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Jing Beiyuan had not slept.
His beloved friend and companion of many years was coming to visit Nanjiang. Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing had never visited them in all the time since Wu Xi healed Zhou Zishu. It’s not that he was nervous to see them, but more that he worried about their travels and if Zhou Zishu had healed enough. Jing Beiyuan’s relentless tossing and turning kept his husband awake as well. Wu Xi needed rest. With the future of his people on the line, he simply could not continue without a good night’s sleep.
Lu Ta stood over them with his remedy mix in hand. Jing Beiyuan began the night by drinking the mixed herbal tea created for him by his beloved son. The sweet herbs and bitter medicinals sat heavy in his stomach as he laid down next to Wu Xi, ready for the Young Shaman to practice the remedy incantation. Lu Ta whispered a prayer to Jiaxi as he laid his hands on his father and shifu.
Suddenly, his hands began to shake. Xin Lo, the minor priest that was assigned to him, reached out and held his shoulders as his body began to shake. His eyes got a far away look to them and his head tipped up.
In voice that was only somewhat his, Lu Ta began to recite,
“A wrong is made right
A woman is set free
True love will reunite
When the new sun she can see.”
The minor priest quickly found a scroll and some ink laying about Da Wu’s chambers. He wrote what was said as closely as he could. When Lu Ta finished, he ran back over to him. The older priest prayed over the Young Shaman as his body shivered. His eyes returned to their normal sheen as his muscles relaxed.
“Young Shaman!” Xin Lo cried. “You were blessed with a prophecy from Jiaxi. We must wake Da Wu and decipher this.”
Lu Ta slowly turned to him. It was as if he himself was waking up. “A prophecy? What do you mean, Dage?”
The minor priest brought the scroll over and showed it to Lu Ta. The pair studied the words together as the sounds of restful breathing in the room increasingly slowed. Lu Ta looked over at his shifu, steeling himself to wake the man up. He reached out to shake him. Wu Xi didn’t wake up. Lu Ta shook harder and felt his wrist meridian.
“Da Wu’s qi has been slowed!” exclaimed Lu Ta. He felt for his father’s qi and found the same. “Oh god, I have put them in a medical rest. It was supposed to be just one night’s rest but their heart beat has slowed to that of a man who will not wake for a month!”
Xin Lo turned to call for help, but Lu Ta grabbed him. “No, dage, we mustn’t have anyone know until we are sure and have consulted the high council.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Young Shaman.” The priest bowed and walked out of the room. Lu Ta saw him turn towards where members of the high council live.
Lu Ta once again felt for Da Wu’s qi and had a vision of travel. Jiaxi had revealed many things that night, but he couldn’t know what was in store for his shifu.
Wu Xi woke up to the sound of a song bird. He was familiar with this bird. He recalled hearing this sound in the reeds of a lake on his travels with Beiyuan. It was not native to the south. This realization startled him.
Opening his eyes, he saw that he was not in his bed. This bed was across from another man’s bed, and it was not Jing Beiyuan. He jumped out of the bed and ran to the window. Outside of this pavilion was a series of small pavilions connected by wooden bridges and walkways all overlooking a large lake.
Wu Xi saw men and women in the clothing of many different unfamiliar clans. He thought he may recognize one or two sets of colors.
“Yu’er!” called out a young man from across the water. “Yu’er, master is calling for you.”
Wu Xi searched for the source of the voice. The lake was much too wide for him to completely see the young man.
“Tell him I’m coming, Jin-ge!”
Wu Xi could hear this voice very close to the window. He was unsure who was responding to the call. A knock on the door startled him further and Wu Xi jumped a foot in the air.
“Shidi! Come out already. Master is waiting for us.”
The other man in the room barely stirred. In fact, he turned over and pulled the cover up over his head.
The person at the door knocked again. “Shidi, now! If you’re not dressed and ready for our preparations with Master, I can’t save you again.”
The man in the other bed rolled back over and opened his eyes. “Xi-ge, I implore you to listen to her. You know she won’t stop knocking until you go out.”
For once, Wu Xi was grateful that his husband continued to speak the tongue of the Central Plains and not his native Yi. Had they not continued to practice, and teach Lu Ta, Wu Xi would’ve surely lost it by now. He never imagined he would be waking up to hearing it yelled at him ever again, but alas, he needed to thank Jing Beiyuan when he saw him again.
That thought turned into another. If he’s here, where was his husband? And where was here?
Wu Xi quickly found the robes that appeared to be his and opened the door to find a sweet looking woman with her hair tied up as was fashionable for the Central Plains people.
“Thank the heavens. Let’s go find shifu. We’re late.”
This “Yu’er” guided him towards the pathway over the bridge that led up to the dormitory. As they walked, the different colors of the robes all blended together, the cultivators and the house staff all rushing around to begin the day as the sun rose.
A very tall and handsome cultivator walked up to them before they could get to where they were headed. “Good morning, my love, did you rest well? I missed you last night. Why must you sleep in the sect chambers?”
