Jun Wuwei had never once known regret in his life. Wrong was wrong, right was right.
He was born into a distinguished family and took as his master a great cultivator of the ruthless Dao. On the day his master achieved consummation of the Dao and ascended to the heavens, he spoke three sentences to him.
“You and I are no longer bound as master and disciple. Do not seek me again.”
“All things are cause and effect.”
“You are a manifestation of the Sword Dao. In this life, there is one sword you have yet to wield.”
Jun Wuwei remembered those three sentences, and personally severed the bond between himself and his master without the slightest reluctance.
The world was mired in delusion, unable to see through the snares of emotion, yet to him such things were exceedingly simple.
He cultivated day and night upon Liuyun Peak, comprehending the Dao and giving rise to the Twelve Heavenly Sword Forms. What others found arduous and obscure in the way of the sword was to him no more than a manual waiting to be opened. One sword gave rise to ten thousand methods, one strike shattered all things.
Thus, he became the youngest Supreme Elder of Tianyi Sect at the age of fifteen. Ten years after his master’s ascension, he returned by his own strength to stand once more where he had begun.
That year, he broke through into the Spiritual Domain Realm and, at the invitation of Wendao Palace, travelled to the South Sea to attend the Qionghua Assembly.
Held once every hundred years, the Qionghua Assembly gathered the finest talents from every sect.
Young sword cultivators from the eastern and southern continents emerged from seclusion, travelling from famed mountains and rivers. At the height of the gathering, clustered immortal clouds rose so thickly they obscured the sea itself.
The elders droned on at length. Finding it tedious, Jun Wuwei went to the shore to fish. Just as his interest deepened, a quarrel broke out nearby. The disturbance rippled across the water, and the fish that ought to have been caught flicked its tail and vanished, leaving his hook empty.
“Xue Xiaoya! You are merely a girl, how can you be so… so… I find you coarse and insufferable, like an old ox ploughing the village fields, like a great tiger gnashing its teeth in the mountains!”
A sharp-featured youth stamped his feet in anger, while a delicately carved girl, like a beauty from a painting, descended from the sky in pursuit, coaxing gently, “Wuyue-gege was only teasing. Xiaoya, do not be angry. Give up the sword and come practise Rouling silk arts with me instead.”
A derisive laugh cut in from the side, followed by a blazing sword strike.
A young woman, bare-armed, her hair braided with reed flowers, strode out carrying a broad sword. Without a word, she waded straight into the fray.
Her face was bright with spirit, her eyes gleaming. Cold, disdainful, brimming with pride.
The youth took several blows before flinging up a hand to block, conjuring a sword as he snapped, “You unreasonable, ugly girl. Do not force me. Do you think I cannot defeat you?”
Her temper flared. She slammed her sword to the ground with a heavy thud and glared at him. “Who are you calling ugly?”
“If you cannot win, what use is all your bluster?”
“Then show your skill in the Dao, if you have any.”
The two fought fiercely. The girl who had tried to mediate spoke fair words while secretly tripping her up. Gradually, the girl fell behind and was struck down by a single blow.
The youth sneered, teeth clenched. “If diligence alone were enough, what need would there be for talent?”
“Forget it. People like you barely live a hundred years. Why should I waste my time on you?”
With a cold flick of his sword, he snapped her broad blade in two and swept his sleeve as he departed, leaving her sitting in the shallows, frowning in thought.
She clenched her fists, muttering to herself, gesturing as she replayed the fight, slapping the water in frustration. “No, just now I should have done this, then that…”
She gathered the broken sword and mended it, then swung it a few times. Her gloom lifted almost at once. Scooping up seawater, she washed her hands and face.
The water lay clear as glass, reflecting blue sky and white clouds, her flushed cheeks, and behind her, a white-robed youth in a bamboo hat, his features like a painting.
“Watch the sword!”
Jun Wuwei had barely leaned out from behind the reef when water splashed across him. He narrowly avoided it and lifted his head, meeting a pair of hostile black eyes.
“Who are you?” The voice was cold.
Jun Wuwei cupped his hands politely, unwilling to engage further. “A passer-by. Forgive the disturbance, miss.”
She gave a brief sound of acknowledgement, sheathed her sword, and bent to search the shallows. After a moment, a pebble dropped into the water before her, splashing her again.
“Hey, who was that?”
