Archive of Our Own ^beta

1

“Ying Xing-ge, I was not even on the frontlines that long this time, so how can it be that you’re sick as soon as I return?”

The young cloud knight smiled as he pushed open the door, entering without receiving permission from the master of the residence. His snowy hair had grown to shoulder-length during his few months of absence. With his armor exchanged for casual robes and his easy smile, Jing Yuan looked more like the heir of some aristocrat family than a warrior who had just returned from some of the Alliance’s harshest fronts. He could long since hold his own in battle, and he was already demonstrating his peerless talent for tactics, but he would still squabble like a carefree youth when in the presence of a certain someone.

Inside the residence, the artisan stood before his workbench, staring down at the latest drafts of his designs. He did this in open defiance of his doctors’ orders to rest. He only turned his head to cough twice, then turned back toward his blueprints, not even sparing a glance for his uninvited guest. “A simple cold has never killed anyone. You are worrying for naught.”

“It may be a simple cold now, but that may not be the case later. You never do listen to the doctors’ advice, do you? If this illness progresses into something that actually derails your schedule, you would certainly work yourself up into quite a state.” Jing Yuan knew the artisan ignored everything and everyone unrelated to work when he was in deep focus, so he was not annoyed in the slightest. He walked up next to the artisan, his sunlit gaze sweeping past the man’s side profile, just quick enough to be missed. “I’ll have you know that I went to the Alchemy Commission before I came here. When I asked the doctors there about you, they informed me that you’ve overworked yourself into this illness and begged me to force you to rest. Are you truly so busy that you cannot step away? Did you take up more crafting orders?”

The artisan let out another series of coughs, but still he waved his hand in dismissal. “Did your frontlines not just destroy another batch of my creations? This war is fierce, and time is short. The aurumatons’ armaments and defensive plating designs require updates to stay effective. We must finalize a new manufacture plan within the next few days, I have no time to waste.”

He reached out to try and grab a blueprint from the table, only for his companion to catch his wrist, snatching the paper out of his hands. Only now did the artisan finally look the way of his guest, his red eyes snapping sparks.

In direct contrast to the artisan’s furious gaze, Jing Yuan’s eyes were all smiles. He even dangled the blueprint before the artisan’s eyes like a tantalizing prize, only to withdraw when the man made a grab for it, yet he spoke with the most beseeching voice. “Ying Xing-ge, consider what would happen to me if you refuse to rest. If I allow you to keep working, knowing all the while that you are sick, this news would surely reach Miss Bai Heng’s ears, upon which she and my master both would bring swift punishment upon my head. So please, will you not have some mercy on me?”

The artisan could not resist rolling his eyes upon hearing such a heartrending speech. This man was still holding onto both his wrist and his blueprint—he was the one with all the advantages, so what was he beseeching him for? As long as he was here, it was not like the artisan could make any further progress today anyway. At this thought, the artisan sighed. He did not even bother trying to pull away from Jing Yuan’s hold on him. “Very well. Do as you will.”

Jing Yuan beamed upon seeing him give in, and he did not let go of the artisan’s hand as he dragged the man outdoors. The artisan owned a small courtyard in the Artisans Commission, but said courtyard was filled with discarded drafts, crafting materials, half-completed models, and so forth. Such was the clutter that one had to be wary of tripping when walking from the courtyard entrance to the residence’s front door.

Rather than looking for an empty seat, Jing Yuan ended up bringing out a stone chair from within the house. He grabbed the artisan and forced him to sit down, then he took off his own cloak and draped it over the artisan’s shoulders. “Look at you, you coughed all this way and you were still insisting on working back there? A few hours of rest would do you good! The frontlines still have me and Master and the others—we will not fall easily, so you have time. Are you certain you did not catch the Flowering Sickness? If you have, I would certainly be at a loss to explain myself to Miss Bai Heng.”

“And you are insufferable as always.” The Artisan had indeed coughed all the way outside. He sat now catching his breath, and he glared at Jing Yuan without any real venom. “I am a short-lived species, so I will never grow flowers like some of you yearning long-lived species. The Plagues Author’s blessing is not one I can bear. If you are truly trying to curse me, at least choose a more fitting illness.”

Jing Yuan tilted his head, and he rested his chin on his hand, as if he were giving the matter careful thought. “Mm, now that you say this, I can see your logic. Certainly Ying Xing-ge would never catch the Flowering Sickness. I was already quite certain that you intend to spend the rest of your life with your forge. If you did catch this illness, will your poor forge not have to set aside all its grievances and give you a kiss?”

“—You!” The artisan let out a furious laugh. He snatched Jing Yuan’s collar with one hand and dragged the man up before him, but his spare hand subtly steadied the cloak over his shoulders, so that Jing Yuan’s cloak would not fall to the ground and catch dust. “Oh you, I see your insolence has only grown since you’ve begun making a name for yourself. Need I remind you to have some respect for your elders?”

“Ha! You are not that much older than me, but I do apologize for my insolence, Ying Xing-ge.” Jing Yuan burst into laughter. Though his words were apologetic, his gleaming eyes were anything but. He made no move to struggle in the artisan’s hold, only leveraged their position to shorten the distance between them. Now he was close—too close, the artisan realized with a jolt, but it was already too late, and he found himself sinking in the brilliant amber of Jing Yuan’s gaze, unable to look away.

The cloud knight pressed his advantage, and the timbre of his voice reverberated in the artisan’s ears like siren song. “Well how about this, Ying Xing-ge? If you could simply tell me about the one who has your heart, that would spare us both the pain of my terrible guesses, so I do not make you more angry in the future. What do you say?”