Yu’er blushed deeply and averted her eyes down. A powerful, demanding woman had become a blushing bride in the matter of minutes. “We are not married in the eyes of the sect, a’Xuan. It was my promise that I would train the next generation to take my place before I could leave and be your wife.”
Wu Xi studied this man. His face was long and serious. There was a strange look in his eye that he recognized from somewhere. His aura seemed to be unstable.
“Are you going to meet me at the grounds later? Gao Chong and I set up a meeting to discuss our latest success.”
“Yes of course, darling. I just need to set up Wu-di with our duties for the day and I will find you.”
As they walked, Yu’er transformed again. She slowly walked herself back into being the powerful woman who knocked on the door that morning.
“Who is that, again?” Wu Xi braved to ask.
“My, that fever must have really done something to you, Wu-di.” She stopped and placed a hand on his forehead and grabbed his wrist with the other. When she was satisfied with his temperature and pulse, she continued.
“That’s my betrothed, Rong Xuan, disciple of Changming Mountain. When I’m done training you and Wen Ruyu to take my place, we’re going to run off together. He has such incredible plans for the future of cultivation and I can’t wait to be by his side for it.”
Wu Xi nodded as though it was all coming back to him slowly. “Yes, of course I remember your betrothed now. I must have been very sick, like you say.”
Wu Xi remembered him alright. He remembered reading about him in the history texts. He remembered reading about him and his qi deviation. He remembered reading about his sword left coated in his wife’s blood. His wife… Yue Feng'er.
He turned to look at the woman walking with him. The man this morning had called her Yu’er. Could this be the famous cultivator of the Healer Valley whose texts he studied on the warm days sitting in Jing Beiyuan’s garden?
So not only had he traveled in space, as he was clearly in the Central Plains, but he had also travelled in time. It seemed a radical notion to him that he could have been transported back to before he was born. He was suddenly shaken out of his thoughts as they stood in front of a table with a man drinking tea and reading a scroll.
“Ah, there you are,” the man said, setting down his tea. “I’ve been waiting for your report.”
“Yes Master, we are late, but I completed what you asked. I have gathered the disciples and organized them into different tasks that need done today. For example, I have Wu-di and Wen-di going to the discussion after the midday meal since shimei and I will be going to the discussion in the morning. I have the lower disciples preparing for the show of strength later and our best archer Jin Yihan will be leading them in the exercises. I know we are not known for our martial prowess, but I think all of our skills should be showcased. Shimei will of course demonstrate her healing abilities during the discussion. I have her out sourcing herbs as we speak.”
The old man nodded his approval as she spoke. He had a faraway look in his eye as he stared into the tea cup. “Very good, Feng’er. Very good. I will relieve you of your duty for now. You, young man, stay for a minute longer.”
Wu Xi stood up a little straighter as Yue Feng’er gave him an encouraging pat as she walked away.
“Please have those texts copied for Master Gao before the afternoon discussion.”
“The texts, sir?”“Master Gao asked for a Healer Valley remedy for joint pain. His wife is ailing as I’m sure you remember.”
“Yes, of course, sir. I will do that.” Wu Xi bowed and turned to leave.
He had no clue that the Central Plains had a remedy for the joint pain elders experience. He always watched the old men hobble out of Beiyuan’s manor and wondered why they didn’t soak their feet in salts and massage thunder god vine paste in the joints. The practice kept his own master walking for years after his prime.
Yue Feng'er was still waiting for him as he exited the manor. “What did he say?”
“He wanted to make sure the recipe was written for Master Gao and his wife.”
“Ah, yes. I’ll take you to the library after breakfast.”
Jing Beiyuan stood outside of the library and pondered his situation. Dressed in unfamiliar clothes with a face full of makeup, he barely had time to carefully think about what happened since he went to bed the night before.
If he was fully honest with himself, waking up this morning, he barely noticed anything was off. There were plenty of mornings where he woke up and was by himself. The Great Shaman was often awake and leading meditation by the time Beiyuan opened his eyes.
Once he began to put on his clothes and wipe the grog from his eyes, he noticed that his robes were not actually his and the manor was not his. There were no sounds of Lu Ta practicing his forms with Xin Lo in the courtyard. His breakfast was not served by his beloved cook, and a world without her was simply one he did not want to know. He was then rushed through his morning routine by the servants who dressed him in a set of garments he recognized, but not as his own.
A deep voice called out to him from the door, “Beiyuan, may I come in?”
Jing Beiyuan nodded to the servant who opened the door. In walked a tall, lanky figure with a large scar running down his cheek and disfigured his mouth. He watched the way that the servants reacted to this man. This was the head of the sect, if the reactions were to be believed.
“I need you to follow him today.”
“I’m so sorry, shifu. My brain is so foggy. You know how it is after some drinking. Could you remind me what we’re talking about?”
The man waved the servants out. The one servant who had dressed Jing Beiyuan walked up to this man and whispered behind his hand.
