Qinghe, she did not feel entirely alone. But the silence was soon broken by a cold, familiar presence approaching from the corridor.