The artisan simply stared at him with wide red eyes. This time, he was truly at a loss for words. His gaze slowly traced over the other’s handsome features, and as he beheld the dawn light in the other’s gaze, he wondered how such an intelligent person could simultaneously be so foolish and unsuspecting. After a moment’s contemplation, he released Jing Yuan’s collar and beckoned the man closer. His lips brushed past Jing Yuan’s ear in deliberate proximity, and he could not help a smile as he did so, his answer emerging with a gentle sweep of his warm breath.

“You ask after the one who has my heart? Well, that’s a secret.”

“No way!” The man who had just seen victory within his grasp now squawked as it was torn away. The artisan was already beside himself with laughter. Jing Yuan’s expression was priceless after having his plans foiled, and the artisan saw this and nearly rolled off his chair, such was his mirth. The other man immediately reached out a hand to steady him, letting out a complaint even as he did so, “Ying Xing-ge, you were heartless for that!”

“Not nearly so heartless as you, making fun of my poor, innocent forge.” The artisan was in a splendid mood, having finally won a decisive victory in one out of their many disputes, so he smiled wide and brilliant, failing to notice just how his companion beheld him and held his breath. “Ah, I must thank you for the laugh, it’s been some time since I last felt so amused. But still, perhaps refrain from making such jokes in the future? To love until sickness is the specialty of you long-lived species. I have but less than a century’s time to spare, so even if…even if I have the heart for it, it would still not be my fate.”

2

Blade opened his eyes to darkness. His wounds have yet to fully heal, and the pain of growing new flesh gnawed at him like a storm of ants. And yet, even that was nothing compared to the dull ache in his chest. He struggled to sit up under the leaden sky, and he turned his head to spit out a mouthful of golden petals. How unfortunate it was, he thought, that after every death, his mind saw it fitting to replay some old scenes from a long-dead past. The petals by his hand were brilliant, brilliant like someone's eyes, and his heart twinges at the thought. He grabbed a handful of dirt and gave the petals a hasty burial, then he stood up and left this most recent planet.

Upon returning to the main ship, Blade ran into Kafka as he was walking by the break room. The woman gave him a ready smile, having clearly been prepared for this encounter. “Punctual as always, A-Ren. Are you ready for our next script? We are set to head out to the Xian Zhou Luofu within the next few days.”

“I know.” Blade’s answer was curt, though not unkind. He was not surprised by this piece of news. Elio had already told him even before his previous mission that there would soon be a grand stage set on the Luofu. Had Blade any choice, he would rather have lived out the rest of this unending life without setting foot on the Xian Zhou ever again, but he was loyal to Destiny’s Slave. Elio has ordered him to return to his old home, so return he would, and he would do his part to meet that person again, to speak their terms, to cooperate with him.

Although Blade had never seen that man again since discarding his own name, he still knew what the whole universe already knew—that the Xian Zhou Luofu’s Arbiter-General Jing Yuan could make no plan foolhardy, having held down the Seat of the Divine Foresight for centuries, and yet he was frequently seen napping on the job, hence his other moniker of “Dozing General.”

With a such a reputation, who knew how much likeness he still bore to the man he had once been? Blade covered his mouth at this thought, and a few more brilliant petals slipped through his fingers as he coughed.

Kafka waited patiently as he tossed the petals in the nearby trash. “A-Ren, this visit to the Xian Zhou is likely to worsen your symptoms. If you want, I can clear out some memories for you before we go.”

“The Mara?” Blade blinked in recognition. His return to familiar sights was certain to stir up old memories, so it was reasonable to expect that his Mara would surge and worsen during his time there. He has been working with Kafka all these years, and he has nothing but trust for her expertise in these matters. “Do with the symptoms as you will.”

And yet, Kafka shook her head. “I think you misunderstand, A-Ren. When I spoke of symptoms, I was not only speaking of the Mara.”

“You mean the Flowering Sickness?” Blade frowned. He had begun coughing up flowers not longer after he first awoke, haunted and nameless in the wilderness, and he had not hid his symptoms even after joining the Stellaron Hunters. Although the color of the petals made him irate, the illness itself had not seemed to progress at all over the years. Kafka should know this—so why was she mentioning this now?

Kafka adjusted her sunglasses as she seemed to contemplate an answer. “Well, it makes sense that A-Ren would not remember such details. Silver Wolf hacked into the Xian Zhou Alchemy Commission’s files for you, you know? According to their studies, the Flowering Sickness is actually a type of Mara, and they are both manifestations of Yaoshi’s blessing. The difference is that the Mara is likely caused by an accumulation of negative emotions, while the Flowering Sickness is caused by an accumulation of a love unreturned. With nowhere to go, that love feeds off the victim and manifests itself into flowers.

“…A-Ren, I do not know who is the person in your heart, but every time you interact with them, without a kiss to relieve your symptoms, your illness will only progress. And unlike the Mara, once the Flowering Sickness has progressed, not even I will be able to reverse your symptoms, even should I make you forget everything. Are you sure you can accept this?”

Blade simply nodded upon her words. “It is required for this mission to succeed. The degree of pain matters not to me.” What was a little more pain, if even death could not phase him? Besides, Elio had already handed out this script, which meant he must have foresaw the conclusions already and deemed them acceptable for conducting future missions. Ultimately, Blade did not care what state this body ended up in—as long as he could still swing his sword, whether for missions or for revenge, that was enough.

