Yilan looked at him, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of wonder and a deep, aching vulnerability. The poem was simple, but the way he said her name, like a sacred vow, made her feel more seen than she had in decades.
"You truly are a silver-tongued devil," she whispered, her voice thick with a vulnerability she couldn't quite mask. "I don't think any woman could stand a chance if you spoke to them with such... intent."
"I don't care about 'any' woman," Shen Yu replied, his hazel-colored eyes locking onto hers with a weight that made her pulse flutter. "My words, like my heart, only have one destination. The woman riding beside me."
Yilan felt the heat rising to her cheeks again, but she couldn't resist a playful, slightly jealous jab. "Oh? And what about those other women of yours, Yu'er?"
"Other women, Yilan?" he asked, his scholarly mask twisting into a devastatingly knowing smirk. "I'm not sure I follow."