“You know what to do about that,” the man said with a relaxed point of his finger.
“Yes, Qin-zongzhu.” With that, they were alone.
“Beiyuan, you must quit your incessant pursuit of such spirits. It addles you.”
The man sighed with a flick of his robe. He sat down at the table in the center of the room. “Recall our meeting about Rong Xuan. He seeks to obtain the gongfu of each of the sects and combine them into a manual. As the current leader of our sect, I fear this is ill-fated. He takes the most unique part from each sect and intends to make it commonplace. A shame, I think.”
Beiyuan nodded as if following along. He seemed to recall this name and series of events from somewhere.
“I haven’t given him anything, but I fear he has stolen the text from under me. I need you to follow him to a meeting today. I will join you after the morning session where hopefully you have some intel about his plan, if he has our sect’s knowledge.”
Qin-zongzhou poured himself a cup of tea from the lukewarm pot on the table. The low table was wide and still had his breakfast laying on it. He removed everything except his cup of tea with an unceremonious swipe. It clattered to the floor. He was unaffected by the noise, completely focused.
“That boy in the village who was just born is promised to the sect. Zhou Zishu, they call him. He will become my progeny and I intend to pass down the gongfu to him like my master before me. If I give away our secrets to this manual, what will be left to pass down?”
Jing Beiyuan perked up at the familiar name. Zhou Zishu was just born? Had he travelled in time again? He tried to mentally tie all the pieces together while this man set up at the now empty table.
This man had been called Qin-zongzhou. He is claiming Zhou Zishu will be his progeny and first disciple. He mentions gongfu and yet pulls out brushes and pigment. Could this be Qin Huaizhang? How far had he traveled in time, and why?
“Of course, sir, we must respect the traditions of the Siji Manor.”
“That is why I always liked you, Beiyuan. You understand how I think.”
The man sat opposite Jing Beiyuan at the low table and cluttered it with brushes, pigments, and folded cloth. He ground a small cake of ochre against a stone palette; the motion sure and deliberate. Across from him, Jing Beiyuan watched in silence. His curiosity was sharp but remained restrained as he calculated his next step.
“I have not taught you nearly enough of our sect’s proudest gongfu, disguise.”
“You intend to hide me so I may follow him?” Jing Beiyuan quickly put on the character of the proud, but dedicated disciple, “You think so lowly of my stealth skills that you must cloak me in deceit, zongzhou?”
“Disguise,” the other man said, “is not deceit. It is survival. The difference lies in intent.”
He dipped the brush into the pigment and began to work. Jing Beiyuan sat still as ordered, though tension showed in the tightness of his shoulders. Qin-zongzhou’s strokes were light, reshaping shadows rather than painting over them. The curve of the jaw softened; the stern brow dimmed. His face became that of a clerk, a courier, a man who passed unnoticed through corridors of influence.
"You cannot disappear by hiding,” Qin Huaizhang continued. “You disappear by becoming what others expect to ignore.”
Jing Beiyuan glanced at his reflection in the mirror’s polished bronze surface. The man looking back was unrecognizable. He thought of Zhou Zishu and his hobo disguise. “And if someone looks too closely?” he asked.
“Then you’ve already failed,” the other man said simply. Zishu had often described the old man as curt. Qin-zongzhou reached for a final pot of pale powder, dusting it along Jing Beiyuan’s temples. Finishing touches completed, he sent him on his way.
Now, Jing Beiyuan stood outside the library. He adjusted the edges of his unfamiliar clothes, making them seem worn in and unassuming. From a distance, he looked like any young disciple — quiet, unimportant, invisible. Exactly as intended.
It was still morning, but the inner chamber of the library flickered with lamplight. No natural light filtered in as the windows were closed and blocked. He slipped through the back corridor, the scent of sandalwood and ink mingling in the air.
Inside, five figures sat around a low table scattered with scrolls and bound volumes, relics of knowledge meant to be kept apart by sect and heritage.
“I said I’d only borrow it,” Gao Chong insisted, fists clenched at his knees. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
Rong Xuan didn’t look up. “You can’t borrow enlightenment, Gao Chong. You’ve seen what that text holds; why would you hide it away again?”
“Because it doesn’t belong to us!” he snapped back. “It belongs to the Gao sect. My father is already furious. If I don’t return it, they’ll send men to track it down. They’ll drag all of us down with it.”
“Let them try,” Shen Shen muttered, but Rong Xuan lifted a hand, silencing him.
“Your father’s anger isn’t the point,” he said, eyes calm, but the calm had the sharpness of drawn steel. “You’ve seen how fragmented the world’s knowledge has become. Every clan hoards its own texts, guards its secrets like a bear before it hibernates. What we’re doing is right. The book belongs to everyone.”
Gao Chong’s jaw tightened. “You speak as though you have the right to decide that.”
Rong Xuan’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers stilled on the parchment. The air in the room shifted.
“I have the will to decide it,” he said softly.