“Alright, I understand.” Kafka could read the resolve in his attitude, so she did not press him further, only waved at him once before turning away. “Well, since you do not need help for now, I’ll be going then. Do remember to tell Silver Wolf where you want to be transported before you leave, will you?”

“I will.”

3

Silver Wolf was not directly participating in this mission, and she seemed to be enjoying her rare free time. When Blade came to ask her about transportation to the Luofu, she had her legs propped on her desk as she focused on her game. She did not even raise her head when Blade walked in. “You’re going now? Have fun.”

“Thanks.” Blade nodded. His tone was without inflection. “Could you send me to the Luofu’s Artisanship Commission?”

“Sure.”

The young hacker was efficient as always. A few minutes later, Blade stepped out of the wormhole she had created, and he found himself back in a place he seemed to once know. The Artisanship Commission’s depths had yet to feel the Stellaron’s effects, and the bustle of busy artisans could be seen everywhere. Blade’s entire purpose was to draw the Cloud Knights’ attention, so he abandoned all discretion and simply went where the crowds went, all while wearing his exceedingly recognizable face.

He walked down Main Street filled with its angular rooftops and stone pathways, looking for shades of the old days. In the end, he never found the small courtyard that originally belonged to a short-lived Forgemaster, but he did find an aurumaton in one of the many large storage units by the roadside. To the untrained eye, this was an automaton just like any other, but Blade seemed to recognize the curve of its joints, the armored plating on its arms. So he pushed through the small crowd of craftsmen chatting beside the storage box, until he was standing right before the aurumaton.

One of the craftsmen who was shoved aside stumbled. He turned his head to demand an explanation, only to cease speaking once he saw the intruder’s face clearly. Craftsmen were well-known for having steady hands, but this man’s hands shook as he took out his phone to dial the Cloud Knights’ emergency line. The moment the line rang through, he grabbed his friends and left the premises as fast as he could go.

Blade ignored all of this, only stood before the aurumaton without making a sound. He reached out a bandaged hand wracked with fine tremors to touch the aurumaton’s modified joints, an image of old blueprints floating up to his mind’s surface, only to be snatched away by a hand, to sink down again to the depths. The artisan who had designed this aurumaton had long traded his flesh and bone away, reforged through death into a humanoid weapon, just like this creation before him.

Insulting, yet befitting.

A clamor of footfalls roused him from his thoughts. Blade’s eyes followed the sound, and he finally saw a crowd of Cloud Knights arriving on scene. If he were to show his true colors, Blade could break both his own wrists and still sweep through this crowd without much difficulty, but he had no intention of fighting to begin with. So he only gestured with his sword a few times before allowing these soldiers to take him down, cart him away.

The soldiers chattered as they escorted him, and Blade heard snapshots of their conversations along the way:

“Isn't this the man wanted all over the Alliance…?”

“And the Interastral Peace Corporation too, last I saw his bounty was in the billions.”

“What’s he doing here in the middle of the Artisanship Commission?”

“He’s not nearly as dangerous as they say, look how easily we’ve got him!”

“Shh! Everyone get a hold of yourselves! I heard this matter’s caught even the General’s attention, and my superior’s saying that the General requested to handle this matter personally, so everyone be respectful!”

Once the General’s title was invoked, the surrounding Cloud Knights’ faces all lit up. Blade could hear their excitement, barely suppressed in their voices, and his hands curled into fists within his handcuffs. So it seemed that Jing Yuan was well-respected and admired on the Luofu. This did not surprise Blade at all.

The world was always bound to admire those who were brilliant and glorious. That person embodied both those qualities, and more.

When he finally saw that man’s face again, it was in that grand hall of an interrogation room, below the high platform. Jing Yuan stood at the stairway’s end, the only light in the room spilling down around him, reflected by his unsmiling eyes. But even without a smile, he was still the sun. He stood tall at the pinnacle of the Alliance’s achievements, casting his sole light over the shadows left by four others. And yet, the high and lofty General now lowered his eyes, and he spoke in a tone stripped of sorrow or joy. “Do you remember me?”

His golden eyes fell upon Blade, like an unassuming ray of sun. The flowers in Blade’s heart have been straining in the darkness for too long. Now that they have tasted light, so they surged forth with a fervor. The pain emanated from his chest like twisting knives, and yet the more painful it was, the more Blade straightened his spine, until the truth burst forth from the verdant soil of his lungs. He raised his head and met that man’s gaze, and he smiled with cruel relief.

He said, “I remember.”

4

The Shackling Prison’s depths were gaping and silent, interrupted only by the occasional drip of water. Blade allowed the sentries to chain his wrists to the wall. Only after they had gone did he allow himself to yield, bending his head as he spat bloody pieces of flowers onto the ground. Steel rust mixed with the sickly sweet scent of rotting plant matter hit his nose, making his vision flicker. He coughed severely enough to make his chains rattle, and the din masked the sound of someone’s approaching footsteps.

Something in his throat gave with a wet tear, and Blade finally coughed out what was lodged inside. A small cluster of spherical objects hit the ground. He tried to decipher them through blurred eyes, only to see a wristguard-bearing hand pick up one of them for inspection. In the darkness of the dungeons, the Divine Foresight’s white robes and gold armor only seemed to further elevate his status. Yet he did not seem to care for his glorious image, as he sat down next to Blade on the cold cell floor, with something like care in his tone. “When did this start?”