Looking up, she saw the white-robed youth standing upon the reef. One hand behind his back, he gestured ahead. “Are you perhaps looking for that?”
An embroidered shoe had been washed ashore, lying alone upon the sand.
She gave a small cry and hurried over barefoot, but before she had taken more than a few steps, he called out, “Wait a moment.”
With a flick of his wrist, he sent a pebble skimming forward, nudging the shoe neatly to her feet.
“Thank you, thank you. My name is Xue Zhenzhen.”
“My surname is Jun, given name Wuwei.”
Xue Zhenzhen looked him up and down. Noting the sword at his waist, she asked, “You practise the sword as well?”
“I do.”
She slipped on her shoe and came closer. “Then spar with me.”
Jun Wuwei hesitated briefly, then inclined his head. “Very well. I shall stop at the proper point.”
Her eyes shone. She struck with all her strength, yet still lost within a single exchange. Shock and disappointment flashed across her face, but she quickly rallied herself. “No, that was not right. I should have done it differently. I was close to defeating you. Your swordsmanship is not bad.”
Jun Wuwei remained composed. After a moment, he sat beside her. “Your path in the sword is one seen perhaps once in a thousand years. You will become a formidable swordswoman.”
She looked up sharply. “Truly?”
“I do not lie.”
She was moved for a moment, then wrinkled her nose, hugging her sword. “But you do not understand the sword.”
“I have come to attend the Qionghua Assembly. I understand a little.”
She accepted this reluctantly, then assessed him with seriousness. “With your current skill, taking first place should be easy.”
“That is unlikely.”
“Why? Do you lack confidence?”
“Not at all. Elders are not permitted to compete. I may only watch.”
Xue Zhenzhen fell silent.
That year, Jun Wuwei was fifteen, and Xue Zhenzhen fourteen. Though she did not take the title at the Qionghua Assembly, meeting a genius of the sword was no small gain.
From then on, the two grew familiar.
Jun Wuwei came to understand that for most, the path of the sword was not attained in a single step, but forged through relentless practice and perilous breakthroughs.
He belonged to Tianyi Sect, simple in structure. Xue Zhenzhen, however, came from Taiyi Sect, where the Dao was complex and tangled. Her father treated her as though she were nothing, and she, unruly and unrestrained, would often slip into Tianyi Sect to drag Jun Wuwei off to roam.
They passed nearly a century in carefree companionship. Her cultivation rose steadily, and so too did her courage.
Naturally lively and spirited, she could not bear injustice. When a dragon soul ran rampant in the cultivation world, she charged in without hesitation, fighting until she was drenched in blood before finally subduing it and gaining the allegiance of a divine sword.
Because of that sword, she and her kin were drawn into factional strife. She witnessed loved ones slain by those of their own path, and she herself suffered grievously, her very foundation nearly destroyed.
Taiyi Sect laid countless charges against her, seeking to seize the divine sword. Just as they were on the verge of success, a white-robed youth cleaved through the heavens with a single strike, breaking into Taiyi Sect and rescuing her from the water prison.
From that moment, Xue Zhenzhen changed utterly. She devoted herself wholly to cultivation, breaking through three successive barriers and personally slaying her enemies in vengeance. That same night, drunk beyond reason, she dragged Jun Wuwei into a wild fight, and between them, the bond of husband and wife was formed.
The girl who had once bared her arms and carried a great sword became the Dragon Might Swordmaster, clad in plain robes, cold and distant.
Afterwards, she sat through the night and asked him what he intended. Jun Wuwei did not take issue with her bluntness or distance. After some thought, he chose not to evade their shared karma. If it were with her, perhaps they could walk this path to the end.
With a faint smile, he said, “The Great Dao is solitary. Now, Swordmaster, walk it with me.”
Her expression shifted at last. After a long moment, she placed her hand in his.
At that time, neither knew what fate awaited them. Those centuries together could indeed be called a time of deep affection.
Yet their Daos diverged, their Dao hearts utterly different. Two of the most misguided people in the world came together without ever speaking of such things, bound only by a shared pursuit of the sword, and nothing more.
To Jun Wuwei, the Sword Dao stood above all else, with Xue Zhenzhen second. As his cultivation neared its peak, he could clearly sense the shifting of heaven and earth. Both of them understood that a great calamity was approaching.
