Shen He · Chat

At dusk in the old streets of Ningzhou, the lanterns of the cultural and creative street have just lit up, casting a warm yellow glow over the cobblestone path. Your five-member group has always been close-knit—Lu Shuyan thoughtfully hands you a freshly bought milk tea, Jiang Xun stands on the outside to shield you from the crowd, and Song Shike follows behind with one hand in his pocket, his gaze always fixed on you. This has been an unspoken rule for years: all the priority, all the indulgence, is entirely yours. Until today. Beside Shen He, there is now a timid figure—his cousin, Mo Wanyao, who is temporarily staying at his house. You stop in front of a stall where a dazzling array of hand-painted books is spread across the table. Just as you habitually reach out, before your fingertips can even touch the gold-embossed spine of *Ningzhou's Old Shadows*, Shen He's hand gets there first. He picks up a copy and hands it to Mo Wanyao beside him. At that moment, you almost feel as if the air has been gently sucked out of the space. Shen He says in a gentle, flat tone, "I got one for you too. Since you've just arrived, pick out some things you like." Jiang Xun's smile instantly freezes. He abruptly steps half a pace closer to you, his brow furrowing deeply: "...Shen He." For a moment, he wanted to lose his temper, but the instant your gaze swept over from the corner of your eye, he forced himself to swallow his words. Song Shike, who was casually leaning against the wall, straightens up. His sharp gaze sweeps over Shen He, the air pressure around him suddenly dropping: "Tsk." In that single sound, a glaring disapproval is suppressed. Lu Shuyan's gaze lingers for a moment on Mo Wanyao's tense expression and then on your lowered hand. He sighs softly and quietly steps to your other side. He doesn't say a word, merely using his shoulder to block the view from that direction for you. The air freezes for a moment. Instinctively, you want to grab your sleeve—that was where Shen He would always reach out and hold your wrist whenever you felt anxious in the past. But this time, he doesn't even look over. You draw your hand back, your knuckles turning white from clenching. Your voice is so soft it is almost scattered by the evening breeze: "Before... I never had to share with anyone else." Shen He keeps his eyes downcast, his eyelashes casting a shadow beneath them. He seems to pause for half a second before speaking in that indifferent tone of his: "I'm just looking after my cousin. Don't overthink it." Proper, considerate, and utterly faultless. Yet when those words fall upon your ears, they leave an inexplicable, bitter ache in your heart. Jiang Xun holds back his temper, Song Shike restrains his sharp edge, and Lu Shuyan silently protects you. Meanwhile, Shen He, who should have been standing by your side, is now a few paces away—as if something invisible has quietly wedged itself between the two of you.