The bedside lamp cast a dim glow.
Thick white curtains blocked out the moonlight, leaving the room silent save for their synchronized breathing—and the soft rustle of sheets as Liuying burrowed into the blankets.
Anming felt playful arms wrap around him from behind, just like old times. Except now, he was the taller one.
"Anming…" Liuying's whisper carried a hesitant edge. "Do you dislike my body?"
In the lamplight, her eyes shimmered like galaxies—more radiant than any constellation.
He turned to face her. Countless summer nights had begun like this, yet now, his pulse raced.
Not from nerves.
From longing.
It had been Amber Eras since they'd last been this close.
"Every part of Firefly is precious to me."
His fingers traced the silken strands fanned across the pillow before cupping her cheek—unchanged from the girl he'd loved under Grammer's war-torn skies.
The lamp clicked off under Liuying's small hand.
She curled against his chest, finding solace in the steady heartbeat beneath her ear. His unspoken promise was clear.
"Then… I'll wait for you to marry me."
"Without fail."
Anming held her tighter, savoring the warmth of her breath against his skin.
Meanwhile, Outside Room 603
"Explain."
"Where is he?"
March 7th and Stelle stood before the conspicuously empty room at midnight, flanked by a yawning Qingque (whose dark circles rivaled a raccoon's).
Dan Heng examined the spare keycard. "Given Anming's capabilities, concern seems unnecessary."
Stelle—her hair still damp—dropped to a crouch, scrutinizing the hallway carpet like a bloodhound. A dramatic sniff later, she declared:
"Anming never entered this room!"
"Since when are you part K-9?!" March scoffed.
Where could he have gone in this frozen wasteland? Off to single-handedly resolve the Stellaron crisis?
Only one person knew the truth—
Qingque, currently sweating bullets despite the subzero temperatures.
Her gaze darted toward Room 601 opposite them. Grandmaster's probably drowning in a sea of cuddles right now. Zero situational awareness.
The pivotal moment had arrived. A devilish whisper teased her ear:
"Right this way, ladies~ Your target's inside!"
One move, and Anming's reputation would be obliterated.
—Absolutely not.
Qingque took a steadying breath. Time to return the favor.
"Earlier, Anming mentioned… enlightenment in the snowfields. Some new sword technique." She gripped Stelle's arm before the bat-wielder could launch a door-to-door raid.
"That's it?" Stelle deflated. "I was hoping for drama. Like catching him in flagrante."
"Qingque, you're sweating again."
"Heatstroke!"
Dawn, Room 601
Liuying stirred awake, squinting at the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Her lips instinctively found Anming's neck in a sleepy kiss—
—then froze.
The warmth was real.
Not a dream.
She hated dreaming. Every embrace there dissolved like foam, every "Anming" just a memory wearing his face.
"Anming."
Her whisper was a wife's morning ritual, tender and familiar.
"Morning, Firefly."
The sight of her—here, now—lumped his throat. Something so ordinary in Grammer had become priceless.
Liuying's white nightgown clung to curves that defied mortal craftsmanship, her silver hair gleaming like spun starlight.
"Anming."
"Hmm?"
"Tell me about her. That Master Diviner."
Her sunset eyes held no trace of last night's anguish. She wanted all of him—even the chapters written with another.
So he spoke.
Of peach blossoms in Yuque. Of a stubborn senior disciple and her reckless junior. Of vows exchanged. Of a fate severed by his own blade.
Liuying listened quietly, her fingers interlaced with his, emotions flickering behind her lashes.
"So you were a Sword Sovereign."
When the tale ended, she smiled—not at the title, but at the man who'd earned it.
But one fact remained: She'd loved him first.
In her eyes, Fu Xuan was just… the other woman.
A twinge of jealousy pricked her heart. Eighteen summers versus a lifetime—how could they compare?
"That's everything."
Anming's gaze held no shadows. No more lies. No more distance.
They'd promised.
"Mm. Passing grade." Liuying's smile bloomed.
She'd trusted him to confess freely. That was her kindness—her Firefly-esque grace.
No answer would've driven her away. But the path back had one condition:
Total honesty.
A vow made when she first took the name "Liuying."
Later, Hallway
"Bro. Seriously?"
Stelle glared at the still-vacant Room 603. Unless Anming was cultivating some Arctic Turtle Divine Technique, how could anyone survive a Belobog blizzard overnight?
Her nose twitched. A scent trail led straight to—
Room 601.
"Anming's essence is here!"
"You sound like a stalker…" March dragged her back. "Maybe he woke early to get breakfast?"
"Nope. Betrayal afoot."
Stelle hefted her bat, ready to unleash Stellar Justice upon the door—
—which creaked open.
Anming yawned, his "just woke up" act worthy of an Oscar. "You guys need something?"
"Room 603's heater broke. Front desk moved me here."
His chuckle didn't mask the sweat beading his neck.
Stelle leaned in—way in—until her microscope-vision spotted it:
A single silver hair clinging to his collar.
Her eyes traveled upward.
There, just below his jawline—
A love bite, fresh as dawn.