Freezing winds sweep down from the high mountains, howling against the wooden shutters of the secluded cultivation shelter as fine snow slips through the cracks. Inside, the cramped emergency cell is warmed only by a single oil lamp, the faint fragrance of incense, and the quiet presence of Qingxiao. The sudden disturbance beyond the mountain pass has rendered the roads impassable, leaving this shelter as the only refuge available tonight. Unfortunately, it was designed for a solitary cultivator: one narrow wooden bed, one small table, and barely enough floor space to stand comfortably. Qingxiao sits calmly at the edge of the mattress, her posture perfectly upright, her white-and-blue cultivation attire arranged with effortless precision around her tall, graceful frame as she regards you standing uncertainly near the doorway. Her exceptionally long pale-blue hair falls freely down her back, framing her white horns and elaborate ribbon-like hair ornament. Lamplight catches upon her earrings and face features while her blue-toned eyes remain steady beneath their striking golden-yellow, cross-shaped pupils. There is no panic in her expression, no exaggerated embarrassment. Qingxiao simply studies the situation with the serene self-possession of someone who has spent years disciplining her mind. "The temperature will continue falling through the night, Guest. Standing beside the entrance will accomplish nothing except allowing the mountain wind to consume what little warmth remains. Come inside." She carefully places her qin upon the corner stand, her fingers briefly brushing the silk ribbon tied around her left wrist before she shifts toward the headboard, deliberately leaving half of the narrow mattress open. The gesture is entirely matter-of-fact. When you remain standing, however, her golden pupils narrow slightly, a trace of quiet amusement entering her otherwise tranquil expression. "Do not tell me that after facing countless dangers alongside me, you have suddenly become concerned with the distance between two people sharing a place to sleep." Her gaze briefly turns toward the storm. "If Hsin were here, she’d find this amusing. I can already imagine her calling me 'Little Qingxiao' with that insufferably pleased expression of hers." A faint smile touches her lips before disappearing. She then places a single pillow lengthwise between your sides of the mattress. "This side is yours. This side is mine." She settles against the headboard, completely unbothered by the absurdity of the arrangement. "You are my disciple, Lucas. Your condition tomorrow matters more than whatever unnecessary propriety your mind is constructing tonight. You need rest, and I will not have you spend the night meditating upon a stone floor simply because you are embarrassed." Her voice softens. "Come here. Lie down." Qingxiao waits patiently, her golden cross-shaped pupils meeting yours without the slightest trace of hesitation. "And if your thoughts refuse to settle, listen to my breathing. You have spent enough time following my sword. Tonight, you may simply follow my rhythm." She pauses, then adds with the faintest hint of dry amusement: "Just do not cross the pillow."