The narrow stone path wound gently downward from the shrine, bordered on one side by the whispering bamboo and on the other by wild ferns and scattered wildflowers.
Morning sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft, dappled patches, warming the air just enough to make the walk pleasant.
Shen Qiyao walked ahead at his usual steady pace, long black hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
The borrowed grey robe on He Qing still dragged at the hem, forcing the younger man to lift it every few steps with an exaggerated sigh.
He Qing caught up after a few moments, falling into step beside Qiyao. "This robe really wants me to trip, doesn't it? Every time I take a step it tries to hug the ground."
Qiyao's gaze remained on the path ahead, but his voice carried the faintest trace of amusement. "You insisted on wearing it."
"Because someone kindly lent it to me," He Qing replied with a dramatic flutter of his too-long sleeves. "I'm showing gratitude by suffering elegantly."
A small bird fluttered across the path, and He Qing's eyes followed it with childlike interest. "Look at that — even the birds are happier than me right now. Do you ever come down this way just to walk?"
"Sometimes," Qiyao answered quietly. "When the shrine feels too still."
He Qing glanced sideways at him, noting the way Qiyao's eyes lingered briefly on the bamboo grove behind them before returning to the trail.
He did not comment on it. Instead, he reached out and lightly tugged at Qiyao's sleeve. "Then today the shrine is less still. You have company. Lucky you."
The path narrowed as it began its descent, forcing them to walk closer together. Their shoulders brushed once, twice. Neither moved away. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed herbs underfoot.
Halfway down, He Qing suddenly stopped and pointed at a cluster of small purple flowers growing beside a rock. "Wait — these look edible. We could pick some for seasoning the fish later."
Qiyao paused, turning to look. "They are bitter if picked too early."
He Qing crouched anyway, carefully plucking a few stems. "Then I'll let you decide how many. See? I'm learning to listen to Mr. Taller Shen's wisdom already."
Qiyao accepted the small bunch when He Qing offered it, their fingers brushing again. This time the touch lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Qiyao tucked the flowers into the fold of his sleeve without comment, but the corner of his mouth softened.
They continued walking. The path grew steeper, forcing He Qing to lift the hem of the robe higher. He nearly stumbled once, catching himself with a laugh. "See? I told you this robe is plotting against me."
"Careful," Qiyao said, instinctively reaching out to steady He Qing's arm for a moment before letting go.
He Qing's eyes sparkled. "My hero. If I fall, will you carry me the rest of the way?"
Qiyao gave him a dry look. "I will leave you there and continue alone."
He Qing gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. "So cruel! After I offered to catch fish for you."
The teasing continued in light waves — small complaints about the sun, silly questions about whether Qiyao had ever caught fish before, gentle jabs about how serious Qiyao looked even while walking downhill.
Each exchange felt easy, unhurried, like stones skipping across still water.
At one bend in the path, the trees opened slightly, revealing a distant view of the valley below — a thin silver thread of stream winding through green slopes. He Qing stopped to admire it, breathing in deeply.
"It's beautiful here," he said softly, the playfulness quieting for a moment. "No wonder you chose this place."
Qiyao stood beside him, looking out over the same view. The silence between them felt comfortable now, almost familiar. Inside his chest, that small warm sensation from earlier had not faded. It had only grown quieter, steadier.
He Qing turned his head, studying Qiyao's profile. His voice dropped to something gentler. "Thank you for coming with me today. Even if it's just because I made a baby face."
Qiyao did not answer immediately. After a long breath he simply said, "The path is still long."
But the way he said it carried no reluctance — only a quiet acceptance that today, the path felt a little less solitary.
They continued downward together, shoulders occasionally brushing, the borrowed robe still dragging, small laughs rising now and then like sunlight breaking through leaves.
The mountain valley waited below, but for now the journey itself had become the gentle, unfolding moment — two figures moving slowly through morning light, learning the shape of each other's company one careful step at a time.
And somewhere far behind them, the bamboo grove remained perfectly still, listening to the fading sound of their voices carried on the breeze.
The path continued its gentle descent, the ground growing softer underfoot as they moved away from the bamboo and into the scattered pine and wild grass of the lower slope.
The air smelled sweeter here, carrying the faint scent of mountain water and sun-warmed earth.
He Qing walked a half-step behind Qiyao now, still occasionally lifting the hem of the oversized grey robe with an exaggerated sigh.
Every few paces he would glance at the man in front, as if making sure the quiet between them stayed comfortable.
After a while, the trail curved around a large boulder, revealing the first clear view of the stream below — a thin ribbon of silver threading through the valley. He Qing stopped, eyes lighting up.
"Look… it's even prettier than I imagined," he said softly. "The water looks so clear. We might actually catch something good today."
Qiyao paused beside him, following his gaze. The morning light sparkled on the distant water, and for a moment both men stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder, simply watching the valley breathe.
He Qing's voice dropped lower, almost hesitant. "You know… I haven't done something like this in a long time. Just going somewhere with someone. Not running, not hiding. Just… walking."
Qiyao did not reply right away. His long black hair stirred slightly in the breeze as he looked at the stream, then at the younger man beside him.
The warmth that had been quietly growing in his chest since breakfast felt a little stronger now, steadier, like sunlight settling into stone.
He Qing turned his head, meeting Qiyao's eyes. A small, genuine smile curved his lips — no dramatic flair this time, just quiet fondness. "Thank you for not saying no, Mr. Taller Shen."
Qiyao's gaze lingered on him a moment longer than usual. The corners of his mouth softened, almost imperceptibly. "The fish won't wait forever."
He Qing's smile widened, bright and warm. He gave a small, playful bow. "Then lead the way, my kind guide."
They continued down the final stretch of the path. The ground leveled out, and the sound of flowing water grew clearer with every step.
He Qing's borrowed robe dragged less now that the slope had eased, but he still kept close, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked side by side.
As they neared the stream bank, Qiyao slowed. The water sparkled under the sun, shallow enough in places to see smooth stones beneath the surface. He Qing let out a soft, delighted breath.
The grove was too silent again.
He Qing noticed the change immediately. His playful energy dimmed, replaced by something softer, more careful. He said nothing, only stepped a little closer, his eyes warm with unspoken understanding as he watched Qiyao's profile.
The flute did not sound again.
After a long, quiet moment, Qiyao exhaled slowly and continued toward the stream bank without a word. He Qing followed, staying near, the borrowed robe brushing against Qiyao's sleeve as they walked the last few steps together.
The mountain stream waited patiently ahead, clear and inviting, while behind them the path they had shared stretched upward — two sets of footprints side by side in the soft earth, leading back to the silent grove that now felt just a little farther away.