Blade squinted at the bloody object in the man’s hand, and he finally saw that it was an exquisite flower bud. From petals to flower buds, and so went the illness progression—so this was what Kafka had meant. The artisan who could smile and bicker with the youth was already long dead, so Blade did not bother answering his question. He turned his head away with a cold snort. “You ask necessary questions.”

Upon receiving this response, that man only smiled and changed tactics. “Ah, you are of course correct. This concerns your personal affairs, of which I am no longer privy to. Allow me to apologize for this transgression. And yet, considering how we have not seen or spoken to each other for so long, now you appear before me, having certainly taken great pains to arrive here. I believe I am justified in misinterpreting some things, no?”

What sophistry. The corner of Blade’s mouth twitched. This person’s tongue was as effective as any weapon, because he could easily infuriate someone to death just by talking. Blade suppressed his irritation with difficulty, and he said, “I am only here on Destiny’s Slave’s orders, to work together with you concerning one important matter.”

“Oh? You wish to work with me?” The General’s mouth quirked upward. A painted sky’s worth of colors flashed through his eyes. “The plight of the Luofu is greater than ever, and yet I find her most valuable allies in this desperate hour. Perhaps I could call this unfolding disaster a blessing in disguise?”

He has to be doing this on purpose, Blade thought, gritting his teeth. His every sentence was phrased just right, so that he did not mention Blade’s centuries-long betrayal, so that he only conveyed how overjoyed he was now that Blade has returned. Blade turned his head, and he rasped out a warning. “Jing Yuan, enough is enough. Watch yourself.”

In the dimness, that person’s golden eyes seemed to flicker at his words. At last, he let out a soft sigh, and that sigh seemed to echo throughout the entire Shackling Prison, filling the space between the two of them like a screen. Jing Yuan closed his eyes for a brief moment, but then he opened them again and smiled as usual. “As you wish then. We will only discuss critical matters here. Both the Stellaron’s appearance and its location on the Luofu are almost certainly related to the Ambrosial Arbor. Should anything go amiss with the Arbor, I would need the Vidyadhara High Elder’s power to open the path to the Scalegorge Waterscape.

“I do not know what script your fortune teller has written, but I venture to assume that the Stellaron Hunters will not be the only unexpected faction in the Luofu. As such, I hope you will agree to help me unseal the power of Dan Feng’s reincarnation. What do you say?”

Blade recalled the mission details that Elio had given him, and he smiled a knife’s smile. The Divine Foresight was indeed worthy of his title—he had already foreseen everything. And yet Blade still could not resist one last test. “You already know that I have a score to settle with that person, yet you would trust me not to take his life?”

“Think of this what you will.” The General laughed. “And yet, if my request had interfered with your orders, or if you’ve decided to spurn me from the start, then you would have outright rejected me just now. You have always hated wasting time, no?”

This person was still the same as ever, acting like he held victory in the palm of his hand. Blade saw his smile and felt a harsh tug in his chest, like vines wrapping around his heart. How could he still say such things? The artisan of the past, the one person who could foil his plans, had already fallen far from Death’s grace. His very essence had already been washed away by blood and tears, yet Jing Yuan had still seen through him in mere moments.

Oh, how Blade hated him in that moment. He hated his waveless calm, hated how intimately he understood Blade, hated the way he could show so much feeling and care and then hide it all away behind a smile—so that he was Jing Yuan no longer, only the General of Divine Foresight. And he did this all so seamlessly. All of Blade’s loves and hatreds, undiluted through the centuries, reduced to mere frivolity in the face of his calm.

Blood roared in Blade’s ears. His heart warped and twisted in his chest, and he began to cough again, in harsh bursts interspersed by rattled breathes. Speckles of flowers fell beside the General, hints of gold and red catching on his uniform robes.

The pain dragged out time and dulled his senses, so he did not know when that person had stood up and walked up beside him. A soft sigh brushed past his ear. Before Blade could turn to look or say anything, the weight on his wrists was suddenly released. Without the shackles to support his weakened form, Blade fell toward the cold earth, but he did not crash to the ground like he expected to—strong arms caught him by the waist, setting him down gently before letting him go.

And yet it was that mere moment’s contact that roused all the seeds still dormant within Blade. Jing Yuan’s touch made them germinate all at once, and fragile roots wound their way through his capillaries, sprouting green leaves in the gaps of his flesh. The sensations were nigh unbearable. He has died more times than he could count, yet this onslaught was enough to make him abandon his pride, and he curled into a shivering ball at that person’s feet.

In the throes of his suffering, he vaguely registered Jing Yuan sitting back down beside him. The man did not say or do anything else, only remained there quietly, looking at him. But he did not leave.

After an untold amount of time, Blade’s breathing finally calmed. He forced his ragged body up from the ground, leaning his back against the wall. Only then did he raise his eyes to look at the other wordless man in the cell. Their gazes met for a moment, until Blade covered his own eyes with the back of his hand. “Never mind,” he said, with a small, scornful laugh. Not even he knew who or what he was scorning. “You win once again. I will help you with this.”

“So you’ve agreed,” that person said, adding his own warm laughter to Blade’s scorn. He seemed almost gleeful, and Blade felt a flash of alarm. “Well, since you’ve already agreed to the most difficult portion, will you do one more small favor for me?”

Of course. Leave it to this man to push his luck. Blade’s expression grew thunderous, but still he snarled at Jing Yuan, “Speak.”

