The wind that carried Mei'yin away from Fengming was cold.
By the time Xihe's great wings slowed over the Ye residence, dawn had deepened into a pale, silver light. The forest surrounding the estate swayed gently, whispering secrets only the wind could understand.
Mei'yin dismounted in silence. Her steps were slow and heavy — not from wounds, but from the exhaustion that clung to her very core. She walked along the path lined with white peonies, their petals brushing softly against her sleeves as if sensing her weariness.
Before she could touch the doors, they slid open.
Ms. Ye stood waiting — calm, but her eyes immediately filled with shock and worry. Behind her was Ye Dushen, leaning on his cane, confusion and concern furrowing his brow.
" Lady Mei'yin?" Ms. Ye's voice trembled slightly. "Where have you been all night?"
Mei'yin lowered her gaze, her tone faint.
"The battle… it's over."
Dushen stiffened, disbelief flashing in his eyes.
"Battle? Don't tell me—"
" We've heard about the battle a moment ago, You went?" Ms. Ye cut in, her voice is concern. "Without telling us? We're worried. "
Mei'yin tried to brush past them, her tone clipped and calm.
"There was no time to wait. If I hadn't gone, they would have all died."
Ms. Ye moved to block her way, her voice trembling now — not in anger, but in fear.
"You used your power again, didn't you?"
Mei'yin didn't answer. The silence that followed spoke louder than any confession.
Dushen's hand tightened on his cane.
"The resonance," he muttered darkly. "You awakened it again. Mei'yin, each time you call upon that dark energy, it devours more of your soul."
Mei'yin's expression remained unreadable. She turned toward the forest outside, where sunlight broke faintly through the morning mist.
Month passed.
The morning light spilled softly through the wide paper windows of Baoli Zhong's hall, painting long stripes across the wooden floor. After days of silence, laughter had once again filled the academy's corridors — a melody of familiarity that eased the stillness left by the past.
Inside one of the classrooms, rows of desks were neatly aligned — four long rows, each filled with students reviewing scrolls, chatting quietly, or fighting sleep before lessons began.
At the front sat Feng Lingxi, poised and composed as always, her brush gliding smoothly across parchment. Her dark hair was tied high, a few loose strands catching the sunlight.
Beside her was Qin Yijun, leaning lazily over his desk with that same half-smile he wore whenever he was about to tease her.
"You've been writing the same character for the past minute," he murmured, chin resting on his hand.
"Should I assume the great Feng Lingxi has forgotten how to write her own name?"
Lingxi didn't even look up.
"Perhaps I'm practicing patience. You should try it sometime."
Yijun grinned, unfazed.
"I'd rather practice charming you. That requires less effort."
A few students nearby stifled laughs.
At the next row, Bai Chengxing looked over his shoulder, smirking.
"If you both are done flirting, maybe we can actually learn something today?"
Lingxi's brush froze mid-stroke.
"And if you're done eavesdropping, perhaps you can focus on your own work?"
Chengxing chuckled.
"Hard to focus when the air's thick with your pride, Feng Lingxi."
"Better pride than arrogance," she replied coolly, not even glancing at him.
Their little exchanges were well-known — a daily duel between wind and wit.
Even Yijun, who usually found humor in everything, sighed in mock surrender.
"Every day feels like a battlefield with you two."
At the far side of the room, Qin Yuxi, Mo Yuming, and Bai Linyan sat together in the third row, their desks cluttered with notes and ink stones.
Yuxi stared absently at his scroll, his thoughts clearly somewhere else — or rather, on someone else.
Across the room, his gaze drifted toward the doorway where Mei'yin's name had once been softly whispered.
Yuming nudged him lightly with her brush.
"Don't drift off again, Yuxi. You'll smear the ink."
"I wasn't drifting."
"You always say that," Yuming teased, her tone playful but eyes observant.
From the corner, Bai Linyan watched quietly, her hands folded neatly over her notes. She didn't speak — she didn't have to. The faint frown that crossed her face said enough.
Yijun straightened subtly, exchanging a quick glance with Lingxi.
Chengxing muttered under his breath, "She always says things like that before trouble starts."
Then the lesson began, the sound of brushes scratching parchment filling the air like quiet music.
Outside, petals from the plum trees danced on the breeze — falling gently against the window frames, as if to mark the start of something new.
Baoli Zong fell into its usual late-afternoon calm.
The lessons had ended, and sunlight poured lazily through the lattice windows, dust motes dancing in its warmth. Most students hurried off toward the courtyards or libraries, but Qin Yuxi lingered, unhurried as always, a quiet shadow among the noise.
"Yuxi."
The voice stopped him mid-stride.
He turned slightly, eyes narrowing when he saw Bai Linyan standing by the doorway. Her books were pressed to her chest, her expression composed yet uncertain.
