A few days later.
The morning frost had yet to dissipate. Shen Luolin threw off the animal hide covering him. Though his fever had subsided, his body was still a little weak, but that lingering ache deep in his bones had faded considerably.
He propped himself up on the bedside and sat up, sweeping his gaze around the room, but saw no sign of that silver figure.
The fire in the hearth was still crackling softly, giving off a faint warmth.
Shen Luolin stood up, deliberately ignoring the soreness deep in his joints. His movements appeared steady, but in truth, every step cost him more effort than usual.
Out of habit, he reached for the hook by the door, intending to grab the ever-present tactical knife and hunting bow.
But his hand grasped at empty air.
Where his weapons had hung, there remained only a few lonely wooden pegs.
Shen Luolin frowned slightly and pushed open the creaking wooden door.
Outside, Moyin was crouched in the snow with her back to him. She’d changed into a neat short outfit—something she’d crafted from old clothing herself, to better move through the forest.
Hearing the noise, she turned quickly, the tactical knife at her waist catching the morning light with a cold gleam.
“Master, you’re awake.”
Moyin stood up, brushing off the snow from her hands. She didn’t show her usual obedient expression. Instead, she stepped in front of Shen Luolin, blocking his path to the hunting bow.
“Give me my things.” Shen Luolin’s voice was still hoarse as he stretched out his hand, eyes locked on the hunting bow in Moyin’s arms.
It wasn’t that Shen Luolin was acting tough.
The supplies Ella had sent had already been confirmed tampered with; Shen Luolin didn’t dare use them again.
If he didn’t want to starve here, he’d have to carve out a path in this barren, frozen world.
To survive, he had to find new sources of food.
And in this vast snowy wilderness, hunting was the only way.
Moyin didn’t move.
She pulled the hunting bow closer to her chest, one hand on the hilt of the knife at her waist, tilting her head up, her silver eyes full of stubbornness.
“Your wounds aren’t healed yet. Last night, when I changed your bandages, those festering spots hadn’t fully grown new flesh.”
As she spoke, she took a step forward, offering the bow to him—but just as Shen Luolin reached for it, she didn’t let go.
“You can have the bow. But the knife stays with me.”
Shen Luolin looked at the small hand clutching the bowstring, then at the knife at her waist that had once belonged to him.
This unexpected shift in control left him with a faint…sense of novelty.
He’d always played the absolute leader in this wasteland, but now, the girl he’d trained was trying to renegotiate the balance of power between them.
“You want me to hunt, but won’t let me carry a knife?”
Shen Luolin raised his brows, for the first time showing the playful glint of a hunter assessing his own kind.
Moyin didn’t answer his question, just met his eyes with a look that brooked no refusal.
“I have new rules.”
She released her grip, her fingertips brushing swiftly across Shen Luolin’s palm, sending a brief shiver through him.
Her expression was bright, her tone resolute. “Starting today, you’re in charge of long-range lookout and tracking. As for close-range stalking and setting traps, leave that to me.”
Shen Luolin looked at her.
In those silver eyes, there was no longer fear or dependence, but a flame he himself had sparked—one that now turned around to shield him.
He realized that, after that out-of-control dragonfire, something had been forged in her soul—something unbreakable.
Shen Luolin was silent for a moment.
Looking at Moyin’s face—one that said clearly, “You have to listen to me”—he finally sighed, conceding, and gripped the hunting bow.
“Alright then. But if your traps can’t catch even a single snow rabbit, I’m taking my knife back.”
The two walked into the woods, one after another.
The forest after snow was eerily silent, broken only by the occasional crack of snow weighing down dead branches. Shen Luolin leaned against a fir tree, lowered his voice, and pointed to a messy trail on the distant snow.
“Look over there. The marks are plum-blossom-shaped, the edges are sharp, which means they haven’t been gone long. The wind’s blowing from the north, so we need to circle downwind—otherwise its nose is sharper than your eyes.”
Moyin listened intently. She closed her eyes, the dragonkin’s keen senses spreading out.
She could hear small animals burrowing in the frozen earth meters below, sense the faintest traces of life in the air.
She slipped noiselessly through the snow, which reached above her knees.
At a mound beneath a snowdrift, Moyin stopped. She crouched, conjuring a near-invisible silver flame at her fingertip. It was faint, but precisely licked at the ice layer on the ground.
Shen Luolin watched from a distance. He noticed that Moyin’s control over dragonfire had reached an astonishing level—she wasn’t destroying, but using it.
The ice melted without a sound, revealing withered grass and soft earth below. Moyin quickly buried a few sharpened wooden spikes, then covered it with a thin layer of loose snow. She made not a sound, and didn’t disturb the snow around her at all.
Not long after, the sound of hurried footsteps came.
A snow-white snow fox, three times the size of an ordinary snow rabbit, darted into view. Sensing danger, it circled warily at the edge of the trap.
Shen Luolin slowly drew his bow, arrow aimed at the fox’s throat.
But he didn’t shoot.
