Since Shen Yuan had left for seclusion, Shen Jiu's life at Qian Cao Peak had slipped into a monotonous rhythm. Once, he would have welcomed the predictability, a far cry from the chaos of his earlier years. The memories of his time as a slave lingered—seared into his bones as vividly as old scars. Days filled with fear, humiliation, and pain; survival a daily gamble. Those shadows loomed large, but here, in this peaceful corner of the sect, they felt muted, like echoes of a storm that had finally passed.

And yet, in this quiet, Shen Jiu found himself lost in a different way. For the first time, no one sought to hurt him. The peace was unnervingly alien. What was he meant to do with himself when there were no battles to fight, no threats to anticipate? The serenity felt more suffocating than liberating.

His current days were spent under the careful supervision of Mu Qingfang. The doctor was tolerable, perhaps even pleasant, in his way. Unlike others who grated on Shen Jiu's nerves with incessant chatter or meddling, Mu Qingfang was quietly professional. Their interactions were straightforward: treatment, brief exchanges, then silence. The man rarely filled the air with unnecessary conversation. Instead, he immersed himself in his research, often seated nearby with an old medical text or an array of herbs spread out before him.

Sometimes, Mu Qingfang would lend Shen Jiu a book. The gesture was practical, unassuming. He had even taken to answering Shen Jiu's occasional questions about the sect, about how his brothers have been since they joined the sect with concise but thoughtful explanations. Shen Jiu appreciated the lack of fanfare. It was... comforting, in its own way. Mu Qingfang didn't prod, didn't overstep, and most importantly, didn't seem interested in fixing Shen Jiu beyond his role as a healer.

Shen Jiu wasn't the only one under treatment at Qian Cao Peak. 

It took time for him to notice, absorbed as he was in his own muted turmoil, but there were others. Most were disciples of the sect—young, eager, and naive; so blind by the cruelties outside the protection of the great sect. But some were like him: outsiders.

It was in their mannerisms that Shen Jiu saw reflections of himself. The subtle wariness, the way they lingered on the edges of spaces as if afraid to intrude, the occasional flinch when addressed too sharply. He watched them from a distance, making silent notes.

There was the quiet girl with burn scars on her hands who avoided eye contact but meticulously brewed her medicine each day. Or the older man who sat alone, staring at nothing, his shoulders weighed down by something invisible yet crushing.

Shen Jiu didn't approach them, nor did they approach him. But their presence was a strange comfort. He wasn't as singular as he'd believed. Others carried their own burdens, and their silences filled the air in a way that felt less oppressive, more like solidarity.

Occasionally, some of the elderly cultivators on Qian Cao Peak would approach him with a tentative kindness. They were gentle souls, offering small comforts like warm tea or idle conversation. Shen Jiu could sense their sincerity, but it only made him withdraw further. Their well-meaning gestures clashed against the armor he had built over years of cruelty and survival.

It was easy to accept Mu Qingfang's help because it was impersonal—a professional duty, nothing more. Shen Jiu could manage that. There were no strings, no hidden intentions beyond his shidi asking him for a favor. The healer's steady presence wasn't warmth but function, and that was something Shen Jiu could understand.

It was the same reason Shen Jiu had found it easy to accept Shen Yuan and Yue Qi's kindness. They were brothers—not by blood with Qi-ge, perhaps, but in a way that felt unshakable. With them, kindness came with a sense of belonging that didn't demand anything in return. Their affection, no matter how clumsily expressed, didn't require him to question its motives.

Qiu Haitang... That had been different. In the hellish place, her warmth had been the only light, fragile and fleeting but enough to cling to. She had offered a hand to a drowning boy, and he had grabbed on with all the desperation of someone who had no other choice. For a long time, he had clung to her presence, even when it burned him, because she was all he had in that place.

Kindness was unfamiliar, a currency he couldn't spend without fearing the cost. 

Their soft words and thoughtful gestures left him restless, too vulnerable. Unable to trust their intentions—or himself—he retreated to the more secluded parts of the mountain that he was allowed to.

The dense trees and quiet paths became his haven. Here, he could hide, shielded by the towering peaks and their misty embrace. It was easier to be alone, to let the mountain's silence wrap around him like a cloak. He avoided others when he could, speaking only when necessary. 

The isolation wasn't ideal, but it was safe. 

And Shen Jiu had learned long ago that safety, above all else, was the one thing worth clinging to.