And so that man laughed even brighter. “Ah, I can promise it will not be much trouble for you. On your way to complete your task, you may run into Yan Qing. He’s the youngster who was with me during the interrogation, if you care to remember. His talent is extraordinary, but he still lacks true experience. I am hoping you will leave him with a teaching or two should he ask to challenge you.”

“That little student of yours?” Blade huffed softly. “How troublesome.”

“Then he is in your hands.” Jing Yuan heard his words and knew this meant agreement, so he smiled and turned away at last, his cape rustling with the motion. He left Blade with the following words, “Well, go do whatever you need to do. I should be going too. The weeds on the Luofu are abundant this time, so I may be somewhat preoccupied going forward. Before you have successfully completed your task, do try not to show yourself before me again.”

Blade did not answer immediately. He waited until those cloud-trodding boots have stepped away, until the last footsteps have been swallowed up by darkness. Only then did he turn his head once more with a series of coughs. At the end, he wiped the blood and petals from his mouth with his sleeve, with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Heh. The way you say it makes me sound eager to see you.”

5

Slipping out of the Shackling Prison unnoticed was a relatively simple matter, especially with a certain someone easing his way. Blade arrived on time to meet Kafka at the Matrix of Prescience. The woman saw his rather pale complexion, and she reminded him rather gently, “A-Ren, your illness has noticeably gotten worse.”

“It was necessary for the script to progress.” Blade spat a few petals to the side. Kafka’s eyes widened as she put the pieces together, and Blade turned away, unwilling to look at her. The woman covered her mouth with a delicate hand, but her smile was wide, almost gleeful.

“My my, I knew that A-Ren would never fall for just any man, but the Arbiter General himself? That’s news indeed. He let you go on purpose?”

“You could say that.” Blade sighed. Kafka was sure to tell Sam and Silver Wolf about this latest gossip, while Elio for all intents and purposes already knew, and he would not be hearing the end of this for a while. He shook such thoughts out of his head and told Kafka about the present situation in as few words as he could, along with the agreement he had made with that man.

“I see.” Kafka nodded and adjusted her sunglasses. “The Astral Express is also in position, just as the script requires. They really are a bunch of bleeding hearts. So, our next step is to go to the Scalegorge Waterscape to wait for your other old friend?”

Blade’s eyes flared red at the mention of that other person. The killing intent that flared up within him was vastly different from the pain caused by the Flowering Sickness. The former was scorched earth after a fire, leaving no green thing behind. The latter was a slow growth of stems around his heart, greenery that asked to devour his every piece of flesh, until he would open his mouth to spit new life, scattering golden flowers everywhere.

He suppressed the surge of emotion with difficulty and nodded toward Kafka, summoning his sword as he did so. Then, he led the way toward the Vidyadharas’ ancestral lands.

The common monster or soldier was no match for the two Stellaron Hunters, so they split up as they had on numerous other missions, each fighting their own battles. Blade swept through the Luofu’s streets and alleyways with only his sword. From the Divination Commission to the Alchemy Commission, he met no worthy resistance.

This ship was the place that Jing Yuan had sworn to protect, and now Blade was watching it come apart before his eyes, falling to the ravages of battle piece by piece. So he could not help but swing his sword faster—faster. Mara beasts and the Anti-Matter Legion’s soldiers alike fell to pieces before his blade. In his wake, he left none alive.

The one time he hesitated was when he met a lone Cloud Knight who had fallen behind from her troop. The knight’s weapon was already gone from her hands, and she leaned against the wall at an awkward angle. She saw Blade, but only a few pained groans left her mouth, until even those eventually grew distorted, becoming monstrous. Blade approached and listened. Upon deciphering her last words, he lowered his gaze.

“Then may your end approach,” he said, and he brought down his sword.

After the candle in knight’s eyes had gone out, Blade pulled the sword from out of her body. There was no blood from the gaping wound, but rather a steady stream of golden Ginko leaves. As the leaves dried up, a cluster of unnamed flowers sprung forth, budding and flowering at visible speeds, until an array of sapphire blossoms burst into full bloom.

Blade looked upon this colorful corpse, and perhaps out of sympathy, he felt a familiar pain at his throat. He covered his mouth as he turned around, stabbing his sword into the earth so he would not fall over. His coughs rang through the devastated street, startling a few ravens, which began calling and circling over head, the sound elegiac.

At this moment, Kafka had also finished cleaning up her own battlefield. She walked up next to Blade, saw the blossoms on the ground, and smiled. “The free and blue hyacinth is a beautiful flower.” Even in the midst of all the death and slaughter, Kafka’s smile was perfect and at ease, as if she were on vacation instead of on a mission.

Blade barely managed to calm his breathing. He turned his head, only to see that flowering corpse again. “Kafka,” he suddenly said, “what kind of flowers am I coughing up?”

“Oh? It’s a rare sight for you to be interested in something like this.” The woman glanced toward him, her smile widening. “According to Xian Zhou customs, the chrysanthemum is the symbol of the most honorable and virtuous, and gold is the color of excitement and longing, of joy after a long parting. All of this seems quite fitting for A-Ren’s situation, doesn’t it?”

The Autumn chrysanthemum…Blade’s gaze dropped to the ground, and he suddenly felt an urge to laugh. Kafka was only half-right about what the Xian Zhou people said of chrysanthemums. A symbol of the most honorable and virtuous, and of those free and elegant scholars who stayed far from the positions of power. Blade was but a sinner, the furthest one could be from words like honor and virtue, and Jing Yuan was tied down in the Luofu’s pinnacle seat of power, trapped by his many responsibilities. He was the most restrained out of all the people Blade could think of.