"Can we talk?" she asked, voice soft but steady.
Yuxi studied her for a moment, then gave a faint nod. "Outside."
They walked in silence through the west garden, where plum petals scattered over the stone path. The air smelled of fading spring — calm, almost too calm.
When they reached the quiet bridge over the pond, Linyan stopped.
"You've been… different lately," she began. "Colder than usual."
"Have I?" Yuxi's tone was flat.
"Yes," she said, meeting his eyes. "And it hurts to watch you carry something you won't let anyone touch."
He looked away, gaze fixed on the pond's reflection.
"Some things aren't meant to be shared."
"Even with someone who cares?"
Yuxi's eyes flicked toward her. "You shouldn't waste that care on me."
Linyan's grip on her books tightened, knuckles pale. Her voice trembled just enough to betray the calm she fought to keep.
"Maybe not. But I can't stop it either."
A silence settled — thick, heavy, filled with everything neither dared to say.
"I know," she whispered finally, "you still think of her — Mei'yin. I see it in the way you look at nothing, as if she might appear again. But she's gone, Yuxi… at least from this path you're walking."
He didn't deny it. His voice came low, almost inaudible.
"She's not gone. Not for me."
That quiet certainty cut deeper than any argument.
Linyan's eyes softened — sadness, understanding, surrender all at once. She gave a small, wistful smile.
"Then I'll stay where I am," she said gently, "until my heart learns how to stop waiting for you."
She turned and walked away, her figure fading among the plum blossoms.
Yuxi stood still, the faint breeze tugging at his sleeve.
Morning sunlight filtered softly through the lattice windows of the Ye Residence. The faint scent of sandalwood drifted in the air, blending with the distant sound of birds outside.
Mei'yin sat quietly at the low table, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. Across from her, Ms. Ye poured tea with practiced calm — yet there was a heaviness in her movements, something that had lingered for months now.
Mei'yin noticed it, but she said nothing. She never did.
Then came a knock.
"Come in," Ms. Ye said.
Ye Dushen entered, holding an old wooden box dusted with age. Its carvings were ancient — a phoenix and a dragon entwined in a circle.
"I found this beneath the old altar," he said quietly. "My father gave it to me long ago and told me… to open it only when I was ready to understand."
He placed it gently on the table and lifted the lid.
Inside lay a half piece of red jade, its surface faintly glowing as if alive, and beside it, a torn, yellowed scrap of parchment.
Ms. Ye leaned closer. "That symbol… I've seen it before."
Before she could continue, Mei'yin froze.
Her eyes caught the glimmer of the jade — and something deep within her stirred. Without a word, she reached into her pouch and pulled out her own treasure — another half red jade, identical to Dushen's, along with a torn piece of a letter.
She laid them side by side.
When the jades touched, a soft hum filled the air. The pieces fused together, forming a perfect circle, glowing with gentle crimson light. The torn letters aligned perfectly, the ink merging like living script.
Dushen unfolded it, his voice low as he began to read.
---
"To the future bearers of this bond…"
"This jade, divided in two, is not a symbol of power, but of promise — a promise of happiness, peace, justice, and unity."
"When chaos once again shadows the lands, these virtues must rise — not through war, but through union."
"To fulfill this will, the daughter and son of Ye Huayong and Feng Lei must one day stand as one — bound not only by duty, but by heart. Through their union, the light of harmony shall return, and the Ye Clan will rise once more."
"Guard this relic, for it carries the fate of both clans."
— Master Ye Huayong
— Master Feng Lei
---
Silence filled the room.
The red jade pulsed once, then dimmed, as though the message itself had taken a breath and fallen silent again.
Ms. Ye's expression softened — part sorrow, part wonder.
"So this was their will all along… Our fathers' legacy."
Dushen set the letter down carefully. His gaze lingered on Mei'yin.
"Then it means… you and I were chosen to fulfill it."
Mei'yin's eyes lowered to the jade — its faint light reflecting against her fingertips.
"Chosen," she repeated softly. "Or trapped by the choices they made for us."
Ms. Ye's voice trembled slightly, but she smiled faintly.
"Sometimes, fate begins where our parents' dreams ended. Perhaps this isn't a trap, but a path… waiting to be walked again."
No one spoke after that.
The air was still after they read the letter.
Ms. Ye stood by the window, her expression unreadable, hands clasped before her.
Mei'yin and Dushen sat across from each other, the small red token and joined letter resting between them — a symbol of something greater than either of them had expected.
For a moment, no one spoke. Only the faint rustle of curtains broke the silence.
Finally, Dushen drew a deep breath.
