On that cold morning, Wu Xin stepped out of his palace, wandering aimlessly—unsure where he was going, or where his restless heart wished to lead him. He had spent a night unlike any other, waiting since dusk, yet unable to explain what, exactly, he was waiting for.
For whom was his heart longing? For what was his soul aching?
His chest felt tight, his spirit unsettled, and his heart trembled with a nameless unease, as though an invisible hand were pressing upon it. He sensed—deep within—that something momentous was about to happen… But what could it be?
He asked himself over and over, searching for a reason. At first, he blamed it on the weight of protecting the kingdom. But he dismissed that thought almost immediately. He was brave, unshaken by hardship, undefeated by foe or fate.
Perhaps… it was loneliness—creeping in after so many years of solitude.
He considered visiting his friend Mei Ling—that gentle, innocent girl whose kindness often soothed his heart. Maybe seeing her would ease this strange heaviness… But no. His soul refused the idea, as if something far deeper were calling him—an echo from somewhere he did not yet understand.
He began pacing around his room, searching for air—for a breeze that might ease the tightness around his heart. When he reached his wardrobe, he suddenly stopped, as if struck by an old memory.
He opened the door slowly and stared at a childish drawing he had kept for centuries—whether he had drawn it as a child, he could no longer be certain. It was a crudely shaped flower, ugly and barely recognizable. In truth, it was nothing but a messy scrawl.
Yet he touched it with such unexpected tenderness, as though it were infinitely precious. With each gentle stroke of his fingers, his sorrow deepened until he could barely breathe. He returned the drawing to its place with quiet care… then left the room.
His chamber, his garden, even his palace—all suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. If he stayed a moment longer, he feared he might truly suffocate.
So he chose to take a walk alone. He did not think about the destination—his feet simply carried him. Or perhaps… fate was guiding him.
Was responsibility truly what troubled him that night? Did the furnace matter that much to him? How naïve that thought seemed. He had convinced himself simply to calm his restless heart.
His wandering steps brought him to Jin Hai's palace, as though reminding him of the need to appoint a new keeper for the sacred furnace. For too long, the palace had been without someone capable of handling the powerful artifacts and dangerous talismans that piled up, awaiting destruction.
In that moment of feigned logic, he remembered the furnace… and its keeper. At that very thought, his heart fluttered, and a strange, weightless warmth washed over him.
He hurried to the main chamber where the sacred furnace—a vessel revered with the same solemnity as death—sat in its place. He cast a brief glance around and saw the old master dozing peacefully on his rocking chair near the courtyard, in a serenity so absurd it was almost comical.
Wu Xin smiled faintly and turned to leave, his spirit slightly calmer—but then he froze.
There—on the ground—lay someone who should not have been there. A figure that looked like… a woman. She was curled on the floor without a mat or blanket, clutching her knees like a child in the womb, as though the cold night had forced her to fold in upon herself. Her long black hair was her only covering, a single strand falling across her face, veiling her features.
A rare, unfamiliar sensation stirred within Wu Xin. He stepped closer, slowly, intending to brush the strand aside—perhaps he would recognize her…
But she shifted softly, like a dreaming child, and he realized she was real—not a vision, nor a hallucination.
Without a word, he draped his cloak over her small frame. Feeling the sudden warmth, the girl blinked awake with a tender yawn, stretching like a sun-warmed cat after a comforting nap.
When the cloak nearly slipped from her shoulders, Wu Xin instinctively turned away, heat rushing to his face. He shouted—loud enough to rouse the old master from his slumber: "Have you no shame, sleeping like that… here of all places?! Put on the cloak at once!"
The girl touched the fabric lightly and murmured with sleepy confusion: "You call this a cloak? How… how do I put it on?"
Wu Xin shot the old master a sharp, accusing glance… then stormed out, feeling a strange, simmering heat he could not explain.