One day, Shen Jiu sat at a small, worn table tucked into the shade of an ancient tree, the Go board laid out before him. The black and white tiles formed patterns across the grid, each move meticulously placed. He was playing against himself—a silent dialogue, a habit born of his need for distraction.

The world beyond his corner of the mountain seemed distant, muted by the gentle rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. Here, he could simply exist, letting his thoughts fall in line with the calculated precision of each move.

He didn't expect company. Most people here knew better than to intrude. They had learned that Shen Jiu preferred to be left alone, especially when he retreated to this secluded spot.

So, when someone suddenly sat opposite him at the table, he frowned, irritation flickering in his gaze. He didn't look up.

Instead, he kept his focus on the board, eyes tracing the potential moves, hands hovering briefly before he set down another black tile. The presence across from him remained silent, offering no greeting or explanation.

He thought, perhaps, that if he ignored them, they would leave.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. A slender, delicate hand reached forward, its pale fingers picking up one of the white tiles. Without hesitation, the hand placed the tile neatly against one of his black pieces, interrupting the line he had been forming.

His head snapped up.

Across the table sat a woman, her beauty so striking it left him momentarily breathless. She was an adult, serene and composed, her features as delicate as porcelain but carrying an air of quiet strength and authority. Her eyes, calm and thoughtful, didn't meet his; they stayed on the board, studying it with an intensity that matched his own.

Shen Jiu's frown deepened, but he said nothing. He didn't get angry and scream at her for interrupting, nor did he demand an explanation. There was something about her presence—so steady, so unassuming—that made him pause.

Instead, he let his gaze drop back to the board. His fingers brushed against a black tile, and after a moment's hesitation, he placed it down in response to her move.

The game continued.

They didn't speak. No names were exchanged, no questions asked. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable; it felt almost natural, as though words would only disturb whatever fragile understanding had begun to form.

Move after move, the tiles clicked against the wooden board. Shen Jiu found himself drawn into the rhythm of their unspoken conversation, his initial irritation giving way to something quieter, more contemplative.

But soon, it became clear that her strategy was far superior. Her moves weren't flashy or aggressive, but they were deliberate, weaving an intricate web that slowly tightened around his pieces.

Shen Jiu's expression grew darker as he realized he was losing ground. He tried to counter her maneuvers, but she anticipated each response with uncanny precision. The final move came quietly, her white tile clicking into place and sealing his defeat.

For a moment, Shen Jiu simply stared at the board, a strange flicker of emotion rising in his chest. Losing wasn't unfamiliar to him—in fact, it was something he'd grown used to in life—but this felt different.

It wasn't the sting of defeat or the bitterness of humiliation. No, what rose to the surface was something he hadn't felt in years: the spark of childish competitiveness.

It was a feeling he thought had been crushed under the weight of slavery and oppression. Back then, there had been no room for such frivolities; survival had stripped him of any youthful impulses. Yet here it was again, bubbling to life as he replayed her moves in his mind, imagining counters he could have made, ways he could have turned the game in his favor.

When he looked up, the woman's serene expression had transformed into one of quiet satisfaction. She met his gaze for a brief moment, her eyes holding a knowing glint, before she rose without a word. She left the board as it was, her elegant form disappearing into the trees as quietly as she had arrived.

Shen Jiu sat there for a long moment, staring at the final pattern of tiles on the board. He wasn't sure what to make of the encounter, but the embers of competitiveness refused to die down.

He reset the board, his hands steady, his mind already plotting new strategies.

For the first time in a long while, he thought he might not mind if she returned. Next time, though, he would be ready.

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The days stretched endlessly, each one a mirror of the last, and Shen Jiu felt himself growing restless. The impending onset of his full presentation as an omega loomed over him like a storm on the horizon. It wasn't fear that gnawed at him—it was the uncertainty.

Mu Qingfang had spoken carefully during their last session, explaining the delay in the more intensive treatments. Proceeding now, with his body in such a precarious state, would only exacerbate his underlying issues. His system was fragile, barely holding together under the strain of recovery. If they pushed too hard and his heat arrived mid-treatment, it could cause irreparable harm.

He had no choice but to be patient.

As the days passed, Shen Jiu continued to find solace in the silent games of Go with the mysterious woman. The routine of their meetings had become a peculiar rhythm in his life—three or four times a week, she would appear without fail. At first, he couldn't help but wonder who she was, why she chose to play with him. But over time, the curiosity faded into a quiet acceptance.