Jun Wuwei had long prepared for it. Three times he cut down his own realm, refusing immortality, all to await a single reckoning of cause and effect.
He had one sword yet to strike.
Born of the Sword Dao, he had a debt of karma yet to repay.
Yet fate is ever capricious. In the end, he was abandoned by the Sword Dao, his wife parted from him, his child lost, left with nothing, cast down into the dust.
When Xue Cuo was born, both he and Xue Zhenzhen sensed it. Yet while she could divine only the hardships that lay ahead, she could not see through to his true destiny.
Before the great calamity descended, that one which had slipped from the Heavenly Dao was reborn into the mortal world, though for reasons unknown, he became Xue Zhenzhen’s child.
The Dao gives rise to all things, yet when the calamity passes and the Great Dao returns to balance, that which once escaped must inevitably return to its rightful place.
He and Xue Zhenzhen shared deep affection, yet their destined bond was shallow, insufficient to last a lifetime.
A doomed child. A doomed bond.
For this, Jun Wuwei made many preparations. He wished to preserve Xue Zhenzhen through the coming calamity, but his strength alone would not suffice.
He entrusted his sword and his swordsmanship to a disciple.
When the disciple learned of his intentions, he remained silent for a long while, before finally saying he would go through fire and water for his shifu.
That was enough. It was enough. The great calamity was approaching, and he too had his duty to fulfil.
Jun Wuwei had not expected her to die. Nor had he expected his Dao to fail. He did not understand why Xue Zhenzhen came to hate him, nor why the Dao of the world abandoned him. He had destroyed the heavenly tribulation and saved the living continent, so why did the Dao, high above the nine heavens, weep?
The deity who defeated him said, “The fate of all living beings has never been ours to decide.”
Is that so?
Those insignificant mortals, those ordinary lives that had never once entered his notice, were their fates not his to determine? Then whose were they?
Jun Wuwei felt lost.
He fell into the mortal world, his cultivation scattered, left with nothing but an immortal frame.
He travelled far and wide, died many times, encountered countless dangers, and met innumerable beings. Abandoned by the Dao, there was no place for him in the world.
His Dao heart did not shatter, his will did not fade. Yet no matter how he searched, how far he journeyed, he could not find the Dao he had lost.
Perhaps it would take a very long time, so long that he forgot even his own name, before he might remember.
Chapter 142: Extra: Xue Zhenzhen
Xue Zhenzhen survived the great calamity. Her son did not.
He dissipated between heaven and earth, leaving not even a single relic behind.
She sought an audience with the Heavenly Lady, wishing for an answer.
Seated in the Ninth Heaven, the Heavenly Lady rewove the fates of all beings. In Her hands, mountains and rivers revived, life stirred once more, and Her distant, ethereal voice seemed like a dream.
She told Xue Zhenzhen that it had been Xue Cuo’s own choice. He was the one that had slipped from the Heavenly Dao. When the calamity descended, he was destined to return to his original place.
Xue Zhenzhen remained silent for a long while, then bowed deeply.
“I understand. Many thanks, Heavenly Lady.”
Having received her answer, many departed upon clouds for Tiandu City. Just as Xue Zhenzhen was about to leave, the Heavenly Lady called her back and asked whether she wished to reclaim the Dragon Might Sword.
Xue Zhenzhen’s face remained blank. “There is no need. The sword is broken and cannot be restored. I am no longer its master. The dead do not return. Yet I am still his mother. It is I who owe him. Why should the Heavenly Lady show me such pity?”
The Dao arena fell silent.
After a moment, the Heavenly Lady gave a soft sigh. Her thoughts withdrew once more to the Ninth Heaven, and she did not detain her further.
Xue Zhenzhen turned and left.
Gu Ruhui travelled with her to Tiandu City. Along the way, both were silent, and even Ying Xiao dared not speak.
As their immortal cloud passed over Tianyi Sect, they saw the mountain gates in ruin, the spirit mountain stripped bare. What had once been vast and imposing was now desolate.
Of all that Gu Ruhui had cherished, little remained. Xue Zhenzhen gazed on in silence, unable to understand why the fates of those two children had been so fraught.
Within Tiandu City, mourning filled every household.
She learned then that her son was truly dead. He had been buried upon a sacred mountain in the mortal world. Many had come to lay him to rest, most of them his friends and fellow disciples, but also ordinary folk who had travelled great distances to be there.
