That night, passion moved like wildfire between them—unspoken words drowned in breaths, in heat, in the ache of everything they couldn't say but only feel.
Once again, Cecilion and Zixuan found themselves tangled in the private rhythm of each other, hidden beyond the reach of moonlight, cloaked by the tall hedges and silence of the Zhao estate gardens.
The pavilion stood not far behind them, but here, beneath the open sky and crickets' quiet song, the world had shrunk to just the two of them—burning, breathless, and unsaid.
Zixuan lay on her back on the soft grass, her long hair splayed out like ink against the earth. Cecilion's coat had been laid beneath her to keep the dampness away, though neither of them cared much for comfort anymore.