"Mei'yin," he said softly, his voice carrying both hesitation and resolve, "we don't have to follow this… this will. Our fathers may have written it long ago, but we have the right to choose. We can refuse."
Mei'yin's eyes stayed fixed on the letter.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the red charm — the symbol of unity, peace, and justice.
She smiled faintly, but it was a weary, hollow smile.
"Even if we can refuse, Dushen…" she murmured, her tone low and distant, "sometimes, duty doesn't wait for choice."
He frowned, leaning forward. "You're agreeing? Even if your heart—"
"I know what my heart says." She cut him off gently, her eyes soft but glimmering with something like pain. "But this… this is what must be done. The Ye Clan has suffered enough. If our marriage is what can restore its name, then so be it."
Dushen looked at her, searching her face for a trace of hesitation — but there was none. Only quiet determination.
After a long pause, she added, her voice almost a whisper:
"Prepare it. After a few days… our wedding must happen."
The air was thick with morning fog when Shanying came running across the courtyard, his boots brushing dew from the stone path.
"Ms. Ye," he called, his voice low but urgent. "There are still Bai men patrolling around the Ye Forest. I saw their insignias near the northern ridge. They've been there since dawn."
Ms. Ye, she faint clatter of porcelain breaking the quiet. Her eyes darkened with worry.
"They will never forgive me," she said softly, almost to herself.
Shanying, seated nearby, looked up sharply. "This Bai clan always meddles in others' matters," he said coldly. "We made our mistakes—but not against them. Why must they act like we owe them atonement?"
From the doorway, Dushen crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the fog outside. "I thought they'd forgotten," he said quietly. "Even forgiven us… it's been months since the it happened."
The wind carried a faint rustle through the forest, distant yet heavy. The tension was something they could all feel—an invisible boundary that refused to fade.
Ms. Ye exhaled slowly, her tone calm but tired. "The Bai don't forget," she said. "They may stay silent, but their silence always hides intent."
Mei'yin stood, her expression cold, though her eyes flickered with something deeper—resentment, perhaps exhaustion.
"Then let them watch," she said. "We'll give them nothing more to take."
The courtyard fell still after Mei'yin's words. The fog had not yet lifted, but a faint cry broke through it—Ms. Ye stumbled forward, clutching her stomach.
"Ms. Ye?" Shanying moved quickly, catching her arm before she could fall. A thin sound escaped her lips, and then—she turned aside and threw up, her breath trembling.
It wasn't the sickness of spoiled food; Mei'yin could tell from the faint glow in her skin, the trembling of her hands. She stayed quiet for a long moment, watching, before finally saying, her tone low and edged with something she didn't want to name:
"...Is that my brother's?"
The world seemed to still after those words.
Ms. Ye slowly looked up, eyes glistening, lips pressed tight. Then, wordlessly, she nodded.
Mei'yin's chest tightened. She looked away, turning toward the open shoji door, where sunlight filtered through. "You knew," she murmured. "And yet you said nothing."
Ms. Ye placed a hand over her stomach, her voice trembling but steady. "It wasn't the right time. Too much has already fallen apart."
For once, Mei'yin didn't argue. She only exhaled softly, her expression unreadable. "You should've told me earlier," she said.
The silence that followed was fragile—filled with everything they didn't say.
No one dared to speak first. The faint cry of a bird outside was the only sound that broke through the tension.
Mei'yin was the one to finally move. Her eyes softened, but her tone was steady.
"Don't tell my brother about this," she said quietly, gaze fixed on the floor. "I don't want him to be like me. If you tell him, my sacrifices would be nothing."
Ms. Ye's eyes widened a little, then lowered again.
Her voice came out faint, tired — yet certain.
"Telling him never even crossed my mind."
For a moment, none of them looked at each other. Then Dushen took a slow breath, stepping closer to her side.
"How many months?" he asked, his tone gentle but trembling slightly.
Ms. Ye hesitated before she answered, her hand resting unconsciously over her stomach.
"Five," she said softly. "Since Master Feng Lei's death."
Dushen closed his eyes briefly — then nodded.
He turned to Mei'yin, his voice firmer now.
"Then we'll take care of it. You and I will adopt her child."
"No one outside this forest can know it's Feng Yangguang's."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Ms. Ye's breath caught, tears forming, but before she could protest, Mei'yin spoke again.
"Don't worry," she said, her tone even — almost gentle. "You'll still be the mother. But if anyone from outside our territory asks…"
She paused, glancing toward the window where the sunlight streamed faintly through the paper screen.
"…I'll tell them it's mine."
Ms. Ye's lips trembled, but she said nothing.
Mei'yin looked away, her expression unreadable, and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she said softly —
"This secret dies with us."
And as the door slid shut, the air in the room grew still once more —
like a promise sealed in silence.