As they left the warmth of the courtyard behind, the lantern-lit paths gradually thinned, replaced by broader stone roads leading deeper into the city. The voices of the gathering faded into the night, until only their footsteps remained—measured, unhurried.
The teleportation chamber lay ahead, its distant silhouette rising like a quiet gate between worlds.
Lee San walked beside Kai for a time without speaking. The boy's pace was steady, his expression composed, as though the evening had left no mark on him at all.
At last, Lee San broke the silence.
"You didn't want to speak with her?" he asked casually, though his eyes flicked toward Kai's face.
Kai turned his head slightly, meeting his uncle's gaze. His expression did not change—calm, controlled—but there was a faint softness in his eyes.
"I came to see how she is after all these years," Kai replied evenly. "I've done that."
Lee San slowed a fraction. "Just… to look at her?"
Kai nodded once.
That answer earned Lee San a puzzled glance. The night air brushed past them, carrying distant sounds of the city settling into sleep.
"You could have spoken to her," Lee San said. "You were right there. The paintings gave you an excuse. She saw you, you saw her—"
"That was enough," Kai interrupted gently.
Lee San stopped walking altogether.
He studied Kai for a moment, as if seeing him anew. "You came all this way," he said slowly, "just for that --"
He came all this way, just to not feel unfamiliar with her after not meeting for a long time.
Well yes, if you meet at your own wedding after a long time then you are bound to feel a little bit unfamiliar.
Kai did not deny it.
Yet that only deepened Lee San's confusion.
"If that was your intention," he continued, "then why not at least speak with her?
Why not let her know who you are?
It would be nice to have a good talk, right?"
Kai's steps resumed. After a few paces, his voice came again—quiet, thoughtful.
"But would she know it was me?"
Lee San blinked, then let out a short laugh. "She might not recognize you," he said, "but she would recognize me. We haven't changed much, have we?"
He glanced down at his own hands, then back at Kai. "Once she remembered who I am, your identity wouldn't be difficult to guess."
Kai absorbed this in silence.
For a moment, it seemed he might respond seriously. Instead—
A faint curve appeared at the corner of his lips.
"That's exactly why," Kai said lightly, a trace of amusement slipping into his voice. "It's more interesting this way."
Lee San stared at him.
Interesting?
The word lingered oddly in the night.
As they walked on, Lee San found himself watching Kai rather than the path ahead. The boy's posture was relaxed now, his steps easier—almost… unguarded.
And suddenly, it struck him.
Kai hadn't looked like this in years.
Not since childhood.
Back then, whenever Rai had been around, Kai had worn the same quiet ease. A boy who laughed easily, teased without malice, who forgot—if only briefly—the weight placed upon his shoulders.
When she was gone, that lightness had vanished.
Kai had grown composed, distant, mature beyond his years.
But tonight—
Lee San had seen it again.
In the gathering.
In the way Kai stood before her.
In the fleeting smile he had not bothered to hide.
It was subtle. Almost unnoticeable.
Yet to Lee San, it was unmistakable.
As if, after all these years, Kai had retrieved something he'd left behind.
Something small.
Something youthful.
Something that had only ever surfaced when she was near.
-----------
The teleportation chamber soon emerged from the night—an immense circular structure carved with ancient formations, its surface faintly glowing with restrained power. The air around it felt heavier, charged, as though space itself had been folded and sealed there.
They joined the short line at the entrance.
Formalities followed.
Permission seals were checked. Spirit stones exchanged hands. Coordinates were inscribed with practiced precision—the destination fixed, the return path locked. Everything was done with quiet efficiency, as though countless lives passed through this place each day.
When they stepped onto the formation, the runes beneath their feet flared briefly.
Darkness rose at the edges of Kai's vision.
Not sudden, not violent—just a deep, enveloping blur, like falling into still water.
Then it cleared.
In the next breath, the familiar presence of the Heavenly Martial Sect pressed upon them. Crisp mountain air filled their lungs, the distant echo of training halls and flowing qi surrounding the chamber.
They stepped off the formation and exited the teleportation hall, their footsteps soft against stone polished by centuries of use.
The path ahead led toward the inner courtyards, winding between towering pillars and shadowed pavilions.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Kai's voice broke the silence.
"Uncle," he said, his tone light but thoughtful, "how do you think her reaction will be… once she knows?"
He did not say who.
He did not need to.
Lee San's lips twitched. "I don't know about her," he replied after a moment, "but if your mother finds out I took you there…"
He paused mid-step.
"…then I'm finished."
For the briefest instant, genuine unease crossed his face.
Not fear—certainly not.
Respect.
The kind that made one careful with every word and action.
He had gone against his sister-in-law's wishes, leading Kai far from the sect—even if only for a few hours. That alone was enough to warrant consequences.
Kai laughed softly.
"Uncle," he said, amusement clear in his eyes, "if you do things you shouldn't….. Then what are you going to teach me about?"
The words landed cleanly.
Too cleanly.
Lee San stopped walking.
For a heartbeat, he simply stared ahead, his expression stiffening as if he'd been struck somewhere entirely unexpected.
Then he turned slowly toward Kai.
What did his nephew mean, was he going to teach his own nephew about bad things?
His face turned pale, unsightly for a moment.
There was displeasure there—yes.
But beneath it lay something sharper.
A mix of wounded dignity, helplessness, and the bitter realization that he had walked straight into his own trap.
"You—" Lee San began, then cut himself off.
He had been forced by Kai to come.
Dragged him into this entire matter.
And now, the boy was calmly throwing it back at him—with a smile.
Lee San let out a breath through his nose, rubbing his temple.
So this was how it felt.
To be outplayed by one's own nephew.
"Brat," he muttered, half a scold, half resignation.
Kai's smile widened just slightly as they resumed walking, their figures gradually disappearing deeper into the sect's quiet night—each heading toward paths that would soon diverge.
The road ahead narrowed, branching quietly between the courtyards.
Their steps slowed.
Kai's expression had already settled back into calm neutrality, the faint amusement from moments ago receding as though it had never been there. His gaze turned forward, attentive but distant, as he adjusted his pace toward his own path.
"I'll head this way," he said, voice even.
Lee San nodded.
He hesitated, lips parting slightly. For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to say something more—perhaps a reminder, perhaps a question, perhaps nothing important at all.
But the words did not come.
Instead, he gave a short hum of acknowledgment.
Kai inclined his head and continued on, his figure gradually moving away, footsteps light and unhurried. He did not look back. By the time he reached the bend in the path, his presence had already blended into the familiar stillness of the sect.
Lee San stood there a moment longer.
A faint tension lingered in his shoulders, something unsettled that he could not quite shake. The boy's earlier words echoed again in his mind, not sharp enough to sting, yet persistent enough to disturb.
He let out a slow breath.
With one last glance toward the path Kai had taken, Lee San turned and walked in the opposite direction, his steps steady, his thoughts restless, and the quiet of the Heavenly Martial Sect closing around him as if nothing at all had happened.