White Line

White Line lay curled up where the shoal met the river.

The murmuring current was like a flowing white bed, while the crystalline splashes raised by the fine rain formed a translucent canopy. White Line lay on her side between them, like Sleeping Beauty in a fairy tale, asleep on a pure-white bed of white roses.

As the water gently rose and fell, so did White Line's shoulder. Yet she kept her arms wrapped around the silver case in her embrace, like a fledgling clutching a broken eggshell.

It looked as though White Line wasn't unconscious. She was asleep.

Some of the weight on Xia Lun's heart lifted, but he still approached her slowly, with the care of someone using Stealth.

A faint worry lingered in his mind: White Line's head might burst into countless Starlight maggots, just as Golden Sprout's had.

His leather shoes crunched over the fine gravel of Front Shoal as Xia Lun reached White Line's side.

He heard the soft patter of water against the pebbles on the riverbank, along with indistinct sleep-talk and gentle breathing.

In Xia Lun's experience, White Line was always sly and alert, as hard to read as a fox. This was the first time he had seen her so vulnerable and unguarded.

Splashes had soaked her black hair. Through the refraction of the water, Xia Lun saw her delicate features, porcelain-white skin, and fine, slightly curled lashes trembling faintly.

He watched her quietly for a moment, then noticed something strange.

Did White Line look younger?

He did not dwell on it. He stepped into the water, bent down, slipped his hands beneath her arms, and gripped her shoulders. Then he pushed backward with his feet and dragged her onto the bank.

White Line wore a denim jacket, but it no longer