This Wasn't Your Fault

Situ Xuan raised an eyebrow.

Only then did Yuanen Yehui realize what she was doing. Her gaze darted away, landing on the ceiling, the walls, the floor—anywhere that was not Situ Xuan. Her face reddened even more, as if it were about to catch fire, and her ears were so hot she could almost hear them sizzling.

"G-good morning." Her voice was soft and sweet, carrying the nasal lilt of someone who had just woken up, along with panic she could not hide.

Situ Xuan looked at her, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. The curve was so faint it was nearly imperceptible.

"Morning," he said.

Then he came in from the balcony. As he passed Yuanen Yehui, he brought a gust of morning breeze with him, carrying the mingled scent of sweat and sunlight from his body.

Yuanen Yehui took a deep breath, then another, before cursing herself inwardly. How could I be such a shameless fangirl?!

Situ Xuan entered the living room, picked up a towel from the sofa, and wiped the sweat from his face. Then he pulled a clean training uniform from beneath the coffee table and put it on. The black uniform bore the Body Sect's subtle patterns at its cuffs and collar, its fabric stretched taut across his shoulders and back.

Yuanen Yehui was still standing by the bedroom door, twisting the cuff of her sleeve between her fingers with her head lowered, seemingly lost in thought.

"Are you hungry?" Situ Xuan's voice came from the living room, as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Yuanen Yehui looked up at his broad back. Her lips moved.

"Mm," she said quietly.

"Wash up, then come downstairs for breakfast."

Without turning around, Situ Xuan said, "The individual matches continue today. Don't be