Zhang Yusen’s quill scratched across paper, his posture rigid. No one spoke.
Finally, Gao Chong stood, shoving back his chair. “You’re not listening. I’m returning it tonight.”
Rong Xuan rose as well, smooth, deliberate. “No, you’re not.”
The words landed like a drawn blade between them.
Gao Chong turned, eyes flashing. “Are you going to stop me?”
Rong Xuan’s voice stayed low, but there was something cold beneath it now. “If I must.”
The air went still. Even Zhao Jing looked up sharply. “Don’t do this,” he warned. “This isn’t...”
But Gao Chong was already stepping back, his hand falling instinctively to the hilt of the short sword at his waist. “You’re so sure you’re saving the world,” he said, voice raw, “but you won’t even save your friend.”
Rong Xuan moved in one fluid motion, sleeves sweeping aside as his own blade left its scabbard with a clean, ringing note.
Jing Beiyuan’s breath caught. He could barely see from where he stood.
For a moment, neither man moved. Then Gao Chong struck first, fast but frustrated and unbalanced. Rong Xuan deflected the blow effortlessly, his expression empty. The clash of their blades rang through the quiet library, echoing down the empty hallways.
“Stop!” Zhao Jing shouted, moving between them, but neither listened.
Gao Chong’s foot slid on a forgotten paper, his form breaking. Rong Xuan stepped forward, turned his blade, and disarmed him in a single motion. The sword hit the floor with a dull thud.
Rong Xuan’s voice, when it came, was quiet and unyielding. “I don’t need your permission to save the world.”
Gao Chong stood trembling, chest heaving. “At least, fight me like a true man. You have the advantage here, standing at the center of all of us. Let’s fight at the sparring grounds, midday.”
He turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening.
“Shen Shen, finish up here. I need to find Yu’er.”
Wu Xi woke up to the sound of a song bird. He was familiar with this bird. He had heard it every morning for the past three days.
Every day, the same thing. He wakes up, he’s late. Yue Feng'er is outside. Jin Yihan calls out for her. She knocks veraciously on the door.
Wu Xi paced back and forth in the room as his begrudging roommate tossed and turned in his sleep. He considered the events of the day that happened each time. The conversations were more or less the same, but it varied slightly.
Yu’er walks him to the main pavilion. He goes with her to shifu who tells them their roles as the head inner disciple and the head outer disciple. They go through the day doing those duties and sit through the cultivation conference. He and Wen Ruyu have a lovely meal and head to the guest pavilions. Wu Xi goes to bed and wakes back up to the song bird.
Each day, they get stopped by Rong Xuan who tells Yu’er that Gao Chong has the updates from their latest success. Wu Xi assumed the success was about stealing the manuscripts. He recalled this from when he studied Yue Feng'er’s journals. They must be at the point in time where she claims Gao Chong poisons him. That could mean that the meeting is actually a duel and he’s trying not to scare her.
Wu Xi decided that today would be the day that he followed Yue Feng'er to the sparring grounds instead of following the Old Master’s orders.
When he was supposed to be with Wen Ruyu in the discussion hall, Wu Xi snuck out after the midday meal and followed Yue Feng'er out of the pavilion. She walked very calmly so as not to create suspicion. Wu Xi stayed a few paces behind.
Soon they came across an open courtyard where it appeared that many of the disciples came to train for the next day’s events. It was decorated for the discussion conference. Silk banners hung between wide beams, the crest of the Gao sect half-hidden beneath their folds. Beyond the beams stretched an open veranda of dark cedar, where weapons rested in their racks, polished and ready.
Wu Xi hadn’t seen anything like that in the capital. He thought of how his young self more or less built a training ground for himself and here was a beautiful one right in the Central Plains. He just didn’t know where this was. He scanned the people in the area as he lost sight of Yue Feng'er.
It was then that he spotted him. The light of the sun twinkled from a jade ring that rested on the folds of a dark blue robe. How like fate to make sure the one item that could link them together in any timeline would stay wrapped around his neck. He’d recognize that body from towns away, recognize those eyes in a crowded street, and always recognize that voice as if it were his own. Across the courtyard was the love of his life.
In true lovebird fashion, Wu Xi forgot where they were and how they got there. The only thing on his mind was his husband. How he had missed that man! He watched as Jing Beiyuan, in strange clothes and with his hair all on the top of his head, walked through the courtyard talking to another man with the same robes. The other man’s body appeared to be about their age, but somehow his face looked old. He had the wrinkles of a man twice their age.
Jing Beiyuan looked stunning as always, even with his hair up in a guan. In fact, the guan accentuated the long and sharp features of his handsome face. His eyes were still perfectly peach blossom shaped with his defined eyelashes.
Wu Xi startled as his husband caught his stare. The utter shock and excitement on his husband’s face reminded Wu Xi where they were. Jing Beiyuan’s breath caught in his throat, a small excited tick that Wu Xi had noticed over the years. His husband turned back to the other man and looked as though he was trying to take his leave.