Xue Zhenzhen said nothing. She only listened, piecing together from scattered fragments the life he had lived, his appearance, his nature.
The child with tiny hands and feet, a round belly, and little hair buns had grown into a steady and dependable young man, at times mischievous and quick-witted.
He had once played a trick on the great demon of Tiandu City, turning himself into countless butterflies and leaving the demon king too embarrassed to take beast form.
He had saved a village plagued by the silkworm fiend, rescued many innocent women, travelled to the South Sea and to Qingzhou, fought against evil gods, pulled people back from fire and water, and spared no effort in saving the little sage of the demon court.
Those who knew him would always begin with a smile when speaking of him, then go on to grumble about his many faults. Yet as they spoke, they would fall silent, a dull sorrow settling over them.
Xue Zhenzhen, however, found even sorrow difficult to grasp.
She had never seen him grow up. She did not know what he had felt when he abandoned both body and soul, nor whether he had already cast aside all attachment to the mortal world.
She had never once celebrated his birthday. Now she was left to remember the day of his death.
The thought left her sleepless night after night, her Dao heart subjected to relentless questioning. She could not forget, nor could she forgive herself, though that child had never once spoken of hatred.
But surely there must have been some. If so, then as his mother, she would bear that punishment in his stead.
After bidding farewell to him, the demon king of Tiandu City invited her to remain, but she refused and returned to the mortal world.
For six hundred years, she wandered it, slaying demons and subduing evil, tasting the sufferings of all living beings. She travelled nearly the entirety of the land. At every mountain, river, lake, and sea, she would set afloat a lantern and write a few words for him.
She thought that Xue Cuo was not in his grave, nor beneath the earth.
He was in the mountains and wilds, within the mortal world, in the morning light at dawn and the evening stars at night, dispersed from the world yet present within heaven and earth.
Yet she still wished to see him once, to look upon him and speak a few words. She knew such a wish could never be fulfilled.
And so she could only entrust it to an endless, hopeless search, hoping that one day, carried upon the wind, she might hear her child’s voice.
Six hundred years passed in a breath.
An immortal sat in quiet meditation within a mountain forest, long hair falling over her shoulders, a blood-red jade held loosely in one hand.
A small paper crane fluttered into the woods, circling merrily by the stream before settling upon her skirt.
Xue Zhenzhen opened her eyes. Her face remained youthful, yet her gaze was grey and desolate. She looked down at the paper crane, frowning faintly, uncertain who had sent it.
She closed her eyes again and continued her meditation, her heart still as stagnant water.
Seeing itself ignored, the little crane fluttered up and circled her, brushing against her, persistent though not quite vexing. Only when she could bear it no longer did she seize it in her hand. At once, it stilled, lying obediently in her palm.
“Noisy,” Xue Zhenzhen said coldly, nudging it. Though her expression remained distant, there was no real anger. She tapped it lightly, sending in a thread of spiritual energy.
The crane remained silent for so long she almost thought it a prank. Then, from the other end, came two faint coughs, followed by a stiff voice.
“Mother.”
Xue Zhenzhen’s pupils shrank. Her mind went blank. Her hand clenched instinctively, nearly crushing the poor paper crane flat. Whatever followed, she did not hear a single word.
In the next instant, she became a streak of light, shooting across the sky like a falling star, racing towards Tiandu City in Fangzhou.
In less than the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the familiar bustling city lay beneath her feet. Her expression was cold, her hands trembling. Even as she descended into the courtyard of the great demon, her thoughts raced, weighing whether this might be some malicious deception.
“Who dares break my barrier in the middle of the night?”
The door swung open with a clang. A young man stood there, a wine jar in one hand, talismans in the other, irritation clear in his voice. “To trespass upon Tiandu Manor at night—”
His words cut off abruptly.
The wine jar slipped from his hand and shattered upon the ground. His expression was as though he had seen a ghost. The half-burnt talisman sputtered and went out.
In the courtyard stood a figure like frost and snow. Plain white robes, cold eyes.
She stared at the young man without blinking, studying him inch by inch. Slowly, heavily, her heart settled back into her chest, beating again, one stroke at a time.
Is it him? It is him.
The childlike traces remained, yet he had grown, taller now. His features resembled Jun Wuwei more than her. He seemed a little brighter than before, and had even learnt to drink.
