Dream and Dinner (Part 1)

LAN FENG

— ✦ —

In my dream, the kiss lingered.

I could still feel the warmth of it—soft, fleeting, yet searing in its impact. My world had narrowed to that single, breathless moment. Gege's lips pressed against his, gentle and deliberate, the rush of spiritual power flowing between us like wind caught in a storm. It wasn't just energy being exchanged—it was something deeper, something I didn't have the words for. All I knew was that I wanted to stay there, suspended in that closeness, for as long as time would allow.

But reality crept in, soft and insistent.

"Feng'er," he called softly, a sound so familiar it made my heart ache.

My eyes opened slowly, the brightness of the afternoon light filtering through the window blurring my vision. I blinked a few times, trying to adjust, and then… there he was.

Gege.

Kneeling beside the bed, his face calm, serene, impossibly beautiful in the slanting golden light. For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. My chest tightened, and I almost reached for him, almost leaned forward to press our lips together again. Just to see if he'd kiss me back. Just to see if he felt it too.

But before I could move, he spoke again.

"Come on. Chief Li invited us for dinner," he said with a small smile. "You've slept all afternoon. We should clean up and go before the sun sets."

My heart dropped.

Of course. The kiss had meant nothing. He only did it to draw my energy, to stabilize his qi—he told me so himself. That was all it had ever been. I gave a small nod and sat up slowly, burying the ache in my chest beneath the blanket as I pulled it aside.

He turned away to give me privacy, which only made the silence heavier.

As we walked side by side toward the village chief's house, I found myself sneaking glances at him, stealing quick looks whenever I thought he wasn't paying attention. The way his sleeves fluttered as he walked, the faint curve of his profile, the light in his silver eyes—it all made my chest tighten again.

That kiss… it still won't leave me alone.

No matter how many times I reminded myself it was nothing more than a practical move, my heart wouldn't listen. I wanted to believe there was more to it. That maybe—just maybe—he had felt the same spark I had. But I couldn't ask. I wouldn't.

How could I, when Gege once loved a woman?

Jinjing. That was her name. I'd overheard it once, spoken softly by one of the villagers. She had meant something to him. Someone he had wanted to marry.

Someone I could never be.

So I kept my mouth shut. Pretended the kiss hadn't set my world on fire. Pretended I wasn't walking next to him with my heart pounding like a war drum.

I didn't want to lose what we had now. Even if it was just this—quiet footsteps on a dirt path, walking side by side.

Even if he never looked at me the way I looked at him.

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LUO FAN

— ✦ —

When we arrived at the village chief's house, the chief and his family were already gathered, waiting for us. A long rectangular table sat at the center of the room, laden with an impressive spread: grilled fish, steamed crabs, fragrant vegetable stews, and several plates of freshly baked bread. The aroma alone was enough to stir my hunger.

The chief greeted us warmly and gestured for us to sit. "Priest Luo, Lan Feng—please, join us. Tonight, we celebrate life and bravery."

We took our seats, Lan Feng settling beside me. As per village custom, the women did not join us at the table but instead moved around it, serving the dishes. I had come to understand during my stay that this was their tradition—women served first and only ate after the men had finished, gathering separately to dine and chat among themselves.

Despite the mouthwatering food, Lan Feng didn't move. His hands rested quietly in his lap, his eyes flicking toward me, uncertain.

"Why aren't you eating?" I asked in a low voice. "There's plenty of fish tonight. I promise it tastes better than the ones I've been making."

He leaned in slightly, his tone soft and tired. "I only eat what Gege cooks."

I blinked, momentarily surprised, but then I understood. It wasn't about the food itself. It was trust. In his current state, I was the only person he felt safe with.

"It's alright," I whispered, reaching for a bowl of soup. I took a spoonful, smiled, then offered the bowl to him. "See? Perfectly safe."

He hesitated just briefly before accepting it and slowly sipping the soup. It ended up being the only thing he ate that night.

The others at the table exchanged a few subtle glances, concern flickering in their eyes. But no one said anything. These villagers were kind. They didn't look at Lan Feng with pity or judgment, only quiet respect for what they assumed was a mental affliction.

To ease the tension, the chief spoke up with a chuckle, "He calls you Gege—so you must be the older brother?"

I nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation. "Yes. Though most people assume I'm younger because of how I look. But I'm actually a few years older."

"You don't mean you're already in your thirties?" he asked, raising a brow.

I paused. Of course they'd assume that. Ruan Yanjun looked to be in his late twenties, and I had claimed to be older. It would be strange if I said otherwise now.

I nodded again, suppressing the flicker of guilt. It was easier to maintain the story than explain the complicated truth.

The chief smiled. "It doesn't show at all. Anyone would think you're barely past twenty."

"One of the benefits of cultivation," I replied, keeping my tone light. "Aging slows significantly."

The chief laughed. "Ah, yes. When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a cultivator myself. But all the masters I met said my foundation was too weak. They told me to look for purpose elsewhere. In the end, they were right—my purpose was here, in this village, all along."

As dinner continued, a group of young men entered the room, their energy bright and eager. There was an air of reverence about them as they approached me and Lan Feng, each bowing deeply before one of them stepped forward to deliver a prepared message.

"To Priest Luo and Young Master Lan Feng," the young man intoned, his voice carrying the weight of reverence, "the village sees in you the breath of heaven itself—divine guardians who walked among us in flesh, turning away the tide of misfortune and guiding us back into the light."

I stiffened at their words, unease rippling through me. The memory of a similar sentiment I had once expressed to Ruan Yanjun resurfaced, sharp and vivid. I had told him he was sent by the gods during one of my moments of desperation, and his reaction had been explosive.

As a dark-path cultivator bearing the ancient demonic core, he was considered more ancient and powerful than the celestial deities themselves. To liken him to a servant of the heavens had been an insult—a misstep he'd never let me forget.

Since then, I had never made that mistake again.

My eyes slid toward Lan Feng, bracing myself for a flicker of recognition, irritation—anything that hinted the buried Ruan Yanjun had heard those words.

But to my surprise, he remained utterly still. His expression was blank, gaze drifting lazily toward the young men with mild curiosity. If anything, he looked bored. Then, without a word, he turned back to his soup and quietly resumed sipping it.

I exhaled, a soft breath of relief. Thank the heavens he was still Lan Feng, the docile, half-forgetful boy with no memory of pride or wrath.

Ruan Yanjun would have snapped the table in two by now—or worse.

The young men began to sing, their voices rising in an old village hymn that echoed with sincerity. Lan Feng tilted his head, listening with a sort of innocent wonder, though he remained silent. The room warmed with their melody, and I allowed myself to relax, just a little.

This village—with its simple customs and quiet kindness—felt like a sanctuary. A rare moment of peace.

One I wasn't sure either of us deserved.

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