Wu Xi hurried toward the two men, grabbed his husband’s elbow, and pulled him into the nearest pavilion room. It was thankfully empty.
Their hands found each other first, searching, desperate for proof that the other was real. Then Wu Xi pulled him in, hard enough that the impact drove the air from Jing Beiyuan’s lungs. They held on like drowning men, fingers clutching robes, heads buried against each other’s shoulders.
“A’Xi, my love! Thank Jiaxi, I found you.”
Jing Beiyuan didn’t have a chance to say anything more before lips were on his. Wu Xi’s hands traveled up Beiyuan’s sides to rest on his shoulders. Jing Beiyuan gasped as his husband pulled him in tighter.
Jing Beiyuan locked his arms around Wu Xi’s neck as they were so close. Wu Xi’s hands never left Beiyuan’s face, holding it like precious jade. He rubbed his thumbs across the cheekbones in his hands. He thought about that face every day that he woke up without it.
Their kiss lingered as they both breathed heavily. Wu Xi’s eye contact was enough to let Jing Beiyuan know everything he needed to. He loved him, he missed him, he was his.
“Little Venom, you make me blush.”
Before they could go in for another kiss, a scream let out from the sparring grounds. They rushed back out from the room to see the sparring grounds. Yue Feng'er clung to the robe of Gu Miaomiao as Rong Xuan’s blade spun away, clattering across the ground. They watched as Gao Chong stood over him, pinning him down.
Rong Xuan was now defenseless, surrounded, and bleeding. He looked as though he wanted to get up and run, but couldn’t.
Yue Feng’er rushed over to the two men in the center. She reached out to Rong Xuan and began to shake him. She searched for the source of the pain and found the open wound.
Tearing off a piece of her softer inner robe, she wrapped the wound and applied pressure.
“How could you!” she screamed at the five men all standing around the scene.
“Feng'er, what are you talking about?”
“You had it out for him, didn’t you? This was all an elaborate plan to kill my love!”
Gao Chong stepped forward first. “Feng’er, please. We love him like our own brother. I suggested the duel to right the matter.”
“Right, and you use it as an excuse to get rid of him.”
Yue Feng'er’s eyes were filled with tears. Wu Xi rushed over to her.
“Shijie, let’s get him to a comfortable place where we can examine him. We do not yet know the cause. We cannot act irrationally without examination.”
“Always a level head, Wu-di. Thank you.” Yue Feng'er conceded, pushing back tears. Together they guided, more so carried, Rong Xuan to the nearest pavilion with a bed.
The hall smelled of herbs and iron, a thin wisp of incense curling into the air, mixing uneasily with the metallic tang of blood. Rong Xuan laid on the bed, his eyes fixed on nothing, pupils wide and unblinking.
Wu Xi knelt beside him, hands steady, fingers tracing the lines of pulse and bone, noting the subtle tremors beneath his skin. Yue Feng'er hovered above, eyes sharp, lips pressed tight with focus, hands poised over vials and instruments.
Wu Xi’s eyes scanned Rong Xuan’s features, noting the pallor, the faint sheen of sweat. He lifted a hand, brushing a lock of damp hair from Rong Xuan’s forehead. “It’s not an injury,” he said, almost to himself. “He’s been poisoned…
Yue Feng'er motioned to her disciple most familiar with poisons to come and examine him as well. Gu Miaomiao’s hand went to Rong Xuan’s chest, pressing lightly above the sternum. She felt the hollow absence of qi, “I have seen this before during my trips to the village. This is the Triple Corpse Poison. It keeps the body in this state. He does not have much time.”
“We need the Healer Valley medicine book,” Yue Feng'er said, her voice low but urgent. “The instructions there… the formulations… nothing else will revive him. ”
Gu Miaomiao’s eyes widened. “But it’s in the vault… Rong-daren has it heavily guarded, and they haven’t finished construction of it yet. Who even knows if it’s safe.”
Jing Beiyuan stepped forward. “We will go,” he said, voice steady. He looked toward his husband to back him up.
Wu Xi studied his husband’s face. He saw the calculation in it. Jing Beiyuan does not lightly volunteer himself into danger. He must see the strategic point in it for getting them home. He nodded, “Wen Ruyu and Gu Miaomiao will need the support. Please be safe.”
Jing Beiyuan had long believed a carriage ride revealed more about people than any conversation. How they filled silence, how they handled closeness.
Gu Miaomiao filled it with unease. Her fingers twisted at the hem of her gloves, her gaze unfixed on the rain-streaked window. Wen Ruyu, her husband, filled it with energy barely contained; his knee bounced with impatience, his foot tapping against the carriage floor in time with the horses’ hooves.
Jing Beiyuan filled the ride with stillness. Stillness let him listen.
Outside, the rain pressed steady against the roof, blurring the sound of the world beyond. Inside, the lantern swung with the motion, painting their faces in fleeting gold and shadow.
