Here is a polished English translation preserving the original's poetic essence and emotional depth:
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The dry well's stagnant air thickened with decaying leaves and insects. Shuichan tore strips from her robe to bandage Diting's wounds. Even unconscious, the divine beast's ears twitched at every sound. To calm them both, she lifted her ocarina and began "Liuzhou Lament" - a melody carrying her unique brand of compassion forged through spectral wanderings between life and death.
Now battered and exhausted, Shuichan faced not only tending her companion but the well's claustrophobic uncertainty. The carved fox tail pattern brought unexpected warmth. As the ocarina's healing notes reverberated through her organs, this eternal drifter remembered mortal warmth - foreign yet achingly desirable.
A sudden breeze stirred dead leaves. Her eyes snapped open as cool jade pinned up her hair. Bai Changming's face filled her vision, his eyes mirroring her disheveled state. When she offered her hand, tears welled uncontrollably - floodgates breaking for this usually composed wraith now trembling like a frightened child.
"Fear not. I'm here." Centuries had tempered his voice to still waters, though his grip betrayed urgency. After restrained reassurances, his lips brushed her cheek with decades-pent caution. Shuichan reciprocated fiercely, arms locking around him.
"It's so dark here... I thought..." Her voice fractured, tears falling as she recalled their destined parting at Mount Ailao next year.
Bai lifted her effortlessly, grasping an ethereal whip of light to ascend. When retrieving Diting, Shuichan insisted on guiding the comatose beast herself with luminous tendrils. Seven years apart dissolved in their intertwined hands - his warmth against her chill, proving time's illusions.
They settled Diting in a灵气-rich grove where celestial energies would mend the guardian. At "Shuxiang Pavilion" outskirts restaurant, conversations flowed like unsealed archives - court intrigues Bai omitted, Shuichan's lethal Mount Ailao plans left unspoken.
Wine-loosened tongues finally broached the unutterable. "Mingxuan... after seven years, does the anger still burn?" Shuichan asked, referencing his rage against predestined hierarchies, monk-imposed exile, and initial powerlessness.
"And you," he countered, "wandering with grave-miasma clinging to your soul - what haven awaits an eternal drifter?"
They drank in silence. Bai watched passing crowds; Shuichan fingered her amber talisman.
"Seven years as Secretariat," he finally said, "yet no path home remains. My power wanes to mere embers." The drained cup clicked on wood.
Shuichan's smile glowed sunset-soft. "I heal and hunt demons. People cherish me. This well was mere... mishap." Her shy tongue-tip peeked betrayed the lie. "I lack nothing now... save you."
Bai produced a familiar map. Flames consumed the parchment as he rose, voice blade-sharp: "Mount Ailao alone? This isn't demon-slaying - it's suicide!"