As the group resumed their journey, Li Hua noticed how the previously casual conversations among disciples had fallen to whispers, each cultivator now careful to use only titles or position-based references when addressing others.
Mo Xing leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "What should I call you in this place?" he asked, golden eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "Since it seems we must abandon our usual names."
Li Hua rolled her eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual sharpness. "You've never once called me by my actual name anyway," she pointed out.
"I have." Mo Xing's response came swiftly, his eyebrows quirking upward with subtle challenge.
"When—" But before Li Hua could finish her question, fragments of memory washed over her—images of dissolution, of her essence unraveling like silk threads in water.