They’d been traveling for hours without speaking. The needed volume of Healer Valley remedies was safely tucked into the trunk that sat between him and the couple. The rhythm of the carriage suited him, but when Gu Miaomiao went pale again, Jing Beiyuan broke the quiet.
“You should drink something, Gu-daren. The roads won’t ease up for some time. We still have hours until we return.”
Her reply was courteous but distant. “I’ll be fine.”
Wen Ruyu frowned. “You’ve said that since we left the valley.”
Beiyuan didn’t look at them, but he listened. He always listened. There was something new in her breathing, it was shallow and uneven. He’d heard it before in the shaman’s chambers, men and women fighting nausea, fear, or exhaustion. But this was different. It carried a rhythm that didn’t belong to illness.
The carriage jolted suddenly. Gu Miaomiao caught her breath and pressed a hand to her stomach, almost unconsciously. The gesture was small, but it changed everything. Beiyuan looked away before anyone could see the flicker of realization in his eyes.
Wen Ruyu leaned forward. “Miao’er? Are you alright?”
She didn’t answer at first. The lanternlight swayed between them, catching the sheen of sweat at her temple. She stared down at her hands as though the truth had been waiting there all along.
Finally, she spoke quietly, a fragile whisper. “It isn’t the road.”
Wen Ruyu’s expression shifted from irritation to confusion, then to dawning shock. “Then what is it?”
She didn’t answer at first. The lanternlight caught the glint of moisture at her lashes. “I thought it was the road. Or nerves.” Her fingers pressed lightly against her abdomen, as though afraid to name it aloud. “But… I think I know now.”
Wen Ruyu’s eyes widened, confusion blooming into realization. “You mean…?”
She nodded once. “Yes.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy; it was fragile, bright, almost luminous. Rain beat against the roof in soft rhythm, the sound of something beginning rather than ending.
Wen Ruyu exhaled a shaky breath, and a smile broke through. “Miaomiao,” he whispered, as if saying her name for the first time. He reached for her hands, took them in his own. “You should have told me sooner.”
Tears spilled silently down her cheeks, half laughter, half relief. “I wasn’t sure. Not until now.”
Wen Ruyu lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it once, reverent. “I can’t wait for you to in our home again. Both of you. We got the book for Yu’er and we will be there in no time.”
The rain thinned as the carriage climbed higher into the mountain pass. The horses’ hooves struck softer now, muffled by damp earth. Inside, warmth gathered with the faint trace of tea from a flask Wen Ruyu had pressed into Gu Miaomiao’s hands.
Jing Beiyuan watched them from across the dim compartment, the picture of an ordinary couple cloaked in extraordinary gentleness. Ruyu’s voice, low and patient, coaxed laughter from her. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, and his hand covered hers, steadying.
It was a quiet scene, the kind that life rarely allowed. And it hurt. Because Beiyuan knew the ending. He knew that the woman smiling softly before him would die before her son learned her voice. He knew that Wen Ruyu’s bright, steady eyes would one day go dim — that their child, Wen Kexing, would grow beneath the shadow of that loss, sharpening his grief into armor, into charm, into cruelty when the world demanded it.
Jing Beiyuan closed his eyes. The road hummed beneath the wheels, and he let memory and time fold over one another like overlapping mirrors.
Wen Kexing, a fierce, wounded man with a smile too sharp to be kind. The one who laughed at death because he had long since made peace with it. Jing Beiyuan had seen that same glint once before. It wasn’t born of malice. It was an inheritance. Gu Miaomiao’s composure, the quiet defiance behind her grace. Wen Ruyu’s warmth, his unwavering tenderness even in hardship. The storm and the sunlight both lived in their child.
He opened his eyes again. They hadn’t noticed his silence; they were too caught in their small world. Wen Ruyu had bent close, whispering something that made Miaomiao laugh softly, one hand instinctively brushing her stomach.
For a moment, Jing Beiyuan allowed himself the indulgence of watching the lives that history had already stolen.
When the road leveled out, he leaned back against the seat, half in shadow. “You’ll make fine parents,” he said.
Wen Ruyu smiled, still holding Miaomiao’s hand. “We’ll do our best. Whatever comes.”
Beiyuan nodded, unable to trust his voice further.
Outside, the clouds broke, revealing a thin wash of pale blue sky between the peaks. The light caught Ruyu’s hair, Miaomiao’s profile, the faint curve of her smile.
He turned his gaze to the horizon, where the mist lifted from the mountains. In his heart, a quiet vow took shape; when he next saw Wen Kexing, when the man stood before him, once bitter and brilliant and burning with vengeance, he would not see a monster hiding under the charming husband of Zhou Zishu. He would see this.
They rode through the night.
The sound of hooves on wet stone echoed in the valleys like the beating of a tired heart. The rain had thinned to mist, silvered by the pale light of a moon half-veiled by clouds. Within the carriage, the lantern had burned down to a small, trembling flame.
