The room was hushed with the faint sound of breathing and rustling robes. Haotian sat upright against the bedframe, his body whole, his eyes steady. It felt strange to breathe so freely again, but stranger still to see the disciple before him nearly fainting with joy and fear at once.
Then the news spread like fire.
"Haotian is awake!"
Disciples stormed into the chamber one after another, their relief crashing into laughter, tears, and scolding. Some clasped his hands, others wept openly.
"You're alive…!"
"Don't ever scare us like that again!"
"Stop pushing yourself to the point of collapsing—you'll kill yourself before the demons do!"
Haotian scratched his cheek with a sheepish grin, bowing his head slightly to each scolding. "Yes, yes… you're right. I overdid it. I'm sorry. Truly, I'll be more careful next time."
The apologies only made them sigh harder, but relief still shone in every eye.
Someone had dashed off to wake Elder Ziyue, who had only just drifted into proper sleep after weeks of vigil. She stumbled into the hall, her hair in slight disarray, sleep still clinging to her eyes—and, embarrassingly, a faint trace of drool at the corner of her mouth.
"Haotian…"
She froze at the doorway. The sight of him sitting up, alive and smiling, broke something inside her. Tears welled instantly, spilling before she could stop them. With a cry, she rushed across the room and threw her arms around him.
Haotian's chest warmed at the desperate strength in her embrace. Slowly, gently, he wrapped his arms around her, his voice low. "It's alright. I'm here."
Around them, disciples exchanged knowing glances, some smiling, some stifling laughter.
"Elder Ziyue…" one whispered teasingly.
"She's been watching him day and night, of course she—"
Ziyue suddenly became aware of them, her face flushing. She broke the embrace in flustered haste, turning half away.
But Haotian leaned close, his lips brushing near her ear, his voice playful. "Is this the same as your dream? You rushing to hug me? Or… was there more you want to come true?" His eyes flicked mischievously toward her mouth. "You've still got drool, Elder."
The words struck like lightning. Ziyue went scarlet from neck to crown, steam all but rising off her head. With a strangled noise she shoved him back and bolted for the door, fleeing as though her life depended on it.
The chamber erupted with laughter.
"What did he say?!""To make Elder Ziyue run like that?!"
Haotian only laughed heartily, shoulders shaking. "A secret," he said, grinning wide.
The laughter died instantly when Sect Master Yinxue stepped into the room. Her face was once again smooth and youthful—her beauty restoration pill had worked—but her eyes were cold steel.
Haotian turned with a bright, innocent smile. "Sect Master! You've worked hard while I was out. I'm grateful—truly. It's good to see you looking well."
The frown on her lips deepened. For a moment, she raised her palm, qi swirling faintly—then she stopped, fingers curling back into her sleeve.
"You just recovered," she said icily. "If I struck you now, we would be back at the beginning again."
Haotian chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "That would be troublesome."
Her gaze did not soften. "Follow me. Now."
The disciples exchanged wide-eyed glances as Haotian obediently climbed to his feet, still smiling like nothing had happened.
Sect Master Yinxue led Haotian down a long corridor, the laughter of the disciples fading behind them. She stopped only when they reached her private chamber, the doors sliding shut with a sharp thunk.
Inside, the air was cold, silent save for the faint crackle of a brazier. Yinxue turned, her eyes narrowing.
"You reckless child."
Haotian blinked, scratching his cheek lightly. "Sect Master, that's a little harsh. Everyone survived. Isn't that what matters?"
Her voice cut through him like a blade. "Survived? Do you even understand what you did? You forced your body beyond its limit—burned yourself to tatters. Do you think I don't know? Your insides were shredded, your meridians split apart. One more moment and you would not be standing here."
Haotian's smile thinned, but he didn't deny it.
Yinxue stepped closer, her presence pressing down on him. "You carry something no one else does. That burden gives you no right to throw yourself away like a fool."
Haotian's gaze lowered. His tone softened. "If I hadn't, every disciple on that Bridge would be dead. If I had to do it again… I would."
Her expression wavered, anger tempered by something heavier. For a moment, the stern Sect Master's mask slipped, and her voice was quieter, almost weary. "Do you not see? It is because you carry so much that you must endure. Not just for their sakes… but for what lies ahead. Do not forget—you owe your life not only to this sect, but to your own lineage waiting across the sea."
The ache in his chest flared at her words. He pressed a fist against it faintly, then gave a single nod. "…I understand."