She came and went like the wind, always composed, always silent. With her, there were no words, no explanations. Just the quiet clicking of tiles and the unspoken understanding between them. Her presence was steady, almost grounding, and Shen Jiu found it easier to focus on the game when she was there, as if her calmness seeped into his own restless mind.

However, there was one thing he couldn't ignore: the attendants. Every time she came, they followed, always keeping their distance, but always watching closely. Their eyes were not on the players, but on the game itself —always present, but never intruding. Shen Jiu had learned to block them out, but their presence lingered at the edge of his awareness.

Despite this oddity, he couldn't deny that he looked forward to their games. But today, as he sat at the worn table under the shade of the ancient tree, his mind was elsewhere. The tension in his body had been building for days now, the pressure of the impending heat making it difficult to focus on anything for long. His thoughts kept drifting, his attention split between the game before him and the uneasy stirrings in his body. He couldn't even concentrate on his next move, his fingers hovering uncertainly over the tiles.

The woman sat across from him, her gaze as steady as ever. She made no move to hurry him, only waiting for him to make his decision, her serene expression unwavering. Shen Jiu's brow furrowed as he tried to push aside the swirling thoughts of his presentation, of the uncertainty about what was to come. He had been told time and time again that it was a natural process, but it didn't feel natural to him. It felt like an impending storm, one that he couldn't control.

Finally, with a sigh, he dropped a black tile onto the board, his movements sluggish, the game no longer holding his attention. The woman didn't react immediately. She simply picked up a white tile, placing it in response to his move with the same quiet precision as always. But this time, Shen Jiu could feel the weight of her gaze, as though she were aware of the turmoil inside him.

"Let's end the game here for now."

 Shen Jiu blinked, the sound of her voice breaking the quiet spell that had wrapped around them. It was the first time she had spoken during their games, and her voice was soft but firm, a tone that carried no hesitation. He looked up at her, momentarily startled, but her expression remained unchanged—calm, serene, almost unreadable.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. It wasn't just her words that threw him off; it was the fact that she had chosen this moment to speak, when he was at his most unsettled. He glanced at the board, where the game had become a mere blur of black and white, his focus lost long ago.

"Are you not... interested in finishing the game?" he asked, his voice quieter than he intended, almost uncertain.

Her eyes, still focused on the board, seemed to soften just slightly, though her expression remained composed. "The game has already ended," she said, her words not harsh, but carrying an understanding that Shen Jiu couldn't quite grasp. "You are not playing to win anymore."

Shen Jiu stared at her for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. It was true. The competitive spark that usually lit his chest when playing had faded. What was once a game, a way to pass time, had become something else—an escape, maybe. Or perhaps, he wondered, it was a way to distract himself from the growing uncertainty about his upcoming presentation, his body's impending changes, and the looming heat that was steadily becoming more real with each passing day.

"You are distracted," she added, her gaze flicking briefly to him before returning to the board, where the game remained unfinished. "But it is not the game that distracts you."

Shen Jiu swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. How did she know? Was it that obvious? He had tried so hard to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden, even from himself. But in the quiet of the game, in the space between each move, perhaps it had been too much to conceal.

"I—" he began, then stopped. His fingers clenched around the black tile in his hand. The truth was too much to speak aloud. "I'm just... waiting for something I can't control," he finished lamely, his words lacking the strength he had hoped for.

The woman regarded him silently for a long moment, and for the first time, he saw a glimmer of something softer in her eyes—sympathy? No, at all. Understanding? He wasn't sure. It was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it appeared, but it left a lingering feeling in his chest.

"Sometimes, you must allow yourself to be still," she said finally, her voice like a quiet command. "Not everything can be forced."

Shen Jiu frowned, uncertain what she meant by that. He had never been one to simply "be still." His life had been a series of movements, of decisions made with urgency and purpose, of always striving for something, always pushing against the things that tried to hold him back. To be still? He couldn't fathom it.

"Stillness?" Shen Jiu echoed, unsure of what she meant. If anything, Shen Jiu had nothing but 'still' since he arrived here. The quiet, the long hours of isolation, the constant waiting for something—anything—to happen. Yet he still didn't understand. Was that the answer? To simply exist in a void of inaction? It felt like surrender, like weakness.

