For a moment, neither spoke.
The mountain breeze drifted quietly through the bamboo.
The morning sun had fully risen now, casting warm light across the shrine courtyard.
Everything felt peaceful.
Too peaceful.
As though the mountain itself wished to keep moments like this a little longer.
Eventually, Lu Wenyuan adjusted the strap resting over his shoulder.
The simple movement reminded them both.
It was time.
His gaze drifted toward the shrine one last time.
Toward the familiar wooden walls.
Toward the quiet courtyard.
Toward the life Shen Qiyao had built with his own hands.
Then unexpectedly—
He laughed.
The sound caught Shen Qiyao's attention.
"What?"
Lu Wenyuan shook his head.
"Nothing."
"A lie."
"Perhaps."
The older man smiled.
Then looked toward the half-open doorway of the shrine.
Then unexpectedly—
Lu Wenyuan laughed.
The sound caught Shen Qiyao's attention.
"What?"
Lu Wenyuan shook his head.
"Nothing."
"A lie."
"Perhaps."
The older man's gaze drifted toward the shrine.
Toward the half-open doorway.
Toward the sleeping figure who had somehow managed to defeat both his blanket and sleeping mat.
For a moment, Lu Wenyuan simply watched.
Then he smiled.
The kind of smile that belonged to someone who had finally found an answer to a question that had troubled him for years.
"A-Yuan."
"Hm?"
"You've always had terrible luck with people."
Shen Qiyao:
"..."
The answer was immediate.
"That is a very rude thing to say."
"It is also true."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"A-Yuan."
Lu Wenyuan looked entirely unimpressed.
"I was there."
The response died before it could properly begin.
For several moments, only silence remained.
Then the older man looked once more toward the sleeping He Qing.
His expression softened.
And quietly said:
"It seems you've finally gotten lucky once."
The words appeared without warning.
Shen Qiyao blinked.
For a moment, he didn't understand.
Then he followed Lu Wenyuan's gaze.
Inside the shrine.
A blanket had once again lost its battle against its owner.
One corner rested on the floor.
One sleeve was hanging off the sleeping mat.
And somehow—
Despite sleeping alone—
He Qing had managed to occupy nearly the entire space.
Shen Qiyao stared.
Silently.
Lu Wenyuan waited.
Several moments passed.
Then:
"...He's troublesome."
The answer arrived immediately.
Lu Wenyuan laughed.
"Of course he is."
"He talks too much."
"Obviously."
"He drinks too much."
"Undoubtedly."
"He causes problems."
"Frequently."
"He never listens."
"Not even once."
The two men exchanged a look.
Then unexpectedly laughed together.
For a brief moment, the years between them disappeared again.
Lu Wenyuan's smile gradually faded.
Not into sadness.
Into something gentler.
"A-Yuan."
His voice was quieter this time.
"I've known many people."
The breeze stirred softly around them.
"Scholars."
"Officials."
"Nobles."
"Generals."
His gaze remained on the sleeping figure inside.
"Very few had a heart as clean as his."
The words settled quietly between them.
No exaggeration.
No poetry.
Simply truth.
"He doesn't care who you were."
The older man smiled faintly.
"He doesn't care who your father is."
"He doesn't care about your clan."
"Or your position."
"Or your wealth."
Shen Qiyao remained silent.
Because he knew.
Perhaps better than anyone.
Lu Wenyuan's expression softened further.
"He only cares whether you've eaten."
The image was immediate.
Unfortunately.
"A-Yuan."
"Hm."
"Don't lose him."
The words were simple.
Yet they landed heavily.
For the first time since arriving in Zhuyin Village, Lu Wenyuan sounded completely serious.
No teasing.
No laughter.
No hidden meaning.
Just sincerity.
The mountain grew quiet.
Shen Qiyao looked toward the shrine.
Toward the sleeping figure.
Toward the life he had never expected to have.
For a moment, sunlight caught the small mole beside He Qing's lip.
A familiar sight.
One he had somehow become accustomed to.
The sleeping expression was entirely defenseless.
Carefree.
Trusting.
Exactly the opposite of everything Shen Qiyao had spent years becoming.
Without realizing it—
A small smile appeared.
Only briefly.
Only for a moment.
But it was there.
Lu Wenyuan saw it.
And suddenly understood everything he needed to know.
A faint laugh escaped him.
"A-Yuan."
Shen Qiyao immediately looked suspicious.
"Don't."
"I haven't said anything."
"You were about to."
"I was."
The older man looked entirely unrepentant.
Then finally took a step backward.
Toward the mountain path.
The moment had arrived.
The true farewell.
For a while neither moved.
Neither spoke.
The friendship between them was too old for dramatic goodbyes.
Too familiar for lengthy speeches.
At last, Lu Wenyuan smiled.
The same smile he had worn countless years ago.
Back when neither of them understood how complicated life would become.
"Take care of yourself."
Shen Qiyao lowered his head slightly.
"You too."
Then Lu Wenyuan turned.
And began walking down the mountain.
The bamboo swayed gently around him.
One step.
Then another.
The distance slowly growing.
Shen Qiyao remained standing beneath the shrine gate.
Watching.
As he always had.
As he always would.
The morning sunlight followed the winding path downward.
Until eventually—
The familiar figure disappeared among the trees.
Gone.
Only then did Shen Qiyao finally turn back.
The shrine stood quietly behind him.
Peaceful.
Unchanged.
From inside came the sound of someone rolling over in their sleep.
Followed by a muffled complaint directed at absolutely nobody.
Shen Qiyao paused.
Then looked toward the doorway.
A moment later—
The faintest smile touched the corner of his mouth.
Small.
Private.
Seen by no one.
And carrying more warmth than he would ever admit.
The mountain breeze drifted through the bamboo.
The road below continued onward.
And for the first time in many years—
The future felt uncertain.
But not lonely.