Yinxue studied him a long while, then finally exhaled. "See that you do." She turned away, her sleeve flicking as she gestured toward the door. "Go. They wait for you. But remember, Haotian—power is not license. It is debt."
Haotian bowed deeply before leaving. His smile returned as he stepped back into the light, but Yinxue's words weighed like iron at the back of his mind.
Shuyue stood just outside his chamber, hesitant, her hands clenched at her chest. She had heard the commotion, seen the disciples cheering, but she hadn't gone in. Not yet.
When Haotian emerged from Yinxue's private hall, she froze. His steps were steady, his expression light, but the sight of him upright and whole made something inside her twist.
"You're awake," she managed, her voice quiet, almost fragile.
He smiled warmly. "I am. Sorry to make you worry."
Her heart-seal flared, making her chest ache. She didn't know why her throat tightened, why she couldn't meet his gaze for long. A faint flush touched her cheeks, her hands trembling as if to reach for him—before she caught herself and pressed them hard against her chest.
"…You scared me," she whispered, then quickly turned away, retreating before her own confusion could betray her.
Haotian watched her go, the faintest crease forming at his brow, but he said nothing.
That evening, the Moon Lotus Sect erupted in celebration. Lanterns lit the courtyards, long tables were filled with food and wine, and disciples gathered in clusters, laughter carrying into the night.
"To Haotian!" someone cried, raising a cup.
"To our miracle!" voices answered in unison.
Disciples pressed around him with cheers and congratulations. Some clapped his shoulders, others wept openly, recounting how close they had come to death.
"You carried us all," one said.
"You really defied fate," another murmured in awe.
Haotian smiled through it all, bowing his head, apologizing each time someone scolded him for his recklessness. "Yes, yes, I'll be careful next time. I'm sorry." His laughter rang genuine, though Yinxue's earlier words lingered in the back of his mind.
For the sect, it was a night of joy and relief, their miracle alive and among them.
For Haotian, it was a reminder: his burden was not over. It had only just begun.
The sect had grown quiet after the celebration. Lanterns burned low, their flames flickering in the night breeze. The courtyard lay in silver light beneath the moon, still and solemn.
Elder Ziyue stood alone, her eyes lifted to the stars. The air smelled faintly of frost lotus blossoms, cool and sharp against the night.
Soft footsteps approached.
"Elder Ziyue."
She turned slightly. Shuyue had come, her silhouette slender beneath the moonlight. She bowed politely before stepping closer.
"You're awake still?" Ziyue asked gently.
Shuyue nodded. "I couldn't sleep. My heart feels… unsettled."
The two stood side by side, the silence stretching comfortably between them. At first, their words were light—about the sect, the disciples, the future after the Sea Bridge. But slowly, the talk shifted, as though the night itself drew truth from them.
Ziyue exhaled softly, her gaze still on the moon. "I remember when I first recruited Haotian. It wasn't for his strength, nor for his talent in battle. I only wanted to give him sanctuary, peace. He was broken then, yet I thought perhaps the sect could be a haven. I never imagined he would one day become our pillar."
Shuyue's hands tightened at her sides. Her lips parted, hesitating, before the words finally slipped out. "He saved me. Twice now. Each time, he carried me away from danger… as if I mattered more than his own safety." She lowered her gaze. "When I think of those moments… my chest aches. I don't understand why."
Ziyue blinked, surprised. Shuyue was not one to bare her heart. For her to speak like this was unprecedented.
The elder's expression softened. After a pause, she gave a faint, almost rueful smile. "…It seems I am no different. I thought myself untouchable, but somewhere along the way, I found myself drawn to him. I suppose I, too, have come to feel something."
Shuyue's eyes widened. "Elder… you…?"
Ziyue chuckled quietly. "Strange, isn't it? After so many years, and yet—here I am, confessing beneath the stars. But it's true."
Shuyue's voice was small. "…I don't know what this feeling is. I'm not sure myself."
Ziyue turned to her fully, her gaze steady and kind. "Then listen to me. Closing your heart, sealing away your emotions—it is not strength, Shuyue. It is solitude. Look at the women of other sects, even the Azure Dragon disciples. They do not cultivate the heart-seal, yet they are strong, some even stronger and younger than you. Do you see? Guarding yourself so fiercely will not make you greater. It will only make you alone."
Shuyue's throat tightened. She couldn't speak.