The sound of soft footsteps reached his ears, but Shen Jiu didn't move, too deep in his own contemplation to respond or even look up. A fleeting presence, like a ghost, moved past him, brushing against the edges of his awareness. And before he could grasp the moment, it was gone. He heard the rustle of leaves, the soft hum of the wind through the trees, but no voice—no further words.

When he finally looked up, she was gone.

The space across from him at the table was empty, the chair now as still as the rest of the world around him. Shen Jiu's gaze wandered slowly across the quiet clearing, but there was no sign of her, no trace of her presence except for the lingering shift in the air. He didn't know why, but he felt... unsettled. Not by her departure, but by the fact that she had left without another word. She had never said much, but this time, the silence seemed final, as though something had been left unsaid that he couldn't quite grasp.

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 Shen Jiu sat on the examination table in Mu Qingfang's treatment room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The scent of herbs and incense filled the air, but it wasn't calming today—it was suffocating.

"How much longer?" Shen Jiu snapped, his voice sharp.

Mu Qingfang didn't look up immediately. He was mixing a concoction at the table nearby, his movements precise and unhurried. "It's hard to say," he replied. "Your body is still adjusting. Pushing too far too quickly will only set you back."

"You've said that before," Shen Jiu said tersely. "But I don't feel any different. It's been weeks."

Mu Qingfang turned to face him, his expression calm but firm. "You're not supposed to feel different yet. These things take time, Shen-shidi. You've endured a lot—your body needs to recover at its own pace."

Shen Jiu scoffed, leaning back against the wall. "Time? That's easy for you to say. You're not the one stuck waiting for something to happen."

"No, but I am the one responsible for making sure you don't injure yourself further," Mu Qingfang said evenly, crossing his arms as he regarded Shen Jiu. "Would you prefer to force the issue and risk permanent damage?"

The words stung more than Shen Jiu wanted to admit. He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I just... I don't see the point of all this waiting. It feels like I'm wasting my time."

Mu Qingfang's gaze softened slightly. "I understand how frustrating it must be, but this isn't a process you can rush. Healing takes as long as it needs, especially for someone in your condition." He stepped closer, placing the bowl of medicine on the table beside Shen Jiu. "Take this. It'll help with the restlessness."

Shen Jiu eyed the bowl with suspicion. "Another disgusting brew?"

Mu Qingfang's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "Would you like me to flavor it with honey this time?"

Shen Jiu glared at him. "Don't patronize me."

"I wasn't. It's an option," Mu Qingfang replied calmly, pushing the bowl a little closer. "Drink it. Then try meditating. It might help."

"Like that's ever worked for me," Shen Jiu muttered under his breath, but he grudgingly picked up the bowl. The bitter liquid burned his throat as he drank, and he grimaced.

Mu Qingfang watched him for a moment, he wanted to say something, perhaps words to comfort him, but refrained from doing so in the end. It wasn't his place to push Shen Jiu into sharing more than he was ready for. Instead, he busied himself with gathering his supplies, his fingers lightly brushing over the vials and herbs on the counter.

After a brief silence, Mu Qingfang spoke again, his tone casual yet deliberate. "You know, if you're feeling restless, there's something I could suggest."

Shen Jiu didn't look up, his attention still on the bowl in his hand, the bitter taste lingering. "What?"

"Shen-shidi's residence in the sect," Mu Qingfang said, his voice calm, as if the idea had been hanging in the air for some time. "I could take you there if you'd like."

Shen Jiu's head snapped up, eyes narrowing in confusion. "A-Yuan's residence?" His tone was incredulous, a mix of surprise and skepticism. "Why would I go there?"

Mu Qingfang smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. "It's not like you've been there, is it? The disciples' living quarters are off-limits to outsiders, but... it might offer a change of scenery. The mountain is vast, and if you're feeling caged in, it could do you some good."

Shen Jiu stiffened. The idea of stepping into a place so closely tied to his brother made something stir deep within him, a mix of longing and hesitation. Despite how often he'd been in the sect, he had never been permitted to go anywhere near the important areas, including disciples' residences. It was a boundary and one he hadn't dared to cross.

"Mu Qingfang..." Shen Jiu said slowly, his voice sharp. "You can't be serious. Those areas are for disciples only. It's off-limits for people like me."