As for the color gold, it was true that they had parted ways for a long time, but the past has already eroded away any joy they might have upon reunion. They were but two old men forgotten by time, dancing around each other in the darkness, testing each other through step after careful step. From such a perspective, the meaning behind this flower seemed only fit for a harsh joke.

The rolling tides in his eyes did not escape Kafka’s notice. The woman glanced toward him, and she asked him in a tone laced with true concern, “Do you need me to help you adjust your memories, A-Ren?”

“No matter.” Blade closed his eyes as he cleared his head. He picked up his sword and began walked toward the piers. “We should keep moving.”

6

First the High Elder, then the fight with the young disciple Jing Yuan had entrusted to his “tutelage.” Blade had let Kafka set his Mara loose, so that it tore through him like wildfire, and the hatred that sang through his veins seemed to even temporarily suppress the Flowering Sickness’s symptoms. After his rage had burned out, he stood in the midst of a scorched field, the once verdant lands of his heart now barren to the point where he felt some discomfort.

That is, until that man’s carefree laugh rang through his ears like the spring thunder, and the seeds in his heart burst to life again with a vengeance.

“Jing Yuan….”

The man turned toward the sound of his name. His golden gaze swept over Blade, but it did not linger. Jing Yuan closed his eyes when faced with two of his oldest friends. When he opened them once more, only the lauded Arbiter General remained in all his glory, bearing his trademark armored smile. Blade watched as he opened his mouth to speak, but he only heard the words the man had left him with before their last parting.

—Before you have successfully completed your task, do try not to show yourself before me again.

So Blade said, “My task is complete.”

“Mm, that it is.” That man’s gaze finally fell back upon him. He was still smiling, yet a light flicked through his eyes, gone too quickly for Blade to see it clearly. Blade’s battle was already over, but the mara was still surging through him. I must have truly gone insane, he thought, that I would even hope to hear this person ask me to stay.

If this were Jing Yuan standing before him, perhaps he would have granted Blade’s wish. But the Arbiter General of the Luofu would never.

The General’s gaze moved away from Blade toward Kafka. His smile vanished, and even his words were on the cold edge of politeness. He said, “Take this person away. I will pretend I didn’t see anything this time.”

He had not even said Blade’s name.

Blade did not remember how he had walked out of the Scalegorge Waterscape. He only knew that upon his return to the Alchemy Commission by boat, he had turned to look upon that endless sea. The gold-crested waves rippled through his memories, and it was only then that he realized—ever since his return to the Xian Zhou, Jing Yuan had never once said his name, not even when they were both alone in the Shackling Prison. Be it the deceased artisan’s name, or be it “Blade,” Jing Yuan had said neither.

Not once. Not ever.

And now, as Blade stood along the coastline, he thought of the person on the other side who was about to depart for a most arduous battle. The thought proved too much for him, and he doubled over, spitting blood and bits of gold into the waves. The flowers in his heart were flourishing even as the red in his eyes burned brighter. Now the Mara was having the opposite effect, his turbulence of emotions colliding with his love, all accumulating into one roiling mass.

Should that man return alive and unharmed, how was Blade to act? And should he return never, what was Blade to do?

Kafka’s voice was urgent by his ears, but she seemed to calling from far away, and soon Blade could no longer hear her. In that moment, terror, anxiety, confusion, fear, worry, concern, regret, hatred, and love—the love that he had no rights to, the love that he could not voice, the love that so tormented him even as he took solace in the pain—all of it rushed through his mind without end.

He was dragged down with the flood, swept along by the water into his sea of memories. The tides rolled over his head, and he sank into the depths.

7

[Ying Xing-ge, do you know why you always lose when you play Starchess against me?]

[Pray tell. I have no patience your boasts.]

[Well! Then I’ll tell it to you straight, it’s because you’re too conservative with your strategy. You want to keep all your pieces, not giving up even a single one, but it’s your desire for a flawless victory that makes you lose every time. As for me, I’m willing to do things like this.]

[Hey! Why did you just take my advisor with your rook? Are you not giving me that piece for free?]

[Oh, certainly not for free. Look, if you take my rook with your other advisor, then I can checkmate you by playing this next move.]

[…So what should I do then?]

[You could play this move.]

[But if I do that, will I not lose my rook?]

[This strategy is called “A rook for a king.” As long as your king is still present, you will still have hope for turning the game around later.]

[Then what of the rook you lost? Is there a name for that strategy?]

[There is no official name, but to sacrifice one rook in exchange for a checkmate is a fitting play for Starchess. The whole goal is to achieve victory while minimizing your own losses, you know. Ying Xing-ge, your ability for craftsmanship is already unrivaled, but it seems like you still need more practice when it comes to your Starchess skills.]

[You say that, but I already owe you so many matches. Who knows how long it would take for me to even our score?]

[That’s okay, just play against me more often and you’ll even it out. Of course, you could also just owe me more and more—ouch! Why did you just hit me?]

[Aren’t you asking to be hit, saying such things?!]

[Ow! Ouch! Stop, Ying Xing-ge, spare me please!]

…

[Do I need to hit you a few more times?]

[No no, really. That won’t be necessary. Ying Xing-ge, how about this? Whatever you end up owing me in the future, whether it’s Starchess matches or something else, you don’t have to pay me back. Just come spend more time with me when you can! I’ll count that towards paying off your debts.]

[…Okay. That sounds like something I can do.]

