Re-birth: The Beginning after the End

The moment his chamber door sealed shut, Mo Xing's fingers traced elaborate patterns in the air, weaving layers of protective barriers that would prevent anyone from sensing what was about to unfold. He barely made it to the bed before the Darkness surged within him with unprecedented intensity, not in rage but in something akin to yearning—as if throwing a tantrum at being separated from Little Tempest's calming presence.

"Master..." Mian Mian materialized beside him, her ethereal form flickering with concern.

Mo Xing's jaw clenched against waves of increasingly insistent pressure that threatened to tear him apart. He curled in on himself, a position of vulnerability he had never allowed himself, not even in childhood.

The Darkness writhed beneath his skin like living ink, but this time its pulses felt less like attacks and more like the desperate tugging of a child demanding to be closer to something it wanted. His fingers clutched at the silk sheets, knuckles white with strain as he fought against the shadow essence's unexpected and almost petulant demand for Little Tempest's proximity.

"Fine." He groaned out through gritted teeth, surrendering to the Darkness's demands with as much dignity as he could muster. "If that's what you want."

But to be honest, he wanted to be around her just as much as the Darkness did. The realization settled over him with startling clarity—there was no use fighting this pull, this inexplicable need to be in her presence. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but the Darkness was merely providing a convenient excuse for what he already desired.

"Master—" But before Mian Mian could voice her protest, shadows engulfed Mo Xing's form, pulling him into the void between spaces.

Between one heartbeat and the next, he materialized in Li Hua's quarters, his presence as silent as moonlight on still water. The Darkness within him immediately began to settle, like a satisfied child finally getting its way.

At first, Mo Xing stood by her desk and watched her as she cultivated.

"Master, we shouldn't be here," Mian Mian's voice fluttered anxiously in his consciousness. "This is improper! What if someone senses our presence?" When he ignored her, her spiritual form vibrated with indignation. "Master! Are you even listening to me?" Her usual composure fractured into a rare display of petulance that Mo Xing found both amusing and irrelevant.

He silently dismissed her concerns, his attention fixed entirely on Li Hua. The peaceful expression on her face, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she meditated, created an image of serenity that stirred something deep within his memories.

Without warning, the present blurred into a vision—hauntingly familiar despite its impossibility: a beautiful woman with Li Tempest's features approached with ethereal grace. Her smile—radiant as dawn—awakened emotions he couldn't place. The resemblance was so striking it made his chest ache with a sense of recognition that shouldn't exist.

"Promise me you won't disappear again," she whispered, her fingertips tracing the contours of his face with heartbreaking tenderness. "The emptiness you leave behind is more than I can bear."

His heart responded with a familiarity his mind rejected. He reached toward the apparition, his fingers passing through empty air. The gesture felt both foreign and natural. Fragmented scenes flickered through his consciousness—her laughter in golden halls, her touch against his chest, promises he couldn't remember making.

Reality slowly reasserted itself. Shaken by the vision, he moved toward her bed with deliberate grace. The Darkness within him grew unusually quiet, almost reverent. Her scent—jasmine and honey—wrapped around him like a familiar embrace, eerily similar to the phantom memory. He studied her peaceful features, finding echoes of the woman from his vision in every line.

Her eyes opened and the cold and calm in her eyes settled over him.

"What are you doing here?" She asked unsurprised.

"Little Tempest, I just can't seem to stay away from you," he replied with rare honesty. The Darkness hummed with contentment as he watched her practiced indifference war with something softer—the same conflict he'd witnessed in his vision.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, yet made no move to leave. Her voice carried less ice than usual, betraying a hidden vulnerability.

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He studied the curve of her jaw, her dark lashes casting shadows in the dim light. "Why do you affect me this way?" he murmured, the question weighted with centuries, especially with these strange not-memories swimming through his mind.

When she turned to face him fully, his breath caught. For a moment, the line between past and present blurred dangerously.

Before thought could intervene, his arms moved of their own accord, pulling her against his chest. She stiffened immediately, hands pressing against him in protest, her whole body coiling like a startled serpent. But when she tried to push away, his voice dropped to a whisper against her hair, "You owe me, Little Tempest."

He hated himself for using her debt as leverage, for manipulating her with obligation—but in this moment, all his careful calculations had abandoned him. He needed this, needed to hold her in a way that transcended reason or dignity. Centuries of isolation crumbled beneath the simple, human need for her warmth.

The words settled between them like a gentle trap, and he felt the fight drain from her muscles—though she remained rigid in his embrace, like a frozen stream caught in winter's grip. Her breath came in controlled measures against his chest, each inhale a careful negotiation between propriety and debt.

Her weight against his chest felt both foreign and familiar, like a half-remembered dream finally taking shape in reality. The Darkness within him had settled into a contented hum, more peaceful than he'd felt it in centuries. The stark contrast to its usual violent nature made him pause, made him question everything he thought he knew about the darkness that he had been suppressing.

Why did it crave her presence so desperately? The Darkness had always been a force of destruction, of chaos and endless hunger. Yet around his Little Tempest, it transformed into something almost docile, like a wild beast suddenly tamed. Was it responding to something in her that he couldn't perceive?

"How long—" Li Hua began, but Mo Xing silenced her with a gentle sound, not willing to let questions break this moment of peace.

He wrapped her in both arms and leaned in, breathing her in. The familiar scent of jasmine and honey filled his senses, as intoxicating as immortal wine. Let the questions wait, let the mysteries linger. For now, he simply wanted to exist in this space where the Darkness fell quiet and his own heart remembered how to beat.

She was a puzzle he'd been determined to solve since their first meeting, a mystery he'd sworn to unravel piece by delicate piece. But heavens above, while he'd prepared himself for every possibility, he hadn't prepared for how willingly he'd surrender to the unraveling himself.