Mu Qingfang didn't falter, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, but didn't Shen-shidi tell you? Before he left for seclusion, he specifically mentioned that you may use his residence in his absence. He even made sure to gain permission for you." His voice was steady, and there was no hint of doubt. "It's been arranged. You are free to go there if you wish."

Shen Jiu blinked, surprise flashing across his face. He did vaguely remember A-Yuan mentioning it, but he had been so dazed when he did that Shen Jiu didn't remember until Mu Qingfang mentioned it. 

"I... I forgot," Shen Jiu muttered, a strange mixture of emotions stirring inside him. A part of him felt relieved to hear this—it was one less barrier, one less excuse. But another part felt... unsettled.

Mu Qingfang's smile softened. "You're welcome to make use of it, Shen-shidi. It might help ease the restlessness, and it's better than staying cooped up here."

Shen Jiu hesitated. The idea of stepping into a space so closely tied to his brother, so intimate and personal, made him feel exposed. But the tension in his chest, the aching restlessness he couldn't shake, gnawed at him. Maybe it would be a chance to clear his head, or at least take his mind off the weight of everything.

Only now that Shen Jiu realized that the absence of Shen Yuan weighed on him. He knew exactly where his brother was—deep in seclusion, focusing on cultivation. It wasn't as though Shen Yuan had disappeared. Yet not seeing him, not hearing his voice, made the mountain feel emptier.

It was irrational, of course. They had been separated for years before, living entirely different lives. And yet, since Shen Yuan had returned to him, it had become difficult to adjust to his absence again. Shen Yuan had a way of grounding him, of tethering him to the present without judgment or pity. Without that presence, the restless energy coiling in Shen Jiu's chest only grew stronger.

"Fine," Shen Jiu said, his voice reluctant but edged with resolve. "But only because I'm tired of sitting here."

Mu Qingfang's smile returned, genuine this time. "Good. I'll get ready, and we'll go."

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The path to the inner area of Qian Cao Peak was unfamiliar to Shen Jiu, and with each step, a growing sense of wariness filled him. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this was... different. This was a space meant for the disciples, for those who had proven themselves to belong to the sect. He felt like an outsider again, despite Mu Qingfang's calm presence at his side.

Shen Jiu's gaze flickered from side to side, taking in the well-maintained pathways, the tall trees lining the road, and the occasional disciple he passed. They walked in a comfortable silence for the most part, but Shen Jiu could feel his nerves rising as they ventured deeper into the territory that had been off-limits to him until now.

A few disciples they passed greeted Mu Qingfang with polite nods, acknowledging him as a respected figure in the sect. However, it was when one of them turned their attention to Shen Jiu that the first real discomfort hit him.

"Is that... Shen-shixiong?" a young disciple, a male with a respectful air, asked as he stopped in his tracks, staring at Shen Jiu.

Shen Jiu froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of his brother's name. The disciple had likely mistaken him for Shen Yuan, given their resemblance—after all, they were brothers.

Mu Qingfang, noticing Shen Jiu's tension, quickly stepped in. "Ah, no," Mu Qingfang said smoothly, his voice calm and polite. "This is Shen Jiu, Shen-shidi's brother. It seems you've mistaken him." He offered a kind smile, his tone gentle, ensuring no awkwardness lingered.

"Oh, my apologies!" The disciple quickly bowed in respect, his face flushing slightly in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to offend. Please forgive me."

Shen Jiu offered a tight nod but said nothing, his lips pressing together in a thin line as he continued walking, the interaction leaving him unsettled. Mu Qingfang's easy handling of the situation was something of a relief, though it didn't stop Shen Jiu from feeling keenly aware of how out of place he was.

As they continued down the path, Mu Qingfang took the opportunity to explain more about the sect's living arrangements. "The disciples' residence is divided based on seniority for alphas and betas," he began, his tone informative but casual as if the subject was nothing out of the ordinary. "There are specific dormitories for the different rankings, but omegas, like yourself, are given a separate living area."

Shen Jiu's curiosity was piqued, though his unease remained. "Separate? Why?"

"It's a practical matter, really," Mu Qingfang explained. "Omegas are rare, especially within this sect. As of now, there are only ten omegas in the entire Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, and here at Qian Cao Peak, there are only two. Because of that rarity, omegas are treated with far more care and respect than either alphas or betas."

