After dinner, Xing Fei returned to her room, the simple meal a comforting weight in her stomach, yet a restless energy hummed beneath her skin. She was now wearing a spare dress of finer hemp lent by Xinyan—soft, yet sturdy, a garment that mirrored the girl's own kind and passionate soul. After washing her own sage-green dress and hanging it carefully to dry for tomorrow, Fei was left alone in the quiet. The single lantern cast long, dancing shadows, and in the stillness, the reality of her decision settled upon her like a physical weight.
The admission test for the Wandering Cloud Sect was tomorrow. And she was certain she had nothing to offer.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her mind a barren field. Xinyan had spoken of her own preparation with a fire in her eyes—a song and dance she had perfected, a dress she had sewn herself to embody her concept. She had a dream, and more than that, she had the courage to present it to the world.
What do I have? Xing Fei thought, the question a sharp ache in her chest.
She knew her quiet talents that had been her only private comfort in a world that never understood her. She had a singing voice, raw and untrained, that could carry a tune when no one was listening. She could lose herself in the flow of a dance, but only in the solitude of her room. She could weave words together into poems, lyrics, and melodies that expresses the depth of her feelings, but the moment another person entered the room, the music died in her throat, the words shriveled into silence.
Her art was a secret, a language spoken only to herself. The thought of performing, of laying that fragile, inner world bare before the judging eyes of powerful cultivators, was paralyzing. It felt like a profanity.
It's not possible, she told the silent room, the words a final, defeated verdict. I have no courage to show myself. How can I possibly perform? Then why am i even going?
She hugged her knees to her chest, the fight draining out of her. But then, a quieter, more resilient thought emerged from the despair. But I won't back off now. I will go tomorrow. I will just… explore the world before me. I don't need to stress over anything here.
After a pause she exhaled and said, "It's not even my world."
The words landed not as a rejection, but as a liberation—a stark truth that shattered an illusion, and in doing so, set her free. It hurt to feel she doesn't belong here, yet it released the immense pressure she had placed upon herself. With a long, slow exhale, the tension left her shoulders, finally allowing sleep to pull her under.
---------------
She woke in the deep, velvet black of midnight. The lantern had burned itself out, and for a moment, there was only the profound darkness. But before her eyes could adjust, another sense took over—the calming, sacred fragrance of sandalwood. And then, a voice.
She remembered the source of the scent: a small incense cone, a gift from Xinyan to soothe her nerves. But this voice… she had never heard a sound so calming, a melody that made her feel safe even before she could see. Drawn by its pull, she rose and walked towards the window, pushing it open to let the song in more clearly.
The night outside looked dreamy, bathed in soft starlight. The voice grew clearer, and she listened as the lyrics wove through the air:
"After wandering through the long day, the night begins,
Memories of the past return to haunt me again.
The words once trapped in my heart, now weep,
Softly I call your name, seeing you in my dream…"
Xing Fei's chest ached with a sweet, sorrowful recognition. The song was a lament for something irretrievably lost, yet it was not desperate. Even in its longing, it carried a melancholic acceptance, a quiet acknowledgment that some things could not be changed—and that felt like a balm on her own wound.
But there was also a compassion in the voice of the singer, as if it was being sang for someone. And that compassion wrapped around Xing Fei, seeping into her bones, making her feel both profoundly sad and deeply understood for the first time in her life.
Then, a sound—a sharp, real knock at her door—shattered the spell.
The voice faded into the echoes of a dream. Fei tried to cling to the beautiful moment, to not wake up and lose this feeling of being seen, understood. The knocking came again, insistently pulling her back. Her eyes opened to the predawn grey, and she felt the warmth of tears on her cheeks.
Wiping them away, she rose. Composing herself as best she could, she walked to the door and opened it.
Xinyan stood there, her face alight with a nervous energy that was almost palpable. She didn't seem to notice the trace of tears on Fei's face.
"Fei! Get dressed, quickly," Xinyan urged, her voice a hushed whisper charged with excitement. "We need to start our journey soon if we are to reach the Cloud Mountains in time. The sun is almost here."
After Xinyan was gone, Fei began to get ready, the beautiful, aching memory of being understood cradled gently in her heart, a quiet strength for the journey ahead.