Warm Under the Eaves

When Lu Yuan's sword was pressed against his enemy's throat, his hand was shaking so much that even the blade of the sword was buzzing. The man smiled and released the souls of his parents, forcing him to chop up the afterimages of his loved ones with his own hands. His eyes were so red that they were bleeding, but he gritted his teeth and refused to let the tears fall. He just turned to look at Su Yan, his voice was as hoarse as sandpaper: "Ayan... I can't hold the sword anymore." Su Yan didn't say anything. She stepped forward and pried off his fingers one by one and pressed them back on the hilt of the sword. She put her palm against the back of his hand, her body temperature seeping through her skin, and whispered in his ear: "Ayuan, I'm here." The moment he swung the sword, tears finally fell on the sword. When the dead soul dissipated, he knelt on the ground and cried until he couldn't breathe. She didn't say any big words, she just knelt down and held him in her arms, patting his back again and again, just like she did to coax him when he had nightmares when he was a child. That night they sat in front of the grave until the moon set. She put her coat on his shoulders, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing slowly and steadily. Tangli petals fell down and stuck to the top of his hair and her shoulders. No one reached out to brush them. He was not born gentle, but he gave all his caution to her; she was not born strong, but she was reluctant to collapse in front of him. There was no earth-shattering oath, just a child who was afraid of being thrown away and a woman who was afraid that she couldn't hold on. They held each other's hands in the shadow of swords and swords, and walked to a place where they could close their eyes in peace.