The drawing of a blade causes the most minuscule of breezes, a little curl of air that's barely enough to stir a butterfly's wings. But Xiao Xingchen feels it. He feels it, and he draws Shuanghua in response, knowing that he's dulled Xue Yang's edges. Knowing that now he might even hesitate where he wouldn't have before, all for the love of him.

Song Lan aims a sword at Xue Yang's chest. And Xiao Xingchen aims one at his. It's not until he speaks and Xingchen hears his voice that Shuanghua starts to lower. The elegant sword trembles in the blind man's hand.

"...Zichen? Is it really you?"

His voice trembles too. Xiao Xingchen's heart has been stitched together, but it's never completely healed after the loss of his soulmate. Those stitches start tearing open one by one, until he would swear that the front of his robes must be red instead of white. And he has no time - Xingchen swallows hard - there's no time for him to stop the bleeding, because this could go so bad, so quickly.

The sword in his hand drops.

"Zichen, I'm unharmed. He's hurt no one." And then, to Xue Yang but softer: "Step back."

If they plan to kill each other, they must kill him first.