The thunderous blast of the iron door,

  the shriek of venting steam,

  the clash of gunfire and steel—

  those sounds still clung to their eardrums,

  pulsing faintly with every heartbeat.

  When the hidden door finally sealed behind them,

  shutting out the shouts and chaos of their pursuers,

  and the narrow passage held only ragged breathing and stumbling footsteps,

  a crushing exhaustion washed over them at last.

  The tension drained away, leaving behind aching muscles,

  hollowed spirits,

  and the unreal lightness of having survived by a thread.

  Sunri checked on Pardy first.

  The child’s face was pale,

  but his eyes were still clear—

  just tightly gripping his father’s coat,

  fingernails turning white.

  Sunri didn’t speak.

  He simply wrapped his warm hand around Pardy’s cold little fingers,

  gently kneading,

  offering silent comfort.

  Then he swept his gaze across the cramped storage room—

  only one entrance, cluttered with junk,

  air stale but not foul.

  A temporary refuge.

  Lin Che had already settled Roan onto a pile of burlap sacks,

  fully absorbed in a second,

  more thorough round of treatment.

  His movements were precise and steady,

  a stark contrast to his pale, exhausted face—

  as if every last drop of strength had been poured into his fingertips.

  The faint sound of sutures passing through flesh,

  the soft clink of medicine bottles,

  Roan’s muffled groans.

  Sunri noticed Lin Che’s hands trembling ever so slightly,

  yet never losing accuracy.

  Ye Lingyun stood by the hidden door,

  listening for a long time.

  Only when he confirmed no footsteps approached

  did he slowly sheath his sword.

  His expression remained calm,

  but the faint tremor in his wrist betrayed the toll—

  the strain of high?intensity combat and refined sword?qi

  far beyond what ordinary bodies could endure.

  He found a relatively clean corner,

  sat cross?legged, eyes closed,

  Qingyun Sword resting across his knees,

  its blade faintly glowing,

  as if resonating with his breath.

  Amy, on her own initiative, cleared a small space,

  set the chemical lamp in the center,

  and rummaged up an old water flask and a few barely clean cloths.

  Her hands were quick, though her eyes kept drifting toward Roan.

  Time trickled by.

  When Lin Che finally tied the last knot

  and exhaled a long breath,

  the tension in the room eased at last.

  That was when Mo?Dou moved.

  The mysterious black cat had leapt onto the highest stack of toolboxes

  the moment they entered,

  curling into a ball of midnight fur

  as if asleep.

  But now, its golden eyes opened,

  lazily sweeping across the room

  before it slipped down without a sound.

  It padded straight toward Pardy.

  The boy was still pressed against his father,

  eyes wide and dazed from lingering fear.

  Mo?Dou nudged his shin with its head.

  Pardy looked down,

  saw those gem?bright eyes,

  blinked—

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  then slowly reached out.

  Mo?Dou didn’t dodge.

  It leaned into his palm.

  The moment Pardy’s fingers brushed that soft, cool fur,

  a strange, soothing warmth seemed to travel up his arm.

  He stroked again, tentative.

  Mo?Dou rumbled,

  a deep, steady purr.

  Light returned to the boy’s eyes.

  He forgot to cover his ears,

  forgot the gunshots,

  and gently scooped the cat into his arms.

  Mo?Dou was unexpectedly docile,

  even adjusting its posture

  to nestle more comfortably against him.

  Pardy buried his face in the thick fur of its neck,

  breathing in deeply—

  sun?warmed softness,

  and a faint scent like ancient books.

  His tense little shoulders

  slowly loosened.

  Sunri watched,

  the hard lines of his face softening.

  He said nothing,

  just rested a hand on his son’s back,

  a silent guard.

  “The kitty is so sweet…”

  Amy whispered, unable to hide her delight,

  eyes sparkling with the helpless affection of a girl meeting something adorable.

  She crouched beside Pardy,

  hesitating.

  “Pardy… can I… pet it too?”

  Pardy looked at Mo?Dou,

  then at Amy,

  and nodded.

  Amy reached out,

  barely brushing the tip of Mo?Dou’s ear.

  The ear twitched,

  golden eyes flicking toward her—

  but the cat didn’t move away.

  Encouraged, she stroked from ear to head.

  Mo?Dou tilted its head,

  nudging her palm.

  “It’s so nice…”

  A genuine smile bloomed on Amy’s face,

  softening days of fear and tension.

  This warm scene fell into Ye Lingyun’s line of sight.

  At some point, he had opened his eyes,

  watching the black cat being so affectionate with Pardy and Amy.

  A faint, almost imperceptible emotion flickered in his gaze…

  The elegant swordsman,

  peerless in skill and aloof in bearing,

  found his fingers twitching—

  as if he, too, wanted to feel that impossibly soft fur.

  He hesitated,

  then finally gave in,

  standing and walking over with exaggeratedly light steps

  (even though everyone could hear him).

  He crouched down,

  attempting what he believed was a gentle, harmless smile,

  and reached toward Mo?Dou—

  Mo?Dou’s golden eyes snapped toward him.

  The warmth vanished instantly,

  replaced by a cool, almost disdainful scrutiny.

  Just as Ye Lingyun’s fingers were about to touch its back,

  Mo?Dou twisted gracefully,

  slipping from Pardy’s arms

  and landing atop an old gear crate,

  tail raised high,

  the tip flicking with clear impatience.

  Ye Lingyun’s hand froze mid?air.

  Silence fell.

  Amy pressed her lips together,

  desperately holding back laughter.

  Pardy blinked,

  looking between Mo?Dou and the petrified swordsman,

  utterly confused.

  Ye Lingyun slowly withdrew his hand,

  the forced smile collapsing,

  replaced by deep confusion and—

  a faint, almost imperceptible sting of wounded pride.

  He lowered his gaze to his own hand—

  long?fingered, steady,

  calloused from years of sword practice,

  yet unquestionably clean.

  Then, without drawing attention, he leaned in slightly

  and discreetly sniffed the fabric at his shoulder—

  only the faint scent of dust,

  and the barest trace of steam and metal from the earlier fight.

  Nothing unpleasant.

  Nothing that should offend even the most particular of creatures.

  So why could Pardy touch the cat?

  Why could Amy?

  Why was he the only one rejected?

  Was he—Ye Lingyun, heir to the Qingyun Sword—

  truly less approachable

  than a child and a teenage girl?

  This cat…

  this cat was drawing lines far too clearly.