CHAPTER 114: TWILIGHT STRINGS

The moon hung low over the Whispering Lake, its silver light shimmering across the water like delicate silk threads.

Hei Long stood near the edge of a pagoda built on stilts, his robes trailing softly in the breeze. Behind him, spiritual lanterns floated lazily in the air, casting muted colors across the secluded sanctuary.

Xu Qingyue had been meditating beside the lake for hours now.

To most, it looked like she was simply cultivating. But Hei Long had come to understand the subtle signs—her posture relaxed, yet her spiritual energy quietly fluctuating, as though dancing between calm and chaos. There was conflict in her heart.

And that conflict bore his name.

He hadn’t needed to lift a finger yet. Lin Fan had done the work for him—desperate gifts, poorly-worded confessions, awkward stalking under the guise of "coincidence."

Xu Qingyue, for all her kindness, had begun keeping a quiet emotional distance from him.

And Hei Long... had stepped in, like silk wrapping around fire.

As he approached, Xu Qingyue opened her eyes. Her silver pupils reflected the moonlight in a way that was otherworldly—fragile, but sharp.

"You’re here again," she said quietly, her voice soft like dew. "It’s the third time this week."

Hei Long smiled with that same subtle warmth that made people question if he ever meant what he said—or meant everything. "Perhaps this lake is only beautiful when you’re near it."

She scoffed, standing and brushing her robes. "That’s dangerous talk."

He tilted his head. "Only if you believe it."

Xu Qingyue narrowed her eyes, but there was no malice in her gaze—only curiosity, laced with something she couldn’t define yet. "Lin Fan warned me about you," she said suddenly. "He said you’re manipulative. A liar. A thief of hearts."

Hei Long chuckled, brushing his fingers along the intricate wooden rail. "And what do you think?"

She was silent for a long time. Then: "I think Lin Fan wants the world to be simple. Good and bad. Friend and foe. But you... are not simple."

That was the crack he’d been waiting for.

"You’re right," he murmured, stepping closer. "I’ve done things I won’t deny. But I’ve never lied to you. Not once."

A quiet hush settled between them. The lake rippled.

Xu Qingyue exhaled slowly, staring out across the moonlit surface. "He confessed to me today. Lin Fan."

Hei Long raised a brow. "And?"

"I told him I needed time."

"That was kind."

"Was it?"

Hei Long paused, then moved to stand beside her. "You don’t owe kindness to someone who wants to possess you. You owe truth to yourself."

Her breath hitched—just slightly.

Then Hei Long slowly extended a small, shimmering box. Inside it lay a delicate charm—an ethereal silver blossom carved from starsteel. When it touched her palm, it pulsed faintly with warm energy.

"A token," he said. "Not a confession. Just something to remember tonight."

Xu Qingyue stared at it, caught between emotion and uncertainty.

"But what do you want?" she whispered.

Hei Long’s gaze was unreadable. "To walk with you," he said. "Even if only for a while."

And then he stepped back, giving her space, bowing slightly.

"Goodnight, Qingyue."

She watched him go, the charm trembling faintly in her hand.

Far in the shadows, hidden by layers of illusion, Lin Fan clenched his fists.

He had seen it all.

And once again... he was too late.

. . . . .

The storm was dying, but the winds still whispered.

Hei Long stood beneath the crooked pavilion at the edge of the Mist-Swallowing Forest, black robes damp with scattered droplets, long hair glistening as the last threads of rain surrendered to the night.

He didn’t need shelter. He was watching.

She was there again. That girl.

Mu Lanyue.

She moved with the careful grace of a lotus unfurling, delicate yet unknowingly proud. Even soaked by the storm, she gave off the illusion of something untouched, ethereal.

Her spiritual energy shimmered faintly despite her attempts to suppress it, but Hei Long could feel it—water-aligned, strong, disciplined, and yet... vulnerable.

Lin Fan was close by.

Huddled beneath his cheap parasol, trembling not from the cold but from the surge of something far more volatile. Obsession. Love. That doomed, bleeding thing he tried to dress up as destiny.

Hei Long exhaled slowly. So this is the one.

He watched as Lin Fan took a tentative step forward, clutching a folded cloth. A gesture of kindness. Pathetic.

"She’ll never love you back," Hei Long murmured. "But let me show you how it’s done."

The next day arrived wrapped in sun-drenched clarity.

The storm was gone, leaving behind the scent of rebirth and damp earth.

Disciples gathered across the outer courts for the seasonal exchange—a time when cultivators from sister sects mingled, traded techniques, and showed off more than just skills.

Mu Lanyue stood at the edge of a clearwater pond, speaking politely with a group of elders. Her expression was polite but distant. She didn’t smile much.

Lin Fan lingered nearby, in the background, holding a hand-carved wooden token—something he spent three nights carving. An offering of his feelings, sealed in trembling hands.

Hei Long, of course, arrived fashionably late.

His presence shifted the atmosphere like an unseen blade.

Girls whispered. Boys watched with cautious awe. Hei Long walked through it all like he owned the land. His steps were silent. His intentions were not.

When he approached Lanyue, it was as if no one else existed.

"I noticed your water alignment," he said, voice smooth like aged jade wine. "Your control over the mist yesterday... was exquisite."

Mu Lanyue blinked, surprised he’d noticed. "...You were watching?"

"I study many things," Hei Long said. "But I remember the beautiful ones."

She flushed faintly.

Lin Fan clenched the token so hard it cracked.

Days passed.

Lin Fan tried again and again—dropping hints, lending books, offering help in quiet moments. But every time he approached, she was just finishing a conversation with Hei Long.

Or laughing quietly at a rare joke Hei Long allowed himself to share.

Or walking away, unknowingly passing by Lin Fan without seeing him at all.

The final blow came one night under the peach blossoms.

Hei Long and Mu Lanyue stood alone on the terrace. Moonlight filtered through the petals like the sighs of ghosts.

"...Why me?" she asked softly. "You could have anyone."

Hei Long leaned close, gaze unreadable. "Because I saw the way you looked at the rain. And I thought—what if someone could look at you the same way?"

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

She stepped closer.

Lin Fan watched from below, behind a tree, forgotten wooden token clutched in broken fingers.

And the moon kept rising.