Kaifeng followed the river north.
Not because it led anywhere — but because she had vanished south.
He needed distance, not direction.
Every step away from the valley felt like stepping deeper into it.
The wooden blade rested in his sleeve. His hand never touched it.
Not yet.
On the second night, he passed through a village where the roofs were thatched in woven reeds and the walls built with salt-dried clay.
The people did not speak his name.
But they watched him. Like they recognized something they weren't supposed to remember.
A child whispered to her grandmother as he passed:
"He walks like the stories."
Kaifeng stopped at the well.
Its bucket was cracked. Its rope frayed.
But the water was still.
Still — and too clean.
He stared into it, expecting only his reflection.
But another face shimmered across the surface. Not a memory. Not a trick.
A man's face. Half-burned. Smiling.
And then:
"You survived the fire."
"But did the fire survive you?"
Kaifeng stepped back.
The well was empty again.
That night, he dreamed of the old training hall — not Qingwu, not the Pavilion — the place before names.
He stood barefoot on splintered wood.
A dozen children knelt in rows. Each bore the mark of a forgotten lineage.
Each carried a name he no longer remembered.
Except one.
A girl with a voice like dusk.
"If they make you forget your name," she said,
"What will you remember instead?"
He woke at dawn.
And someone was waiting for him.
A man. Young, cloaked in green. Eyes sharp, but face soft.
No insignia. No blade. But he bowed with practiced formality.
"Lián Kaifeng."
"Who sent you?"
"No one," the man said.
"But I've been told I must walk beside you."
Kaifeng didn't move.
"Why?"
"Because if you walk alone now," the man said,
"The next time you draw your blade, it will be for no one."
A pause.
Then Kaifeng nodded once.
"Name?"
"I don't have one," the man said.
"But once, I was called Ren Zhui."
Kaifeng looked at him — really looked.
And something in him remembered the rhythm of that name.
But not from Qingwu. Not from any sect.
From before.
Far away, the woman in the veil smiled at the basin.
"They've met."
The Warden frowned.
"Too early?"
"No," she said.
"If the blade is to speak, it must be heard first."
And somewhere in a forest glade, Shén Lüyun stood alone, her fingers brushing the bark of a tree still scarred with fire.
She whispered:
"Zhui… you found him after all."
End of Chapter 2