Shen Jiu frowned slightly, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism on his face. "More care? I've heard people talk about omegas like we're... fragile." He said the last word with a hint of disdain, though there was also some genuine confusion in his voice.

Mu Qingfang's expression softened. "It's not about fragility. Omegas aren't inherently weaker or less capable, but their rarity makes them valuable in a way. The sect wants to ensure they are treated with respect and care, so they're housed in a more favorable area, with resources tailored to their needs. It's all a matter of prioritization and balance."

Shen Jiu absorbed the explanation, though he still found it strange. It made sense in theory, but the thought of being treated differently, set apart, still gnawed at him. He had never liked the idea of being singled out for any reason—whether for his status as an omega, or because of his past, which he'd rather not think about.

"Does this... treatment apply to everyone?" Shen Jiu asked cautiously. He didn't want to seem ungrateful, but the idea of being treated like something precious unsettled him.

Mu Qingfang gave a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, but that doesn't mean omega's are to be coddled or looked down upon. Omegas at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect are given the best resources for their cultivation, but they also work just as hard as anyone else. No one will treat you as anything less than a fellow disciple."

Shen Jiu gave a noncommittal grunt, still processing. They rounded a bend in the path, and Mu Qingfang gestured toward a stone building nestled among the trees in the distance. It was slightly more secluded, quieter than the other areas they had passed.

"Here we are," Mu Qingfang said, his voice warm with a hint of approval. "This is Shen Yuan's residence in his absence."

Shen Jiu paused, his gaze drawn to the small cottage. It was a humble abode, nestled amidst the trees, its weathered walls hinting at a long history. The windows, framed by curling vines, cast a warm glow onto the path, inviting yet distant.

For a moment, Shen Jiu hesitated suddenly hesitated as he crossed the threshold, his feet still planted firmly on the ground, something instinctive within him stirred, a quiet hesitation that he couldn't fully explain. It wasn't that he thought Shen Yuan would mind—after all, his brother had given explicit permission.

But even as an omega who hadn't yet completed his full presentation, there was an unfamiliar feeling tugging at him. It was an instinctive discomfort, a sense that stepping into this private space—his own brother's space—was somehow wrong. It was a feeling he hadn't known how to name, but it was visceral. He wasn't just walking into a house; he was walking into a territory where the rules of the secondary gender, those subtle, invisible barriers, whispered that it was not his place.

Shen Jiu did vaguely remember Mu Qingfang asking Shen Yuan repeatedly if it was okay for Shen Jiu to use his place, and asking for permission with someone, but paid no mind to it that time. 

"Is it really okay...?" Shen Jiu asked quietly, his voice uncertain, and for the first time since they'd arrived, his gaze flickered away from the door.

Mu Qingfang glanced at him, and there was a shift in his expression, a flicker of understanding, though he didn't show it outwardly. The alpha knew better than anyone the unspoken boundaries that existed between the secondary genders. He understood the unvoiced discomfort of an omega still in the midst of their transition, still not fully settled in their role within the hierarchy of the secondary gender. It was natural for Shen Jiu to feel this hesitation.

Mu Qingfang's voice was low but reassuring, without a hint of condescension. "Shidi wouldn't have given you permission if he had objections," he said firmly. His gaze, however, was not on Shen Jiu, but on the entrance—acknowledging, perhaps, that while Shen Jiu had been allowed to enter, Mu Qingfang's own place was outside. The healer remained a respectful distance away, his posture signaling that, as an alpha, he understood the boundaries. His role was to guide Shen Jiu, not to intrude. Not another step closer to the houses' threshold.

The silence between them stretched on, making the moment feel even more awkward. Shen Jiu shifted slightly, feeling a growing tension in the air. After a beat, he glanced at Mu Qingfang, his throat tight with the need to say something, anything, to break the uncomfortable stillness.

"Thanks... for guiding me here," Shen Jiu said quickly, his voice a bit sharper than he intended. He wasn't sure why the words felt so strained, but it was a way to give the healer an out, to relieve him of the discomfort he was clearly feeling. Mu Qingfang's expression was unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in his posture that told Shen Jiu he appreciated the gesture.

Mu Qingfang inclined his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Take care, Shen Jiu," he said with a calm nod before turning and walking away, leaving Shen Jiu standing at the threshold.