Ziyue's tone softened further. "Don't cling too hard to the old ways. Open yourself. Let yourself feel, live, stumble, and rise again. That is cultivation as much as any technique. Just as I will take my own first step from tonight onward."
She turned, her robes brushing lightly across the stone as she walked away.
"You are still young," her voice drifted back. "Time is on your side. But ask yourself, Shuyue: why do you cultivate the heart-seal method? For what purpose?"
The night swallowed her figure.
Shuyue remained alone in the courtyard, the moonlight cold on her face. Her hands pressed to her chest, where the seal pulsed faintly, aching more than ever.
The sect woke to the sound of bells and the crisp scent of frost in the air. Morning sunlight spilled over the snow-tipped roofs, washing away the shadows of the night.
Haotian, wrapped in clean robes, stepped out of his chambers for the first time since his awakening. His body moved with ease now, his breathing calm, though faint traces of weariness lingered in his eyes. Disciples who spotted him bowed quickly, their faces bright with relief. Some whispered, some smiled, but all looked at him as if at a figure larger than life.
But what caught his notice most was Elder Ziyue.
She was there.
Not clinging to him, not intrusive, but always near—her presence a quiet shadow, steady and warm. When he crossed the courtyard, she walked beside him, speaking of small matters. When disciples greeted him, she was there, answering questions he deflected with her own soft voice. Even when silence stretched, her nearness carried weight, as though she had decided simply being by his side was enough.
Haotian glanced at her once, amused. "Elder, you're more talkative today than usual."
She smiled faintly, unbothered. "Perhaps I am. Is it unwelcome?"
He shook his head with a chuckle. "Not at all."
Reunion with the Falcons
When he finally made his way to the aviary where his three spirit falcons had been kept, a thrill ran through him.
The moment the falcons caught sight of him, they let out piercing cries. Wings spread wide, they launched themselves from their perches, circling once in the sky before diving down.
"Easy, easy!" Haotian laughed as one nearly barreled into his chest. Another landed on his arm, talons gentle despite their size, while the third hopped along the ground, nipping playfully at his robes.
They screeched and crooned, feathers ruffling as they rubbed against him, demanding attention like children starved for affection.
Haotian stroked their necks, his smile genuine, his laughter carrying through the courtyard. "Did you miss me that much? Good birds… good brothers. I'm here now."
When he looked up, Ziyue was standing nearby. She hadn't stepped forward, hadn't interrupted. She only watched with a warm smile, her eyes soft as she took in the sight of him alive, whole, and laughing.
Inside, she felt the certainty settle. This—being by his side, sharing his days, however ordinary—was her first step. She no longer denied it. She had accepted what she felt for Haotian.
Disciples passed by, some whispering at the sight of Elder Ziyue following Haotian so naturally, others exchanging sly smiles. But she paid them no mind. For once, she was not thinking of appearances, nor of duty.
She only thought of the man before her—the one who had once been a broken alchemist under her wing, and who now stood as the pillar of their sect.
And for the first time in many years, Elder Ziyue felt something she had long forgotten: the quiet warmth of choosing to live for herself.
The morning passed quickly. Wherever Haotian went, Elder Ziyue followed—not clinging, not imposing, but present. She spoke with him in the courtyards, walked beside him as disciples greeted them, and even stood quietly at his side when he tended to his falcons.
It did not go unnoticed.
Disciples whispered in corners, voices hushed but eager.
"Have you seen Elder Ziyue? She's been at Senior Brother Haotian's side since dawn.""Of course I've seen. She hasn't left him alone even once.""Do you think… maybe she—?""Hush! Don't say it so loud. But honestly… it looks like she's already chosen."
Some giggled behind their sleeves. Others were more serious.
"She recruited him once, and now he's the pillar of the sect. If anyone deserves to be beside him, it's her.""True. But still… seeing Elder Ziyue like this, it's strange. She's always been so composed, so distant. Now she smiles whenever he speaks."
Shuyue's Eavesdropping
Around the corner, Shuyue froze. She hadn't meant to stop, but the words carried too clearly. Her fingers clenched around the folds of her robe.
Ziyue… and Haotian?
Her heart-seal pulsed, a strange ache running through her chest. She couldn't name it, couldn't understand it. She only knew it made her unsteady, as though the ground itself had shifted beneath her feet.
She forced herself to keep walking, her face expressionless, but inside she repeated Ziyue's words from the night before:
Why do you cultivate the heart-seal method? For what purpose?