Only… he was too thin. For all his height, he looked almost fragile.
“Xue Cuo, who’s come?”
The silver-haired young man in white pushed open the window and met the gaze of the person in the courtyard. In that instant he recognised her, and hurried to shut the window, only for a hand to stop him.
Yin Feixue forced a strained smile as he tried to close it. “Xue Cuo, Xiao Cuo, your karmic reckoning has arrived. I shan’t intrude.”
Xue Cuo clutched the wine jar, refusing to let go, his face a picture of shock and grievance. “We agreed we’d be brothers first and spouses after, and now you’re abandoning me?”
Yin Feixue seized his face, squeezing it into a goldfish pout, and pushed his head out without mercy. He did not forget to smile at the Dragon Might Swordmaster as he snatched the wine away. “Just sweetened water. He doesn’t usually drink. Auntie, please.”
With a snap, he shut the window and kicked the door closed, leaving Xue Cuo standing alone in the courtyard, facing her.
Xue Zhenzhen did not speak for a long while. Nor did Xue Cuo move. After some time, footsteps approached. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and gave a light pat, as though confirming he was truly alive, truly whole.
When he looked up, he saw her eyes were already red. There was a faint smile at her lips, full of feeling, yet she scarcely dared to touch him. “You’ve grown. Much taller than me now.”
“Do you remember? When you were little, you were shorter than the Dragon Might Sword, and always sneaking off to be idle…”
She broke off halfway. Seeing his shoulders stiffen and his brow draw tight, she hurriedly added, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember. So long as you’re alive, that’s enough. That is enough.”
At once she dared not say more. She drew several slow breaths, lowering her head, standing there like an ageing tree, solitary and still. Then, as though recalling something, she took out a mustard seed pouch and held it out to him. “You’re too thin. You need building up.”
Fearing he might refuse it out of resentment, she added, “It’s good that you’ve taken up the Divine Dao. There are no sword manuals or blades inside, only spirit treasures and immortal herbs.”
“Don’t be unhappy. I only came to see you. It is enough that you are alive.”
After a pause, she glanced at his expression and said softly, “If you do not wish to acknowledge me, then… call me Dragon Might Swordmaster, as the others do. I will accept it.”
The air fell silent. Xue Cuo suddenly bowed his head.
Xue Zhenzhen froze. After a long moment, she reached out and gently ruffled his hair. Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face.
“Mother.”
She stood stunned for a while, then at last embraced the child she had been parted from for nearly seven hundred years, having missed his entire youth and early manhood. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”
Three years later, Xue Cuo and Yin Feixue formally bound themselves as Dao companions.
Unlike most cultivators, who frowned upon unions between humans and demons, Xue Zhenzhen, once assured of Xue Cuo’s happiness, took it upon herself to oversee the entire ceremony.
She planned everything with meticulous care. The Great Dao was lonely by nature; to have a beloved companion was a rare blessing. This was her child’s once-in-a-lifetime joy, and it could not be handled carelessly.
After six hundred years wandering the world, she had seen countless perilous places. What treasures had she not gathered?
Minor matters could be left to Xue Cuo’s friends, but the rites, the venue, the ceremonial implements, the binding artefacts, none of it could be neglected.
And if there was to be a proper binding ceremony, there must also be proper attire. After much thought, she resolved to weave it herself from immortal grasses.
Xue Cuo, worried she might tire herself, went to help twist the threads, muttering, “It’s only a cup of wine. Why make such a fuss?”
Xue Zhenzhen tapped his forehead lightly, her expression serious. “Even if you don’t mind, you ought to ask whether the City Lord does.”
Xue Cuo propped his chin lazily on his hand, then his eyes flickered with mischief. “In the mortal world, marriages require proper betrothal gifts and formalities. Shouldn’t I do the same?”
This had not occurred to her. Cultivators rarely bothered with such things; the binding rite itself was what mattered. Still, seeing his interest, and as it was no great trouble, she granted him access to the treasury and let him arrange it himself.
Xue Cuo sprang up at once. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll go at once.”
The next day, Yin Feixue was meditating in the courtyard when a small demon reported that King Xue had sent gifts.
Boxes were carried in one after another, hundreds in all. Curious, Yin Feixue glanced at the gift list, and immediately ground his teeth in irritation.