[Then it’s a promise.]

8

The tide of memories slowly receded from his mind, and clarity returned piece by piece. Blade opened his eyes to find that he was back in the Divination Commission. Kafka and her two baby Trailblazers heard his movements, and the three looked toward him as a collective, like people from the same family. Ah, that’s right. He had nearly forgotten that this most recent descent into madness was the end of Elio’s scripted events. As for what comes after…Blade recalled what he had just seen, and he knew where he was going next.

“…Wait, you’re not leaving?”

“I am sorry, Kafka. There is a person to whom I am greatly indebted. I must see them.”

9

In the quiet hours of night, Blade avoided the heavily guarded Seat of the Divine Foresight, instead slipping into the General’s private residence by moonlight. He approached the window without making a sound, only to find that the person he had come to see has already woken up. Jing Yuan was propped up against the bed, his hair unbound for once. He was looking out toward the doorway, as if deep in thought. The moon glowed white on the mass of bandages around his abdomen, the glut of red on white gauze striking in the light, making Blade flinch, then grit his teeth.

With such a terrible wound, this person had certainly already accounted for himself as one of the possible prices for victory. But it was easier to confront a sleeping man than a man awake, so Blade turned to leave, only to freeze upon hearing a soft chuckle emanate from the room. “What a rare guest indeed. Why come and go in such a hurry?”

Blade turned his head, and the person on the sickbed gave him a languid smile. Jing Yuan’s mane of white hair fell freely about his shoulders, and his smile was half-lidded, lazy like a cat that had just awoken from a long nap. The cat tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming as he issued his challenge to Blade. “Well, now that you’re already here, will you not come inside and sit with me for a while?”

So Blade vaulted inside through the window, but he did not sit down with Jing Yuan. Rather, he backed away to the side of the room furthest from his host, with the air of a man cornered. He still carried the scent of blood and fire from all his past battles on the Luofu, an anomaly inside this infirmary of a room, meant to be a place of healing.

Blade’s lip curled, and he met Jing Yuan’s eyes with reluctance even as he said to himself—this was wrong, all wrong. Jing Yuan should not have asked him to stay, and he himself should not have been so weak as to accept.

Yet Jing Yuan still saw through his thoughts with ease, as he had always done. “You need not say more. I already know that our time together is over. The moment the Luofu had overcome this crisis, so our paths have diverged once more. And yet, after meeting with old friends, one would still wish to share a proper farewell, is that not so?”

Blade narrowed his phoenix eyes. “Hmph, a farewell? You nearly had yours early in your last battle.”

“Ah right, about that.” Jing Yuan’s smile was gentle. In the backdrop of the night, the gold in his eyes resembled sunlight no longer, but rather a candle flame, flickering in the evening breeze. Blade had only ever seen him in all his glory since returning to the Alliance, and it was only now that it dawned upon him—no matter how brilliant this person’s light, he was still only one of many candles, all flickering in the winds of Destiny. He could burn out at any given moment, never to come alight again.

Jing Yuan’s following words only served to confirmed this. He said, “When I had departed for this fight, I have never said that I would return unscathed, should I return at all. The situation then would not have allowed me such certainties. From an overall perspective, the outcome of this battle is satisfactory. Saving one Luofu at the cost of one General’s injury is quite the bargain, isn’t it? The Luofu was able to ward off Destruction’s invasion at the cost of minimal casualties. For this matter, I must thank you for your assistance.”

A nameless rage surged in Blade’s chest, and he spluttered out cold laughter. “’A rook for a king.’ All those years ago, was this what you meant?”

Now it was Jing Yuan’s turn to stare. His gaze swirled before the realization hit him, then he began to smile, like the sun parting the clouds. “You remember that?”

In that moment, his eyes were so bright. The moonlight outside the window seemed to pale by comparison. And yet, the words he spoke next sank into Blade like stones into water. “You are quite correct. I am only an Arbiter General, and the king I am sworn to protect is the entirety of the Xian Zhou Luofu. Should there come another day that the Luofu faces a similar existential threat, I would make this same decision again and again.”

His tone was light as air, as if they were not discussing matters of his life or death in his own sickroom, but rather having a casual laugh over tea at one of the Luofu’s many teahouses. Blade fell quiet as if he had been stung, and the flowers within him wrapped tighter around his heart, leaving bloody streaks. The centuries have come and gone, and still this man was the same—whether it was a game of Starchess or a game of war, he would always make the most coldhearted of calculations, sacrificing his own wellbeing for the sake of something greater, if need be.

The flowers responded to his thoughts and grew further, roots digging into his flesh, stems winding into his windpipe, until he could bear it no longer. He began coughing his heart up before this person again, golden chrysanthemums in half-bloom spilling from his lips, the color blinding him. The sickroom filled up with the sound of his broken coughs.

Jing Yuan himself said nothing, but his smile faded away as he watched Blade’s hand clench over his own chest. He waited until Blade’s symptoms had subsided before he finally said, quietly, “Your illness has gotten worse.”

“That is none of your concern.” Blade bit back, his tone harsh and rasped. His fingers closed around some of the half-bloomed flowers on the ground, crushing them to pieces.

But Jing Yuan remained unmoved. “None of my concern, you say? That is most unfortunate then.” He tilted his head again to smile at Blade, gold scattering in his eyes, not unlike the shattered flowers in Blade’s grasp. “Before you had come in, I was sitting there thinking, wondering if you would be so willing to let me kiss you.”

