Eastern Heshi Territory — Nearby Village
The farmer stared at his crops.
Three days ago: small grains.
Today: ears twice the size.
Impossible.
He knelt.
Touched the soil.
Warm. Damp.
As if it were breathing.
This isn't natural.
In the distance, Four Tributaries Mountain.
Ever since that day… (when the sky trembled, when the air changed) …everything had been different.
Harvests.
Animals.
Even people.
His son, sick for months… had begun to recover.
He stood.
Looked toward the mountain.
He didn't know whether to give thanks…or to be afraid.
---
Four Tributaries Mountain
Training Grounds
"Again," Wang Tao ordered.
Wei Lian took a deep breath.
Seals. Qi flowing.
Roots burst from the ground.
Faster. More precise.
Yan Li beside him.
Hands tracing the air.
Flames appeared.
Small. Controlled.
The techniques collided.
CRACK.
Roots burned.
Flames died.
A draw.
Yan Li dropped to the ground, sitting.
"I can't anymore…"
Wang Tao sighed.
"That's enough for today."
Yan Li stood, bowed.
"Thank you, Elder Brother Wang."
And headed toward the lodgings.
Wei Lian stayed.
Silence.
Only the wind.
---
Four Tributaries Mountain — Continued
"You're acting strange."
Wang Tao exhaled.
"Not this again."
He kept adjusting a trap.
"Since Master left… you barely talk."
Wang Tao tied the last knot.
Wei Lian continued:
"I spent my whole life making masks."
Wang Tao raised an eyebrow.
"Masks?"
"Wooden ones. For theater. For rituals."
Wei Lian looked at his own hands.
"I learned that a good mask…"
"…doesn't copy a face."
"It copies what people expect to see."
Pause.
"I wore so many…"
"…that I forgot which one was mine."
He turned to Wang Tao.
"But I can tell when someone else is wearing one."
Wang Tao swallowed.
"And which one do you think I'm wearing?"
Wei Lian didn't hesitate.
"The mask of someone who has already accepted death."
Heavy silence.
Wang Tao clenched his fists.
"Don't say stupid things."
"Then you talk," Wei Lian shot back."Share something."
Wang Tao didn't answer.
Wei Lian stepped closer.
"If you're going to do something dangerous…"
"…don't do it alone."
Wang Tao turned, startled.
"Wei Lian—"
"We're brothers, aren't we?" he cut in. "Master said so."
Pause.
"Then stop carrying everything by yourself."
Wang Tao wanted to say yes.
Wanted to accept.
But…
"I can't."
Wei Lian frowned.
"Why?"
Wang Tao looked away.
"Because if something goes wrong…"
"…I don't want you to become what I am."
He turned his back.
The conversation was over.
Wei Lian stood there.
Hands trembling.
Not from fear.
From frustration.
Idiot.
---
Sect Gates
Lin Xue stopped.
Looked back.
Those gates…
He had entered through them at six years old.
Hand holding his grandfather's.
"One day, Xue'er, you will be a pillar of this sect."
He closed his eyes.
I'm sorry, Grandpa.
He turned.
And walked away.
---
Two disciples watched.
"That's Young Master Lin, right?"
"…Yeah."
Silence.
"Where is he going?"
The other looked away.
"Leave it."
---
As he passed through the gates…
Lin Xue felt something.
Not freedom.
Emptiness.
As if he had cut off a limb.
The sect remained behind him.
Alive.
Indifferent.
As if he had never existed.
Maybe he never had.
He walked east.
With every step…
The weight lessened.
And the emptiness grew.
---
Four Tributaries Mountain — Night
Wang Tao finished placing the last talisman.
Checked:
Poison.Wires.Seals.Everything ready.
He sat down.
Touched the brooch Sai had given him.
Cold jade against his skin.
It might save me… maybe.
He smiled without humor.
Or it might fail.
He looked at the traps around him.
Perfect.
Lethal.
Just as he had been trained.
The Invisible Hand taught me well.
He closed his eyes.
Wei Lian's words echoed in his mind:The mask of someone who has already accepted death.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
His former mentor's voice resurfaced in his memory.
"Assassins do not fear death.They walk beside it.
Those who choose to wield the blades of the end…must also accept being cut by them."
But this time… it isn't an order.
Pause.
This time… it's a choice.
Was there a difference?
He didn't know.
But he had to try.
Because if he didn't…
…it wouldn't be a choice.
It would be surrender.
The wind blew.
The mountain remained silent.
Waiting.
As it always did.
Before demanding its price.