The sunrise had fully settled now, painting the sky in soft gold and pale orange. The wind was calmer, gentler, as if the world itself had decided to pause with them a little longer.
Bai Zhiqi stood near the edge of the mountain peak, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. She didn't speak. Not because she had nothing to say—but because for once, there was no need to rush her thoughts.
Ji Yanluo stood a step behind her.
For a long moment, he said nothing too.
Then—
"Bai Zhiqi."
Her name, spoken so simply, made her turn slightly.
She looked at him.
He didn't move closer yet. Just met her gaze, steady and clear in a way he rarely allowed the world to see.
"I've been thinking," he said calmly, "about what you said earlier."
She waited.
The wind moved between them.
Ji Yanluo's expression didn't waver, but something in his eyes softened—just slightly.
"You said you don't know how to stop carrying everything alone."
A pause.
Then he stepped closer, just enough that the distance between them was no longer large.
"You don't have to learn that alone either."
Bai Zhiqi's fingers tightened faintly at her side.
"…Ji Yanluo," she said quietly, like she wasn't sure what direction this was going.
He didn't stop.
In fact, for the first time, he seemed to choose his words without hesitation.
"I've never been someone who involves himself unnecessarily in other people's lives," he said. "You already know that."
A faint, almost imperceptible exhale.
"But you still ended up in mine."
Silence.
The wind softened.
Bai Zhiqi didn't look away, but her eyes shifted slightly—as if trying to understand what she was hearing before it fully reached her.
Ji Yanluo's gaze stayed on her.
Unmoving.
Unhidden.
"And I don't want you leaving it," he added quietly.
That sentence landed differently.
He paused again—long enough for the weight of what he was about to say to settle into the air between them.
Then, clearly:
"I like you."
The world seemed to still.
Even the wind felt like it hesitated.
Bai Zhiqi didn't respond immediately.
Her expression didn't break, but something in her eyes shifted—subtle, uncertain, human.
Ji Yanluo didn't rush her.
He simply continued, voice lower now, but firm.
"I don't know when it started," he admitted. "But I know I don't want to stop it."
A faint breath escaped him—almost like quiet honesty was unfamiliar to him.
"I'm not asking you to decide anything now," he said. "And I'm not asking you to trust me completely."
A pause.
"I just… wanted you to know."
The sunrise light brushed across both of them, softening the space between silence and words.
Bai Zhiqi finally looked away—toward the horizon again.
Her voice came out quieter than before.
"…You shouldn't say things like that so easily."
Ji Yanluo's answer was immediate.
"I don't say things easily."
That made her pause.
For the first time, a faint uncertainty crossed her calm exterior.
Behind them, the mountain stayed still.
The world below kept moving.
But up here—
Something had quietly shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But irreversibly.