Though his arrow stayed trained on the snow fox, he caught another silver shadow out of the corner of his eye.
Moyin made her move.
She didn’t rush in recklessly, but instead chose a time and angle that surprised even Shen Luolin, flitting out from the side shrubbery like a ghost.
Shen Luolin’s pupils narrowed—not just because of her speed, but because she’d perfectly combined the dragonkin’s explosive power with the stealth skills he’d taught her.
She didn’t go for the kill, but instead blocked the snow fox’s escape, herding it step by step toward the trap.
This wasn’t a hunt—it was a calculated siege.
Panicking, the snow fox made a misstep and fell right into the dragonfire-softened trap.
With a sharp shriek, the struggle ended.
Moyin grabbed the plump snow fox and hurried over to Shen Luolin.
Her nose was red from the cold, sweat beading on her brow, but her eyes sparkled with an excitement she’d never had before.
“Master, look!”
She held the prey out to Shen Luolin, like a soldier showing off a medal.
Shen Luolin looked at her.
Sunlight pierced through the dense branches, shining on her silver hair, giving it an almost divine radiance.
“Not bad.”
He spoke softly.
It was the first time he’d given such straightforward praise.
The recognition, more subdued than she’d expected, nonetheless weighed even more than she could have imagined.
Days of oppression, fear, and self-doubt all melted into pure joy and burst forth in that instant!
“I did it! Master, I did it!”
Moyin jumped in place with excitement, her crisp cheer shaking snow from the branches overhead.
She was no longer the timid burden trailing behind “Master,” but a companion who could fight alongside “Shen Luolin”!
Laughing, she even became a little incoherent, tossing the snow fox to the ground, then pointing at the trap and mimicking her earlier movements:
“It was right there. As soon as I rushed out, it… then it just fell right in! Just like you said! We… we did it!”
Her eyes brimmed with tears, not of sorrow, but of a joy so intense it seemed to overflow from her chest.
Shen Luolin gazed at her smile, brighter than the snowfield sun, at her silver eyes shining with excitement, and the corners of his mouth curled up ever so slightly—so faintly he himself didn’t notice.
Moyin’s laughter gradually quieted. She took a deep breath of cold air, trying to steady her pounding heart.
She looked up, gaze burning as she fixed her eyes on the man who’d taught her all this.
In that moment, she suddenly thought of her father.
He had been the same—when she’d first struck a bullseye with a wooden sword, his broad hand ruffled her hair, his deep, proud voice saying, “Well done, my little dragon.”
Her father, Rheinside, that towering figure, had once been the light of her world.
He’d taught her courage, honor, and that the strength of dragonkin was not for destruction, but for protection.
Moyin pulled herself out of her memories and looked once more at the man before her.
He leaned against the tree, his figure stretched by the light, the hunting bow in his hand still hard and ready, yet in his eyes—watching her—there was a softness he himself hadn’t noticed.
In this frozen desolation, another light was quietly illuminating her path forward.
“Master!”
The next second, before Shen Luolin could register the complexity in her gaze, Moyin threw herself into his arms without a second thought.
“Thud!”
She crashed solidly into his chest, the impact so strong that Shen Luolin grunted and his body went rigid from the sudden shock.
He froze, arms instinctively rising, hanging in midair, ready to push away the troublesome girl who’d broken his safe distance.
But he didn’t.
He could feel the softness of the girl in his arms.
She buried her face in his coat, greedily breathing in his scent, her muffled voice mixed with a sob and irrepressible laughter.
Shen Luolin’s reason told him he should push her away, tell her it was improper, remind her that happiness was fleeting and the threat to survival remained.
Yet after a brief pause, his hand slowly—awkwardly—fell on her back. He didn’t push her away. In fact, there was even a hint of a soothing pat, so faint he himself couldn’t explain it.
“…Alright, that’s enough. Get up—you’re getting snow all over my coat, and we still have to deal with the fox.”
His words, as ever, were blunt and unromantic, but the person in his arms only hugged him tighter.
Hearing his typical “Luolin-style” remark, Moyin wasn’t the least bit disappointed. Instead, she burst out laughing.
She looked up abruptly, her silver eyes—washed by tears of joy—shining like stars in the sunlight.
Her nose and cheeks were red with cold, but her smile was brighter than the daylight on the snowy ground.
“Master, you’re really no fun!”
She laughed, feigning annoyance, then let go, and before Shen Luolin could react, bent down, scooped up a handful of fluffy snow with her gloved hand, and playfully tossed it at him.
The snowball drew a white arc through the air, landing squarely on his shoulder, exploding in a puff of soft snow.
Shen Luolin froze.
He looked at the snow on his shoulder, then at the girl who was already laughing and hopping away—like a sly snow fox, ready to flee at any moment.
This kid… really is getting bolder.
Shen Luolin, of course, wasn’t about to let the little rascal off.
He hefted the snow fox from the ground, and in the blink of an eye, snatched up a big handful of fine powdery snow, and stuffed it straight into Moyin’s raised collar.