Gu Miaomiao had fallen asleep against Wen Ruyu’s shoulder, her hand still curled protectively over the small, uncertain life within her. Ruyu watched her in silence, his expression softened by a light that time itself could not dim.
Jing Beiyuan sat opposite them, head bowed, cloak gathered close. He’d given up trying to rest hours ago. His thoughts moved in endless circles, like the wheel tracks carved into the muddy road.
It had been more than a day since the loop had last devoured the dawn and begun again. He could feel it in his bones, the fragile continuity of time holding steady for once. Perhaps they were on the right path. Perhaps the past was finally willing to let them go.
The horizon began to pale, thin ribbons of morning weaving through the fog. By the time they arrived, the courtyard was hushed. The air smelled of incense and river wind. Servants moved like shadows, clearing debris from the storm. And there, at the pavilion’s center, upon a bed draped in white silk, lay Rong Xuan’s body.
Wu Xi had been waiting. He stood beside the bed, sleeves rolled back, his expression calm but drawn tight with fatigue. His eyes flicked to Jing Beiyuan as they entered, a silent acknowledgement passing between them.
Yue Feng'er joined them soon after, her hair still damp from work, her gaze sharp and resolute. “Everything’s ready,” she said quietly. “The lines are marked. The herbs steeped.”
Wu Xi’s voice broke the silence. “We can begin.”
Candles were lit. The air thickened with the scent of resin and crushed sandalwood. Feng'er began the chant, low and rhythmic, while Wu Xi traced sigils across Rong Xuan’s chest with fingers stained in gold ash.
Beiyuan felt the pull of it almost immediately, the tremor beneath the floor, the shifting weight of unseen currents pressing close around them.
Time folded. Wu Xi steadied his breath.
The rhythm of the chant wove around him; Yue Feng'er’s voice was clear and deliberate, the syllables falling like droplets into still water. He felt the pulse of every word through the floorboards, through the incense-thick air, through the vessel that had once been Rong Xuan. The man’s body was cold, but not lifeless. Not yet. There was still something beneath the surface, an echo in the veins where the old power used to flow.
Wu Xi’s hands hovered just above the chest, fingertips catching faint glimmers of light. It wasn’t divine magic nor human invention. It was a healing that lived in between, born of his people’s oldest art, the kind whispered in places too quiet for gods to hear.
He could feel the poison seeping through the veins and the space it left. The ritual was imperfect, incomplete. Any lesser hand would have stopped here.
He didn’t.
Instead, Wu Xi reached inward, not into the body, but into the memory that lingered there. Threads of spirit, long dissolved, clung faintly to bone and skin, yearning toward whatever lay beyond. He gathered them gently, whispering the old words, not to command but to coax. Light shivered beneath his palms. The air grew heavy, alive with the scent of burnt amber and rain. Somewhere behind him, he heard Jing Beiyuan shift — not out of fear, but reverence. His second time witnessing such power from Wu Xi.
The glow spread, faint at first, then brighter, tracing the map of the body — throat, sternum, fingertips. It was working. The light flared once and then dimmed to a soft pulse. The air shifted, exhaled.
Something changed. He felt it before he saw it. The faintest twitch of muscle, the whisper of breath that might have been only wind. The bond had caught, as thin as silk threads but there.
The chant faded. Feng'er fell silent, her hands still poised above the circle of sigils. Beiyuan’s breath was the only sound, slow and measured in the dark.
Wu Xi lowered his palms at last, the light fading from his fingertips. The room felt heavier now, like the air before a storm. For a long while, no one spoke. Again, not scared but reverent.
Outside, dawn spilled across the peaks, soft and new. Inside, the dawn’s new light gave the scene a trance-like glow.
When the world shifted, it did so without warning.
Jing Beiyuan’s eyes opened to light. Not the dim glow of ritual candlelight, but the soft gleam of morning streaming through carved windows. The scent of sandalwood still lingered, but beneath it came the sharper trace of tea, parchment, and candlewax. It was familiar and soft.
He blinked once, twice, and realized he was lying on a wooden floor, his back cushioned by a folded sheet. His body was littered with acupuncture pins. Across from him, Wu Xi stirred, long hair unbound and tangled, eyes opening slow and bewildered.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Wu Xi’s lips curved — faint, incredulous.
In the corner of the room, startled voices rose; Lu Ta and two of the high priests had been poring over scrolls at a low table. The boy’s eyes went wide, scroll forgotten in his hands.
“Da Wu! Father!” he cried, halfway between laughter and tears. “You’re awake! You… you’ve been gone for more than a week! Everyone thought—” He stopped himself, breath hitching with too much emotion to shape the words.
Beiyuan looked around slowly. The room was unmistakably Wu Xi’s with shelves lined with jars of powdered minerals, dried herbs, half-finished talismans. In the center, an elaborate array of silver-thread sigils still glowed faintly across the floor, drawn for protection and observation.
On the far side, the priests stood frozen mid-argument, stunned into silence. Their scrolls lay open to diagrams of stars and symbols of cyclical return and of course Lu Ta’s prophecy.
