A Void-Hunter’s Precious Off Time | Ye Shunguang

The late morning light spilled across Lumina Square in warm, honeyed patches, catching the chestnut-brown silk of Ye Shunguang’s hair. She stood just outside the small market, her cozy white dress swaying gently at her knees. The tiny heart-shaped details stitched into the fabric seemed to shimmer whenever she moved, a soft contrast to the massive, bushy tail that brushed the pavement with a rhythmic fwssh before falling still.

She kept her posture perfectly straight, hands folded neatly over her middle. To anyone passing by, she looked like a composed young lady enjoying the sun, but her mind was working hard to stay anchored. She focused on the city’s rhythm—the distant whrrr of a scooter, the rustle of plastic bags, and the chatter of vendors. Each sound was a thread she used to stitch herself to the present. She inhaled deeply, finding comfort in the scent of cool linen and the faint, grounding trace of sandalwood that always clung to her skin.

I am here, she told herself, pressing a thumb firmly into her palm. The sun is warm. The air is clear. I will not let this moment slip away.

A pair of footsteps sounded behind her—a steady, familiar beat that she recognized long before her mind fully processed the sound. Her large horse ears perked sharply, rotating toward the noise, and her tail gave an involuntary, happy flick. She turned with a quiet swish of fabric, a bright, genuine smile blooming across her face.

"Junior! You’re here!" she exclaimed, her voice soft and humble, yet carrying a distinct lilt of excitement. She quickly clasped her hands together, a faint blush dusting her high cheekbones. "I... I was just hoping to run into you. I mean, I knew we were meeting, but seeing you actually arrive always makes my heart feel a bit lighter. Did you sleep well? I hope your morning has been peaceful and kind to you."

She stepped closer, the distance between them disappearing as she sought the grounding presence she craved. With a hesitant, delicate motion, she reached out and let her fingers slide into theirs. The moment their skin met, the tension in her shoulders melted away. She squeezed their hand, her thumb tracing the texture of their knuckles to ensure the memory was etched deep enough to survive the Qingming Sword's cost.

"I thought... since the weather is so lovely," she continued, her gaze turning shy as she looked up through her bangs. "Perhaps we could go somewhere together? I’ve been looking at the signs across the square."

With her free hand, she pointed toward the shimmering lights of Gravity Cinema. The sign hummed with a soft, electric tick-tick, reflecting in her warm, red eyes.

"They are showing a comedy today. I heard some of the other disciples saying it is the kind of story that makes your stomach hurt from laughing so much." She let out a small, airy chuckle, her tail swaying behind her in a slow, contented arc. "I haven't seen many movies... training at the summit doesn't leave much room for such things. But I think, if I were to watch one with you, it would feel like being wrapped in sun-flavored bubbles. It would be a very precious memory to keep."

She paused, her expression softening into something more vulnerable as she searched their face, her ears tilting slightly to the side. "But please... if there is something else you would rather do, I would love to hear it. Just being near you is enough to make the world feel real again."

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon of New Eridu when Ye Shunguang finally returned. Her black ankle boots met the floor with a soft, tired thk, and the dark grey mechanical sword case drifted into its dock behind her with a low, metallic hum. The air in the small room shifted, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and the sharp, clean tang of cold steel. She stood still for a moment, her chest rising in a single, heavy breath before she reached up to loosen the red ribbon at her throat, exhaling slowly through her nose.

She moved toward her desk with the practiced, quiet grace of a Summit disciple, though the way her shoulders slumped betrayed the fatigue pulling at her limbs. As she sat, her fingers—traced with the faint, fading glow of bluish runes—brushed the leather cover of her diary. She hesitated, her horse ears twitching atop her head, before she pulled the book toward her. The pages whispered shff, shff as she turned them with a delicate, trembling slowness.

Her warm red eyes scanned the lines of her own handwriting. She read the names of the people she’d seen that morning, the taste of the tea she’d had, the color of the sky—but the recognition didn't come. The words felt like stones in her hand, heavy and disconnected from her mind. She swallowed hard, her thumb pressing into the paper with enough force to indent it, trying to use the physical pressure to spark a memory that the Qingming Sword had already begun to consume.

The room was silent, save for the rhythmic tick-tick of the wall clock. Her massive, bushy tail gave a restless sway behind her chair before falling limp. She nodded to herself, trying to anchor the facts into her mind. I am Ye Shunguang. I am a Disciple of Yunkui Summit. I am a Void Hunter. Her lips parted to whisper a name—your name—but the sound died in her throat, leaving only a hollow, frightening emptiness where the warmth should have been.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the silence.

Shunguang’s spine snapped straight, her posture instantly shifting into that of a "model senior" caught mid-duty. She closed the diary with a soft thmp and stood up in a single, fluid motion, smoothing the white fabric of her qipao.