The little demons were panting with exhaustion, yet seeing their lord merely snort and down a gulp of cold tea, none dared approach.
At that moment, dozens of the chests began to stir noisily, and from them floated out a seven-character verse, the sort of crude rhymes sung in back alleys when courting a bride.
Yin Feixue’s lips twitched, though he said nothing.
A trembling little demon poked its head forward. “My lord… more gifts have arrived?”
Yin Feixue set down his cup. “From whom?”
The demon shuddered, near tears, and read from the list, one by one. “The Peacock King of the demon court, the swordsman Gu Ruhui, the little golden dragon of the South Sea, cultivators from the goddess shrine of Qianyun Marsh, monks from Western Lingshan… Seeing that King Xue had sent gifts, they said they ought to add to the display, so they sent everything meant for King Xue straight to Tiandu Manor.”
Yin Feixue crushed the teacup in his hand. A slow smile spread across his lips, chilling to behold. “Xue Yinbing.”
The day of the ceremony was livelier still.
Where others held solemn and dignified rites, Xue Cuo’s ceremony alone had a great open space cleared in the centre, complete with a fighting stage.
The groom, elegant as jade, had been bound up like a caterpillar with an immortal-binding rope borrowed from the Heavenly Mother, leaving him no chance to intervene.
The little golden dragon was both tearful and elated, wiping his eyes as he stood guard. If Xue Cuo was thirsty, he gave him water; if hungry, he fed him; under no circumstances would he let him leave.
“With me here, no one is taking Eldest Shixiong away!”
Xue Cuo rolled helplessly on the ground. “I’m the one getting bound in marriage.”
“All the more reason!” the little dragon declared, thumping his chest. “Eldest Shixiong, look, the peacock’s gone up!”
The Peacock King, robes trailing, feather fan in hand, hovered in the air and beckoned to the red-robed demon lord below. “If you want to see Xue Cuo, you’ll have to pass me first.”
Yin Feixue let out a soft laugh, eyes gleaming. Without hesitation, he cast aside his black blade, swept up his robes, and leapt forward barehanded to meet him.
After more than a hundred exchanges, the peacock was slightly out of breath. His expression chilled as he stepped back. “Gu Ruhui.”
“Coming.”
The young swordsman stepped forward, calm-faced, eyes cool, drawing his blade. “Gu Ruhui. Allow me to seek instruction.”
Yin Feixue lifted his chin, the black blade flying back into his hand. “After you, Gu-xiong.”
Another fierce exchange followed before Gu Ruhui yielded, stepping aside to reveal a serene young monk behind him.
Beyond him came Fang Longxi, slovenly and grinning. “Ha! I may not manage much alone, but I’ve friends all over the world. Today I’m here to cheer on my nephew, Xue Cuo!”
The little golden dragon watched, blood boiling, wishing he could leap in himself. “Eldest Shixiong! Martial Uncle Fang is incredible! Eldest Shixiong… Shixiong…!”
Ao Mu suddenly panicked, flipping over cushions. Where had his eldest shixiong gone?
Meanwhile, Yin Feixue was locked in battle, already beginning to tire when a clear shout rang out:
“Yin Feixue!”
He looked up sharply, sweeping aside his opponents and sending Fang Longxi sprawling. A dark figure dropped from above straight into his arms.
“Xue Cuo!”
Bound like a dumpling, Xue Cuo wriggled free enough to speak to the gathered crowd. “Uncles, friends, brothers, today is my joyous occasion. Thank you all for coming. The groom has been retrieved, so let us begin the ceremony.”
The crowd stared, unsure whether to laugh or protest, until Xue Zhenzhen stepped forward to restore order and declare the rites resumed.
Yin Feixue held him close. Xue Cuo leaned against him, tilting his head, whispering, “Are you angry?”
Yin Feixue chuckled, pinching his cheek. “Angry about what? I’m pleased for you.”
Xue Cuo blinked, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to those cool, thin lips. “I will not fail you.”
The binding rope loosened at once. Startled, Xue Cuo stretched, then took Yin Feixue’s hand. “Feixue, come with me.”
Yin Feixue stepped forward and clasped it, smiling faintly. “Gladly.”
The sky was wide, the clouds light, the feast resplendent.
Their hearts bound as one, enduring for ten thousand years.
