Two more days of quiet recovery. Gene's wounds had closed, though a dull ache still lingered deep inside.
He knew—it was time to leave. The Soul Alliance was no place for him.
He did not visit Ling Yue. She was in seclusion, facing punishment, and what could he say to her anyway? Thanks? And then? Between them lay a gulf too wide.
Nor did he seek Ji Lianyu. A leader of ten thousand matters had no time to care for one nameless youth.
At dawn, Gene packed his meager belongings: a few worn clothes, his blackened iron pot, a bit of dried rations, and that unbearably heavy silk scroll. He folded the new garments given by the Alliance neatly and left them on the bed.
Opening the courtyard door, he glanced once at the elegant but cold residence. Without hesitation, he turned and walked away.
The gate disciples made no move to stop him. Their eyes followed his lone figure down the long street, carrying complicated emotions.
Gene walked slowly, step by step, away from the towering Soul-Pacifying Hall, away from the ornate palaces he had never belonged to. He felt a faint lightness, as if released from a cage—but beneath it, aimless emptiness and a subtle loss.
By midday, he had passed under the massive arch of the Alliance gate. Looking back, he saw it wreathed in clouds like a celestial fortress—utterly beyond reach.
He drew in the crisp mountain air, set his bearings, and put one foot before the other.