Alone now, Shen Jiu took a slow, steadying breath, his hand hovering over the door. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of nervousness and uncertainty. Despite the permission granted, the weight of entering Shen Yuan's personal space felt like an intrusion—one he couldn't shake. With one last breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The interior was simple, nothing extravagant, but the warm, familiar scent of Shen Yuan filled the space. The room was scattered with books, some neatly arranged, others haphazardly stacked or abandoned mid-use. A few medicinal herbs were strewn across a table, some half-crushed, others drying in small bundles. It was far from tidy, but it had a certain charm, a welcoming, lived-in feel that made it unmistakably home.

Shen Yuan's scent lingered in the air, a soothing combination of bamboo sap and wild orchids—fresh, earthy, and undeniably calming. There was also a faint trace of Qi-ge's scent woven in, an almost imperceptible undertone that Shen Jiu hadn't noticed before. It was green tea and sandalwood—sharp, yet soothing, like a quiet moment in the shade of a tree with the scent of a calming cup of tea in the air. It was strange, how quickly a space could come to feel like theirs, even when none of them was present.

Shen Jiu slowly stepped deeper into the room, taking in the sight of his brother's belongings scattered in various corners. There were papers, notes on cultivation methods, and medical texts piled beside the windowsill. It was a small, quiet chaos, but it felt strangely comforting—like an invitation to linger, even though he wasn't sure he was ready to.

Amidst the disarray, Shen Jiu's eyes landed on a few small trinkets tucked into shelves and corners. They were odd little objects, most of them unremarkable in themselves—strangely shaped rocks, tiny clay figures, and bits of wood carved into abstract forms. Some were partially hidden behind other items, as if they had been abandoned or forgotten. But they had something in common: each one bore the faint scent of Qi-ge—earthy and warm, with a touch of something musky, like a lingering memory of his presence.

Shen Jiu couldn't help but smile. 

Yue Qi had always had a habit of picking up odd trinkets, things he found intriguing when they were out begging for money, and gifting them to his younger brothers. Of course, the gifts were never truly practical, often strange or completely meaningless to anyone but him. Shen Jiu had long since grown used to receiving such oddities. He remembered how Yue Qi would hand him a rock that was more lopsided than round, or a small piece of driftwood that looked more like a broken twig than anything of value. The gifts had always been meant with kindness, but they were never things they could hold onto for long. And yet, each one had a certain charm, a reminder of Yue Qi's presence.

Still, Shen Jiu had to admit, that Yue Qi's penchant for gifting strangely shaped rocks was something that could use a little improvement. He'd heard stories—apparently, Qi-ge had earned quite a reputation over on Qiong Ding Peak, his quirky gifts becoming something of a legend in their own right. Perhaps it was time for Yue Qi to start collecting something a bit more practical now that he was no longer in dire straits—maybe books, or a rare herb. Something that wouldn't be so easy to lose or forget in the chaos of their lives.

As his eyes wandered over the space, a wave of something unexpected hit him—something warm and bittersweet. He could almost hear the echoes of their childhood, the conversations they'd shared about what they would do when they were free. Back then, they had dreamed of escaping the brutality of their lives as street urchins, hoping one day to have a place to call their own, a home where they could live without fear.

And now, as Shen Jiu stood in this humble room, a part of him couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. One of those dreams had been fulfilled. His brothers, despite all the hardships, had a home—a small, simple, but real home. Shen Jiu could hardly believe it, given how distant those dreams had once felt. As a street urchin, a humble home like this had seemed so far beyond reach, a wish too big to ever come true.

And yet, here it was.

He couldn't help but smile to himself, a bittersweet feeling settling in his chest. It wasn't just Shen Yuan's dream anymore. It was theirs—something they had both shared in their hearts, something they had yearned for in a world that had offered them nothing.

Even with the absence of his brothers, the room itself—everything around him seemed to vibrate with a gentle force, a calmness that was familiar to him. He had always been driven by purpose, by the need to move, to act. But here, now, in this room filled with fragments of lives of his family, Shen Jiu found himself pausing.

In the stillness, he let go, just for a moment, of the urgency, of the constant waiting for something to change. There was something profoundly peaceful in just being here, in this space. He could breathe. He could exist without the weight of expectations or the pressure of time.

His fingers brushed the edge of a small, worn carving.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Shen Jiu allowed himself to be still. To simply exist in the moment, surrounded by the quiet remnants of his brothers' lives.

And in that stillness, he realized that maybe—just maybe—this was the most he could do. For now.