CHAPTER 16 (Part 1)
Peach Blossoms and Old Wounds
Zheng Wen Te lay on the ground for a long time.
The sky above was wrong.
Too vast.
Too unreal.
Twin moons floated in violet heaven, casting pale silver light over unfamiliar mountains.
The air itself felt different.
Thicker.
Richer.
Every breath carried something sharp and pure—
spiritual energy.
Qi.
Zheng Wen Te pushed himself upright slowly.
His body ached, but not with sickness.
It was the ache of someone reborn into a world that demanded strength.
He looked around.
He was in a valley.
Tall grass swayed like waves.
In the distance, jagged peaks pierced the clouds.
And closer—
there were trees.
Peach trees.
Blooming softly, their petals drifting like snow.
His heart clenched.
The vision.
The pavilion.
The waiting woman.
This place…
was not just familiar.
It was haunted.
He stood shakily and began walking.
The orb in his palm was dim now, almost asleep.
But it remained warm, like a reminder.
Step by step, he moved through the valley.
The silence was deep.
No sect bells.
No disciples shouting.
Only wind and petals.
Then—
he saw it.
A pavilion.
White stone.
Half-collapsed with age, vines crawling over its pillars.
Peach blossoms surrounded it like a grave offering.
Zheng Wen Te froze.
His throat went dry.
The Heart Pavilion.
The place he abandoned.
The place she waited.
He stepped closer, each footfall heavy as sin.
Inside the pavilion, dust lay thick.
Broken cups.
A cracked table.
As if time itself had stopped here.
Zheng Wen Te whispered:
"…I came back."
No answer.
Only wind.
Then—
a sound.
Soft.
Almost nothing.
A footstep.
Zheng Wen Te's spine went cold.
He turned slowly.
At the edge of the pavilion stood a figure.
A woman.
Her robes were black, embroidered with silver threads like torn moonlight.
Her hair fell loose, darker than night.
Her face was pale.
Too pale.
Not mortal.
Not warm.
Her eyes—
were the same eyes from his vision.
But emptied of love.
Filled only with frost.
She looked at him as if looking at an insect.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was quiet.
Deadly.
"…You."
Zheng Wen Te's breath stopped.
His knees almost buckled.
"Is it…"
He swallowed hard.
"Is it really you?"
The woman's lips curved.
Not a smile.
A blade.
"For three hundred years…"
"I waited."
Her gaze sharpened.
"For three thousand…"
"I hated."
Zheng Wen Te trembled.
"I didn't understand."
"I was wrong."
The woman stepped forward.
The air around her distorted.
Qi so cold it made the blossoms wilt midair.
Her voice was soft.
"You came back…"
"…so I can finally finish it."
Zheng Wen Te whispered:
"…Finish what?"
Her eyes flashed.
"Severing the last chain."