The mountain didn't weep when she left the cavern.
It watched.
Silent. Cold. Patient.
Like it had been waiting centuries for this moment, when both sinners returned to the place where the sky bled.
---
Lianxin didn't look back.
She couldn't.
Because if she did—if she met Yanlong's eyes one more time—
She didn't know if she would strike...
…or shatter.
---
The blade was heavier now.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
Its edge felt sharper just from being in the same room as the man it was meant to end.
A weapon born to sever karma should have felt righteous.
Clean. Final.
But to her, it pulsed with something darker.
Regret.
---
She reached the edge of the frost-blasted grove where the sect's youngest disciples had once trained.
It was quiet now.
No laughter.
No fluttering robes.
Only wind and ash.
She knelt beside the last standing plum tree—the one that hadn't burned in the raid.
Its blossoms were singed, curling at the edges.
Like me.
---
She reached up and gently snapped off one branch.
Folded it into her sleeve.
Not as a keepsake.
As a witness.
If she was going to end him, truly end him…
She wanted one piece of something untouched by fire.
---
A faint cough behind her broke the stillness.
She turned quickly, hand on her blade.
But it wasn't an enemy.
It was Qin Yue.
Pale. Bleeding from a reopened shoulder wound. Clutching a small scroll.
"I told you to stay in the sanctum," Lianxin said.
Qin Yue dropped to her knees, panting.
"I… couldn't let you go alone."
---
Lianxin's face didn't change. But her voice softened.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I had to give you this," Qin Yue said, holding out the scroll.
Lianxin took it.
Unrolled it.
Her eyes narrowed.
---
It wasn't a message.
It was a Heaven-sealed command warrant.
An execution decree.
For Yanlong.
Issued by the Celestial Court itself.
With her name written in gold as the enforcer.
---
She let the scroll fall to the ground.
Her fingers trembled—only slightly.
"They never intended to forgive him," she murmured.
Qin Yue looked away. "They sent it before they even knew he'd remembered."
---
Lianxin's voice was quiet. Cold.
"So this was always my fate, wasn't it?"
Qin Yue didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
Because they both knew—
The heavens had never planned to destroy Yanlong themselves.
They just needed her to do it.
---
The branch in her sleeve scratched against her ribs.
The sword at her hip whispered in her thoughts.
The scroll curled in the dirt like a dying snake.
---
And Lianxin stood.
"I'm going to finish this," she said.
Qin Yue looked up.
"You mean… kill him?"
Lianxin's jaw tensed.
"I mean confront him. As myself. Not as Heaven's pawn."
---
Qin Yue nodded slowly.
But in her eyes—
Fear lingered.
Not of Yanlong.
Of what this would do to Lianxin.
---
And deep down, Lianxin feared it too.
Because killing someone you once loved doesn't free you.
It binds you tighter to the moment you did it.
---
The scroll still lay in the dirt behind her.
The wax seal cracked. The Heaven-gold script glinting dully in the twilight.
She didn't look back.
---
By the time she reached the southern cliffside, night had draped itself over the ruined valley like a mourning shroud. The stars were out—but pale, distant, as though even they feared watching what came next.
Yanlong stood there.
Waiting.
Arms folded. Flame humming faintly around his shoulders. His eyes fixed on the horizon… and not her.
Not yet.
---
She drew closer. Quietly. No footsteps. No wind.
Still, he spoke without turning.
"You came."
She stopped a few paces away.
"You waited."
"For once," he said, "I wanted you to have the choice."
---
She scoffed, but it sounded hollow. "You think this is a choice?"
"You think it isn't?"
---
He finally turned.
The flames around him dimmed slightly—less like armor, more like a warning glow.
His face was calm. But not peaceful.
Like someone who had accepted a verdict… even if he didn't know what it was yet.
---
"I remembered more," he said. "After you left."
"I didn't ask."
"You needed to know."
"I don't," she said. "I just need to end this."
---
She drew the blade.
No ceremony.
No anger.
Just the smooth, practiced motion of a girl who had held this weight for far too long.
The sword didn't hum.
It didn't glow.
It just existed—like a silence between heartbeats.
---
Yanlong looked at it.
Then at her.
"That blade erases souls," he said. "No rebirth. No memory. Not even ashes."
She said nothing.
"You sure that's what you want?"
"I'm sure it's what you deserve."
---
He didn't flinch.
Not even when she stepped forward and pressed the edge to his chest.
Right over his heart.
---
She didn't press it in.
Not yet.
---
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know."
"You destroyed my home."
"I did."
"You killed them."
"I remember."
"And I—"
Her voice broke.
She swallowed.
Started again.
---
"And I still dream of the night we stood beneath the plum trees… before you turned them into smoke."
---
He closed his eyes.
"I dream of it too."
---
Her hand trembled.
The blade quivered at his chest.
---
"I should kill you," she said.
"You should."
"Give me one reason not to."
---
He opened his eyes.
And in them, there was no defiance.
Only fire.
Only sorrow.
Only—
Her.
---
"Because I was already dead before I met you," he said.
"And when you left me on that battlefield… that was the only time I ever wanted to live."
---
The sword slipped an inch.
Her hand dropped to her side.
---
"I can't forgive you," she whispered.
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"I won't forget."
"I hope you never do."
---
She turned away.
---
He didn't stop her.
He didn't run.
He didn't burn.
He just stood there, watching the girl who once saved his soul walk away with the blade that could still destroy it.
---
When she was gone, he let the flames rise again.
But they no longer roared.
They whispered.
And for the first time since Heaven cast him out—
He didn't feel alone.
-----
End of Chapter 7