The priests began to murmur blessings of thanks, and soon the room filled with the sound of chanting; soft, rhythmic, sounds rose in harmony as they performed a brief blessing ritual of safe return. Wu Xi and Jing Beiyuan joined them, bowing their heads as incense was lit, smoke curling upward like a thread reconnecting past and present.
Lu Ta’s hands shook as he held one up to each of their faces. “Da Wu, Father, you’ll never believe it. Jiaxi gave me a prophecy. We’ve been studying it since you hadn’t woken up.”
Jing Beiyuan admired his son with a look of utter fatherly affection. “I’m so happy for you, love. Your first prophecy! What an honor to be the catalyst.”
“Da Wu, if I may ask, what does the prophecy mean?” Xin Lo asked. He handed the scroll with the written words over to the two men now sitting up on the floor.
Jing Beiyuan started before his husband could, “Now, let’s start at the beginning. ‘A wrong made right.’” He held the paper up to read it as his eye sight was becoming impaired as he aged. Jing Beiyuan took up the lecturing position that Wu Xi was so fond of.
“Now that could mean many things. It could mean the fact that Yue Feng'er was wrongly killed by the man she loved. However, while I was sitting in the carriage with the parents of the Ghost Valley Master, I thought about the research that my intelligent husband did all those years ago to cure our friend, Zishu. That and the young Yue’er, engulfed in her grief and quick to act to save her beloved, did not have the Shaman knowledge that my husband does. She did not have the time to research the Healer Valley Revival Method and she did not complete each step with a clear head. Therefore, she made an error in the healing process. A wrong that Wu Xi made right.”
“Now, with the next line, ‘a woman set free’, that is likely that since Rong Xuan did not qi deviate, she was given a second chance at married life, and well, life in general.”
The priests around them all nodded to themselves. Da Wu’s husband was known for his strategic prowess.
“And the third line, darling?”
Jing Beiyuan smirked at his Little Venom being so forward. “Well, my puppy, true love reuniting is of course about you and I finding each other once we were on the right track. However, I do have to consider that when the new sun rose on Yue’er, we were reunited with not only each other but also our dearest son. Hence, the next line.”
Wu Xi turned to his husband, still gathering his garb from the closet. “How long have you had that figured out?”
Jing Beiyuan, ever the strategist, just smiled. “Since the second loop of our day. Obviously, I didn’t know the prophecy from our beloved spawn, but I recalled the history you told me while studying to heal Zishu. It all clicked once I remembered that that spar was the catalyst for her untimely demise.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Well, I didn’t know you were there until the third day. After that, I wanted to watch my puppy figure it all out, of course.” Jing Beiyuan looked up at him with mischief. Wu Xi put the feelings that gave him aside until after his son and counsel were out of the room.
Wu Xi sighed fondly. He perked up a little before saying, “I bet you hadn’t thought of the Tulsi. I thought there may have been too much tulsi in the concoction Lu Ta made us. Tulsi is best for recovering memories and recovering time lost.”
“Of course, I hadn’t thought of it, dear. You’re the Little Venom after all, not I,” Jing Beiyuan patted his shoulder, but winked over at Lu Ta who giggled at his father. Xin Lo walked over to the door and went to open it.
Instead, the door burst open. The smell of old mountain air swept through the threshold, like the scent of pine and travel. Zhou Zishu stepped in first, composed even after the long ride, his dark cloak wet with the condensation of cold clothes entering warm weather. Behind him came Wen Kexing in his signature reds.
“You’re awake,” Zhou Zishu said, voice low with relief. “Lu Ta’s message reached us as we traveled and we rushed here.”
Wu Xi smiled faintly. “We went on quite the journey ourselves.”
Jing Beiyuan rose slowly to his feet. For a moment, he could only stare. He saw his friend’s husband in a whole new way. There he saw both Gu Miaomiao and Wen Ruyu alive and standing in the doorway. The sound he made was half a laugh, half a breath breaking loose from his chest. Jing Beiyuan crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled Wen Kexing into a fierce embrace.
Wen Kexing froze, caught completely off guard. “...Beiyuan?” he said after a startled pause, voice muffled against the older man’s shoulder. “What is this?”
Jing Beiyuan didn’t answer. He just shook his head affectionately at the man.
“You’re here,” he said finally, stepping back enough to look at him.
Wen Kexing blinked, baffled. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
Wu Xi chuckled quietly from his seat, the kind of laugh that carried both amusement and understanding.
“Never mind. I just… It’s good to see you again, that’s all.”
Zhou Zishu made a grouchy huff, but put an affectionate hand on Jing Beiyuan’s shoulder. “Gods, all that traveling has made me exhausted. Ta’er, why don’t you make some chamomile tea for Zhou-shushu?”
Wu Xi plastered on a diplomatic smile and lowered his student's hands away from the table. “I don’t think he’ll be making tea for anyone for a while.”