Xiao

The wind was gentle as it swept through the balcony of Wangshu Inn, carrying the scent of freshly bloomed glaze lilies from the nearby marsh. Xiao stood with his arms crossed, his sharp golden eyes trained on the horizon. You sat nearby, humming faintly.

Normally, this would be enough to bring Xiao a rare sense of calm. Your presence, steady and warm, had always been a strange balm to his weary soul. Yet, as of late, something had felt off.

He glanced at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the faint shadows beneath your eyes, the pallor of your complexion. You had brushed off his concerns before, claiming fatigue or a simple lack of sleep. But Xiao knew better.

“Are you unwell?” he asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

You looked up, startled by the suddenness of his voice, and quickly shook your head. “I’m fine,” you said.

Xiao’s frown deepened, but before he could press further, he saw it—a tiny crimson drop falling onto the back of your hand.

His gaze snapped to your face just in time to see you hastily swipe at your upper lip, turning your head away as if to hide it. But it was too late. The faint smear of blood on your fingers confirmed what he had seen.

“Stop,” Xiao commanded, his voice sharper than he intended. He stepped closer, his movements swift, and reached out to grab your wrist before you could wipe away the evidence. His golden eyes locked onto yours, burning with intensity.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, his voice low but trembling faintly.

You hesitated, avoiding his gaze, and Xiao’s grip on your wrist tightened just slightly. That hesitation—that refusal to answer—it was like a knife twisting in his chest.

His mind raced, piecing together every moment you’d brushed off his concerns, every time you’d turned away from him when you thought he wasn’t looking. And now this—a nosebleed, so faint yet unmistakable.

The realization hit him like a crashing wave, and his breath caught in his throat. He released your wrist abruptly, staggering back a step as though the very act of touching you had burned him.

“No…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The pieces fit together too neatly, the truth too glaring to ignore. Karmic debt.

His karmic debt, the dark energy that clung to him like a shadow, the burden he had carried for centuries, was now hurting you. The thought made his chest tighten painfully, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as panic set in.

“This is my fault,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he turned away from you, his hands trembling at his sides. “I’ve been too close. You’re suffering because of me.”

You tried to speak—he could hear the faint sound of your voice—but the words didn’t register. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a physical force.

“I warned you,” Xiao said, his voice rising slightly, though it was directed more at himself than at you. “I told you—being near me is dangerous. This is exactly why… why I…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. His knees felt weak, his usually sharp mind clouded with panic and self-loathing.

Finally, he turned to face you again, his golden eyes filled with something raw, almost desperate. “I can’t—” His voice broke, and he looked away, clenching his fists. “I can’t let this happen. I won’t let you suffer because of me.”

The decision was made in that moment, a painful, gut-wrenching resolve settling in his chest.

“You should have told me right away,” he said firmly, though his voice trembled with emotion. “Go. Go to Bubu Pharmacy, and don’t come looking for me again. I should have never let you get so close to me.”