The willow tree stood tall and majestic, its branches weaving a protective canopy on the hilltop above the two of them. Li Mei sat beneath its shadow, her fingers tracing the smooth bark, while Chen Wei remained standing, his gaze fixed on her.
"You've changed," he said softly, breaking the quiet that had settled between them.
Li Mei glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "So have you."
Chen Wei gave a small nod. "I had to. The city wasn't kind. It taught me how to be strong, but it also taught me the cost of that strength."
"And yet, you're still here," Li Mei said, a touch of incredulity in her voice.
"I promised," he replied. "You're the only promise I ever kept."
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she looked away, the weight of his words pressing against her defenses. "Promises don't mean much when they're built on memories," she whispered.
Chen Wei lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged across from her. "Memories are all we have. And some, they endure."
"You don't know what you're saying," Li Mei said bitterly. "You left me once. What makes you think I'll let you stay now?"
"Because I never stopped thinking about you," he confessed, his voice filled with sincerity. "Even when I was far away, I wondered how you were. Wondered if you were safe, if anyone could see the strength in you that I always did."
Li Mei shook her head, her smile bitter but faint. "You see what you want to see."
"And what I see," he said softly, "is a warrior who's been fighting her battles alone for far too long."
She fell silent again, her fingers stilling against the tree's bark. The weight of his words settled over her like a quiet storm, stirring feelings she had long buried deep inside.
"I don't need saving, Chen Wei," she said finally, her voice low but firm. "I've managed just fine on my own."
"And yet, you're not fine," he countered, his eyes searching hers. "You're tired, worn down by the burdens they've placed on you. You've been so strong for so long, but strength shouldn't come at the cost of losing yourself."
Li Mei couldn't deny his words, but admitting them was a different battle altogether. She had lived in her head for years—strategizing, outwitting, controlling—and it had become a part of who she was. Letting go of that control felt like stepping into the unknown.
"I don't know how to let go," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper.
Chen Wei reached out, gently taking her hand in his. His touch was steady, grounding. "You don't have to do it alone."
The world around them seemed to shrink even further. The rustling leaves, the distant sounds of the village, everything faded into insignificance. There was only them, in this moment, beneath the protective embrace of the willow tree.
"I don't trust easily," Li Mei said, her voice trembling slightly.
"And that's okay," Chen Wei replied. "Trust takes time. But I'm here, waiting."
For the first time in years, Li Mei felt the sting of tears pricking at her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, refusing to let them fall, but her voice betrayed her, soft and vulnerable. "You don't know the dangers. You can't protect me from everything."
"No," he agreed, "but I can try. I'll be by your side as you face them."
A silence stretched between them again, heavier this time. Li Mei leaned back against the tree, her head resting against its sturdy trunk. Chen Wei sat quietly beside her, their hands still entwined, offering an unspoken promise.
"I don't know if I'm ready for this," she murmured, breaking the stillness once more.
"You don't have to be," Chen Wei replied. "We'll take it one step at a time."
As the night deepened, the willow tree seemed to watch over them, a silent witness to their fragile, unfolding story.