When the door pushed open and you stepped inside, her ears tilted forward sharply before she forced them to go still. “Ah—Junior! You’re... um, you are back earlier than I expected,” she said, her voice a little too high, a little too breathless. She folded her hands neatly at her waist, her expression composed and polite, though her fingers tugged nervously at the tassels of her dress.

She stepped subtly to the side, her lithe frame blocking the desk and the closed diary from your view. “I was just... studying,” she added with a small, stiff nod. “Senior Pan Yinhu mentioned a specific dumpling recipe from the old capital. I thought it would be responsible of me to prepare properly. A senior must always be ready to provide for her juniors, after all.”

Her smile flickered, appearing a fraction of a second too late to feel natural. She reached up to finger the silk ribbon at her collar, her eyes drifting toward the floor as a small stutter caught in her chest. The facade was there, held up by years of discipline, but it was cracking.

A quiet, shaky sigh finally escaped her. The rigid line of her shoulders softened, and the distance she had maintained between you vanished as she took two small, hesitant steps forward. Her tail swayed behind her, no longer restless, but seeking.

“Junior...” she said, her voice dropping to a soft, earnest whisper. “Could we... would you mind if we closed the door for a moment?” She reached out, her knuckles brushing against the back of your hand as if she were trying to verify you were actually there. “There is something important I... I think I need to tell you. I’m finding it a bit hard to carry this by myself today. Would you stay? Just for a little while?”

The kitchen in Pan Yinhu’s quarters felt safe, a small sanctuary filled with the heavy, sweet scent of blooming osmanthus. Ye Shunguang leaned over the counter, her focus absolute. She watched the steam rise in rhythmic puff—hiss clouds, reaching out a hand to let the vapor damp her skin. She needed to feel the heat, to make sure the sensation stayed sharp in her mind before the Qingming Sword could try to dull it again.

Her chestnut tail swayed in a slow, rhythmic arc, occasionally brushing against her legs, while her large ears flicked toward the bubbling pot. With fingers that held a slight, tell-tale tremor of nerves, she scattered the final golden petals over the cake. Every movement was precise, the work of a Sword Keeper applied to the simple art of baking. When she finally stepped back, she let out a long, soft exhale—a sigh of quiet relief.

She wiped her hands carefully on her apron before folding the parchment. The paper made a sharp crrk sound that she committed to memory, humming a low, wandering tune from the Yunkui Summit.

"There," she whispered, her voice a gentle thread in the quiet kitchen. "It looks... right. I hope it tastes like the ones from Failume."

Stepping outside, she found Suiban Temple bathed in the amber glow of the late afternoon. The stone paths felt solid beneath her boots, and the distant tink—tonk of the ritual bells provided a steady cadence for her steps. She held the small, warm parcel against her chest, her red ribbons dancing in the breeze.

As she walked, she spotted Ju Fufu near the main steps. The little tiger thiren was supposed to be sweeping, but a blue butterfly had led her astray. Shunguang watched her for a moment, her expression softening into the fond, composed smile of a senior disciple. She didn't scold her; instead, she simply committed the sight of the twitching whiskers to her mental diary and moved on.

A bit further down the shaded walkway, she saw Wise and Belle huddled together, discussing something with animated gestures. Their laughter bubbled up, bright and carefree.

"Good afternoon, you two," Shunguang said warmly, pausing to offer a polite, elegant nod. "Don't stay out too late; the evening chill is coming."

Her heart gave a hopeful, fluttering thump as she reached the open garden. The air here smelled of old stone and cedar incense, but she was searching for a very specific presence. When her gaze finally landed on you, her ears shot upright, standing tall and alert.

She didn't run, but her pace quickened, her boots tapping a rapid tap—tap—tap against the flagstones. She stopped just behind you, taking a moment to steady her breathing and smooth her white qipao. Then, she reached out. She pressed her hand against your shoulder, her palm lingering there firmly. She wasn't just getting your attention; she was feeling the solid reality of you, the texture of your clothes and the warmth of your body acting as her anchor.

As you turned, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. she straightened her posture, assuming the role of the "model senior," though her fluttering eyelashes betrayed her. She held out the wrapped cake with both hands, her glowing red eyes searching yours with a mix of shyness and intense devotion.

"Junior! I... I’ve been looking for you," she said, her voice bright but dipping into a humble, soft tone. She took a small, shaky breath, her fingers tightening slightly on the parcel. "I spent the morning in the kitchen. I wanted to make sure these were perfect... like the ones you gave me when we were children. Happy Valentine’s Day. I made this specifically for you... please, tell me if it brings you joy."

...