The sun was already high when Yin Lian reached the ridge.
Mist clung to her sleeves, carrying the scent of ash and lotus. Below, the forest stretched like a sleeping beast—quiet again, but not at rest. Every leaf seemed to listen, each shadow waiting to exhale.
She turned once toward the collapsed cavern. The light that had torn the ground apart had vanished, yet she still felt its echo beneath her skin, a faint rhythm that did not belong to her.
In her palm lay something warm.
A bead—smooth white jade veined with thin lines of gold. She did not remember taking it, only that when the serpent dissolved, the bead had rolled to her feet, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
When she stilled her breath, it whispered—not in words, but in memory:
"When the Five forget, the Sixth remembers.
When the seal burns red, the lotus must rise."
Lian closed her fingers around it. The warmth lingered, threading into her pulse.
By the time she reached the hermit's hut, dusk had deepened to indigo.
The door creaked open on its own; a draft carried the scent of rain and sandalwood.
Inside, the single oil lamp flickered low. Master Hui Yuan lay upon his straw bed, wrapped in rough quilts, his skin thin as parchment. His breath was faint but steady—the breathing of one who treads the line between meditation and sleep.
"Master," she whispered, kneeling beside him.
For a long moment he did not move. Then, as the jade bead in her sleeve glowed faintly, his eyelids fluttered open. The dim light caught the old warmth in his eyes.
"Lian," he breathed. "You returned."
Tears stung her lashes. "The spring is sealed again—but something greater woke beneath it."
"I felt it." His voice was barely a thread. "The Wheel trembled."
He tried to rise; she stopped him gently. "Rest, Master."
He smiled, that same weary kindness she had known since childhood. "Even the old forest cannot sleep forever. The void in you has begun to sing again."
She lowered her gaze. "I don't understand what it wants."
"Understanding comes after walking," he murmured. "Balance is never given, Lian. It is chosen."
"Chosen?"
He touched her hand, his fingers cool and trembling. "You must go where the Wheel still turns. The forest has sheltered you long enough. Seek the living rivers. There, silence will learn to move."
His eyes drifted closed once more, not in death but in trance. His breathing slowed to the rhythm of rain.
The jade bead brightened briefly, then dimmed, as though taking his words into itself.
Outside, thunder crawled across the horizon.
The Imperial Fire–aligned Talisman Squad must already have reached the ruins; faint smoke lines still smudged the northern sky.
She looked toward the distant red glimmer and felt both dread and certainty.
Huo Yun…
The thought alone brought warmth and ache together. She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the echo he had left there—steady, stubborn, alive.
The jade pulsed again, whispering through her veins:
"South… follow the dying flame."
South. Toward the old water veins. Toward something she could not yet name.
If the Empire sought the Void, then the only path left was away.
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That night she packed her bundle: herbs, talismans, and the wooden bead bracelet her master had carved.
Before leaving, she turned back to him one last time. His form was still, but the faint shimmer of Qi around him glowed gently—proof that he still lingered in this world, guarding her in silence.
"Rest, Master," she murmured. "I'll find what the heavens tried to hide."
Then she stepped past the threshold.
The forest that had always enclosed her now felt smaller, gentler—like a parent reluctant to let go. The wind brushed her cheek, carrying the scent of pine and rain. Somewhere far below, a river called her name.
Halfway down the slope, a flicker of red broke the mist.
It wasn't sunset; the stars were already out. The light moved, slow and deliberate, as if someone carried a lantern through the dark.
Lian froze, hand at her talisman.
The glow steadied. A voice drifted from between the trees, hoarse but smiling.
"You really don't listen when told to stay put, do you?"
She turned, disbelief blooming into relief.
Huo Yun stepped into view, his crimson armor scorched black at the edges, sword sheathed across his back. Blood streaked his temple; the fire in his eyes burned low but bright.
"Missed me?" he asked.
"You—" Her breath caught. "You were supposed to—"
"Die? Please." He grinned faintly. "The Fire Squad just disagreed with my definition of retreat."
Her eyes softened despite herself. "You're bleeding."
"Only a little." His voice dropped. "They weren't after me, Lian. They were tracking you. The Empire's begun to call the anomaly by name."
She tensed. "Then we can't stay here."
"No." He glanced toward the southern horizon. "There's an old shrine—the Temple of Flowing Stars. My mother once trained there before the wars. If anything can hide your presence, it's that place. Its Water Qi runs deep enough to drown even Heaven's gaze."
She looked toward the dark stretch of forest beyond. "You'd come with me?"
He smirked. "You saved me once. I'm simply returning the favor."
For a long heartbeat they stood without speaking—the quiet between them deeper than words. Then thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Red sparks shimmered within the clouds.
He reached for her hand. "Come on, Little Ghost Doctor. The world's waking."
Her fingers hesitated, then closed around his. The warmth did not fade.
Together, they stepped into the mist—toward rivers that whispered, toward temples forgotten, toward the story Heaven had tried to bury.
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Clarification of World Cosmology:
1. Master Hui Yuan Status
He lives—locked in meditative stasis. His consciousness now links faintly with the Jade of the Six Veins, allowing guidance across distance.
2. Jade of the Six Veins (六合玉珠)
Artifact born from the serpent's dissolution; resonates with both Void and Fire currents. Acts as compass, key, and spiritual bridge.