That cold morning, Wu Xin left his palace, aimless, unsure where his fevered heart was taking him.
He had spent a night unlike any other.
Since evening, he had waited.
But waited for what? He did not know. For whom did his heart yearn? And what did his soul long for?
His chest felt tight that night. His spirit restless. His heart… unsettled.
Something significant was about to happen—he could feel it. But what exactly?
He asked himself again and again. Perhaps the weight of responsibility to defend the kingdom was pressing heavily. But he dismissed that thought—he was brave, unshaken by trials, unconquered by enemies.
Perhaps it was his prolonged loneliness. He considered seeking comfort from his friend Mei Ling, that innocent and gentle girl, hoping that her presence would soothe his mind…
But no. His soul did not desire that.
He wandered first inside his room, searching for air, a breath of wind to refresh his spirit.
Suddenly, as he approached his wardrobe, he paused, as if he had remembered something important.
He opened it and stared at a childish drawing he had kept for centuries. Perhaps he had drawn it himself long ago, or perhaps someone else had.
It was a crude, ugly flower—so small that one could barely make it out.
Truly, it was nothing but a scribble.
He traced it gently, as if afraid his fingers might harm it. Each time his hand passed over the sketch, his grief deepened, almost breaking him.
Carefully, he returned it to its place and left.
The room, the garden, even the palace—all felt suffocating. He knew if he stayed any longer, he would truly be trapped.
So he decided to take a solitary walk. His mind hardly chose a destination—his feet took the lead, guiding him to Jin Hai's palace.
Or perhaps it was fate steering him.
Was this truly the reason?
Had the furnace truly weighed on his thoughts that night?
He thought, naively, that his feet had pulled him here to remind him of the task: appointing Jin Hai's heir. The palace had long been without someone competent enough to oversee the furnace and cleanse the kingdom of the accumulated spells and artifacts.
In that moment of naïve thought, he remembered the furnace and its master, and his heart fluttered. His spirit lightened.
He hurried to the main chamber, where the Sacred Furnace of Annihilation rested—holy in its deathly presence.
He cast a glance at the room and saw the old man asleep on his rocking chair, near the hearth, tranquil to the point of absurdity.
Wu Xin smiled at the sight and turned to leave, his mind finally calm.
But then he froze—staring in shock.
A stranger… or rather, a woman.
She lay on the ground, nothing beneath her. She hugged her knees, fetal, perhaps shivering from the cold.
Only her long black hair covered her body, a single strand hiding the features of her face.
Wu Xin approached quietly, intending to brush aside the hair, hoping to see her features… to recognize her.
But she shifted like a dreaming child.
At that moment, he knew he was not imagining things—she was real.
Without a word, he draped his cloak over her and remained silent.
When the girl felt the warmth of the cloak over her, she stirred. She yawned, stretching like a cat waking from a refreshing nap under the sun.
The cloak nearly slipped off her shoulders, and Wu Xin instinctively turned away, not wanting to see her fully.
He called to her in a voice that could have awakened the old man from his sleep:
"Do you not have any shame, lying like this… here? Put on the cloak quickly!"
The girl reached for it, fumbling. "Do you call this a cloak? Well… how do I wear it?"
Wu Xin glanced at the old man, throwing a look of reproach, then left, a warm frustration burning in his chest.