The room was silent—save for the soft sound of a brush gliding across silk.
Yan Li held the brush with painstaking care. Before her, the canvas already displayed four figures: three disciples and one master. They weren't perfect portraits, but they were painted from the heart.
She painted slowly, as if every stroke were a cherished memory: Wei Lian's crooked smile, Wang Tao's ever-watchful gaze, and the Master's distracted manner—hands in his pockets, as if the world were a simple place.
And then, there was her.
All of them were painted with lilac hair—but not the heavy, suffocating lilac from before. This was lighter, more vibrant, as if longing itself had found a brighter color.
Yan Li set the brush down and stared at the painting. Her chest tightened.
Perhaps Brother Wang had done something terrible: killed an Elder, betrayed the Sect. But he looked after them. He trained them. He protected them. He never fled when they were in danger.
Confusion was her constant companion: her mind demanded answers, while her heart only wanted to understand. She remembered the Master's words: "The soul reveals the hidden within you."
Yan Li closed her eyes.
— It isn't about right or wrong. It's about what lies inside me.
She felt a warmth in her chest—soft at first, then growing stronger, spreading through every molecule of her body until it coated her skin. It was a comforting warmth, like a tight embrace.
When she opened her eyes, she saw her own soul reflected in the painting for a fleeting second: it wasn't just violet anymore, but stained with a light, airy blue—the blue of the sky, like water mixing into ink.
It didn't erase the melancholy, but it made it bearable. Acceptable.
Yan Li took a deep breath. And for the first time since the Master had departed, she breathed—and it didn't hurt.
---
Exterior Area
Wei Lian sat on the stone steps, watching the wind sway the bamboo stalks. Wang Tao's words still echoed in his mind: "I don't want you to become what I am."
He grit his teeth.
— Idiot...
He looked down at his hands. As if it were easy to become anything at all. He had always been the weakest, the slowest, the most indecisive—the one who thought too much.
If Wang Tao is preparing to die, why is this happening? Why?!
He wanted to understand so he could act; to act so he could finally define himself. A sharp pain throbbed in his chest. He clutched his head, lost in the fog of his own thoughts.
— Master... if I choose wrongly, who do I become?
---
Night — The Mountain
Night had fallen.
The wind whistled sharply against the mountain peaks. Stars blanketed the sky, accompanied by the light of a moon that was massive, round, and silver.
Wang Tao emerged from the cave. He was dressed in dark, hooded cloth, his form almost entirely swallowed by the shadows of the plateau. He had received the contact signal only moments ago.
He clenched his fists, his eyes gleaming with a cold, sharp determination. He checked the items inside his spatial bag one last time—everything was in order.
He adjusted his hood, confirming his decision. This time, he wasn't descending the mountain because of an order from fate. This was the first step of a man who had decided to rewrite his own future.