Now the question echoed louder, pressing against the ache she could not comprehend.
Ziyue's Smile
Not far ahead, she saw them. Haotian laughed as one of the falcons tried to tug at his sleeve, and beside him, Elder Ziyue watched with that same faint smile—warm, soft, unlike the Ziyue Shuyue had always known.
The sight lodged itself deep in Shuyue's chest. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She pressed her hand against her sternum, confused.
Why did it hurt to see that smile not turned her way?
She could not answer. She only knew the heart-seal trembled, and her steps carried her quickly in the opposite direction, before anyone could see the flicker of emotion in her eyes.
The courtyard was alive with morning drills, the clash of wooden blades and the crisp shouts of disciples ringing across the training grounds. Haotian walked among them, his steps steady, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped now and then to correct a stance or offer a calm word, his presence a quiet reassurance.
But as he passed near the edge of the field, his eyes caught Shuyue.
She stood among the watching disciples, her posture as composed as ever, but something in her face betrayed her. Her eyes lingered on him for only a heartbeat too long before darting away. When he moved closer, she shifted subtly back, as though unwilling to stand too near.
Haotian's brow furrowed. It wasn't avoidance in the obvious sense—Shuyue wasn't cold, nor openly distant. But there was a hesitation in her gaze, a faint shadow in her manner, like someone standing too close to a fire, uncertain whether to step forward or retreat.
Why does she look away? he thought. What chains her like this?
The image of her on the Sea Bridge flashed through his mind—her body limp in his arms, the terror in her eyes, the way her hands had clung faintly to his robe before she lost consciousness. He remembered the way she had stood in silence beside his sickbed, tears on her face when she thought no one saw.
But now… now she seemed locked away again.
"Shuyue," he called softly.
She turned, startled, her lips parting as though to speak—then quickly bowed and excused herself, disappearing into the colonnade before he could take another step.
Haotian stood watching her go, the crease deepening between his brows.
"Senior Brother Haotian."
A disciple hurried up, bowing quickly before holding out a sealed envelope. The paper bore the Azure Dragon insignia, its edges carefully pressed with wax.
Haotian's chest tightened the moment he saw it. His fingers closed slowly around the letter, the single character written on its face burning into his eyes:
蓮華 — Lianhua.
His breath caught for just a moment. He turned the letter over once in his hand, then broke the seal and unfolded it.
The scent of foreign incense rose faintly from the paper, delicate and sweet, one that carried memories of the western halls of Azure Dragon Sky Sect. The handwriting inside was elegant, familiar.
As his eyes traced the words, his pulse quickened.
She had written to him.
The Letter from Lianhua
Haotian unfolded the thin paper carefully, his hands steady though his chest ached with each breath. The moonlit courtyard and the drills faded away — there was only the soft ink before him, the familiar hand that carried him across years and distance.
The words read:
"My dearest Haotian,
By the time this letter reaches you, a month will have passed since the Sea Bridge opened. Though the dragons guard me well, each night I lie awake, staring at the lamps and wondering if you yet live.
I was told by Elder Longwei that you appeared upon the Bridge — that you carried disciples of the North and West alike, that you defied fate itself. When those words reached me, I could not hold back my tears. Pride and sorrow came together in one tide, for I know what such defiance must have cost you.
The child grows steadily within me. The physicians and elders say both of us are safe, though they frown when they see how often I wait at the gates. I cannot help it — every breeze makes me think it carries your presence, every sound in the night makes me turn, hoping it is you.
You told me once you would return, that no distance could sever us. I believe you still. Yet my heart longs. I find myself speaking to our child as though you can hear through them: 'Your father is brave. Your father will come home. He will hold you in his arms.'
Haotian, do not tarry long. Each day without you grows heavier. But if your path is not yet complete, if burdens keep you where you are, then I will wait. I will wait as long as I must, even if my hair turns silver.
Return when you can. But return. For me. For our child.
Always,Lianhua"
Haotian's hands trembled as he lowered the letter. The incense fragrance clung to him, pulling him back to memories of quiet evenings in the western halls, of Lianhua's laughter, her soft touch, the glow of lamplight over her smile.
Her words struck deeper than any blade.
He pressed the letter against his chest, eyes closing briefly. The ache in his heart flared sharp, like a wound long hidden now torn open again.
Lianhua… our child… waiting for me.