Blade’s eyes widened, but Jing Yuan was not finished. “You return to the Luofu as one of the most wanted criminals of the IPC, so the people you’ve had repeated interactions with since coming here must have been minimal. Aside from myself, this list likely only includes your colleague, and perhaps Dan Heng.

“If your illness had originated because of your colleague or Dan Heng, it would have grown unmanageable long before now. You work with Kafka on a regular basis, and you have yet to cease your hunt for Yin Yue Jun’s reincarnation, so you have surely interacted with them many times before, hence my reasoning for eliminating them as the cause of your pain. By comparison, we have not seen each other for centuries. I venture to guess it is me because every time I’ve seen you since, your illness has become worse. And of course, there is the matter of you coming to see me now, despite your mission being over.

“So, have I erred in my deductions?” That man had the gall to grin as he looked over at Blade. His words were triumphant, but his eyes were like water, a few drops of sun falling within them to raise golden ripples. Blade looked at him and had a sudden feeling—should he brush his lips by Jing Yuan’s ear, smile at him and say “well, that’s a secret,” the man would let him go again without speaking up, without doing anything. Jing Yuan had put all the cards in Blade’s hands, and now he stayed where he was in his infinite patience, waiting for Blade to make his choice.

And Blade wanted to speak. He wanted to answer Jing Yuan, but there was still a truth left unsaid, a truth that always got in his way. So he lowered his gaze and rasped out, “Jing Yuan, I am not the one you are waiting for.”

“—Blade.”

Blade froze. This was the first time since he had arrived on the Xian Zhou that Jing Yuan had called him by his name. When that man spoke again, he spoke as if he were comforting an injured animal, his voice soft and low. “Blade, even if the one in your heart is not me, I would still wish for you to seek them out and cure yourself of this illness. I cannot bear to see you this way. But if it truly is me…please allow me to set you free.” Jing Yuan hesitated, then he sighed. His eyes glowed when he looked at Blade, like a believer swearing an oath before his god.

“I have never looked through you to see anyone else.”

Blade held his breath as he listened to Jing Yuan. For a long time, he could not speak. With every word this person said, the flowers within him grew higher, until the stems seemed to fill his lungs, verdant leaves peeking out from the crevices of his heart. The flowers bloomed at his throat, so that one could see gold should he open his mouth to speak. He stared at this person before him, his bandaged hand reaching up to fist at his heart, and he began to laugh through his scraped and raw throat.

He heard himself say, “Jing Yuan, I do not wish to be freed.”

That man immediately understood his meaning, so he began to laugh as well, though his sound was laced with something bittersweet. “Ah, since when have I stopped you from doing anything you want to do?”

“Indeed. That is why you said and did nothing all those years ago.” Blade sighed. How ludicrous, he thought, they were both nearly two thousand years old should one combine their ages, and yet they’ve danced around each other so carefully over the past centuries, all for the same love that they now knew was shared. Together they were ingenious, and together they were such fools. Blade took a deep breath, and he decided he at least owed Jing Yuan an explanation.

“My Mara is extremely unstable, and so are my memories and thoughts along with it. Kafka often uses her powers of suggestion to make me forget many things, such is what is necessary to control my symptoms. As for this Sickness…let me keep it as a reminder. Even if it must manifest this way.”

He was a quiet person by nature, and it was rare that he would have so much to say in one sitting. Jing Yuan listened to him without interruption, and he smiled at Blade at the end, slow and sweet, tender enough to make one shed tears. “I understand. I’ll agree to this.”

“…Thank you.” And Blade meant it.

“We’ve known each other for so long now, no need to thank me.” Jing Yuan closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he almost seemed back to normal. He rested his chin on his hand, and he spoke to Blade as if stating a fact, “Once you leave this time, so you will not return again for a long time, right? That may be best, so that your illness does not progress further every time you see me.”

“Mm.”

“How are your days with the Stellaron Hunters? Do they treat you well?”

“Not bad. They…they are all good to me.”

“I see.” Jing Yuan laughed, and his eyes showed genuine relief. “That’s well and good then. Do take care after you leave, try not to die before it’s your time.”

“Mm.” Blade turned to leave, but he paused just as he arrived before the window, still awash in moonlight. He did not look back, only raised his head toward the distant stars and spoke low, like a prayer, like a psalm.

“Jing Yuan…until the day arrives that I find Destiny’s scripted end for me, you must live long and well.”

10

After that, Blade truly did not see that man again for a long time. Without direct interactions to spur on his symptoms, so the Flowering Sickness stilled its steps. It did not progress further, nor did it recede. He would still burst into fits of terrible coughs, and he would still double over from the occasional searing pain in his heart—but he preferred it this way.

This way, he could wander through the infinite universe with Kafka, Silver Wolf, Sam, and Elio, stepping into world after crumbling world. He would leave a trail of half-blossomed Autumn chrysanthemums in his wake, so that everywhere he walked would remind him of the one who lived in his heart.

The flow of time was unending, and so the decades streamed by like water lost to a river. Some things changed—Silver Wolf was no longer a little girl, and Kafka’s eyes took on noticeable crow’s feet. Only the robotic Sam, the mysterious Elio, and Blade himself saw no outward changes of appearance, living through the years as if they were mere days.

And yet some things stayed the same. Blade still has yet to play a game with Silver Wolf, and he would still help Kafka pick up her coat purchases between missions. He could still tell whenever Sam was on a cleaning spree, and he would help Silver Wolf clear out her cache of snack wrappers and take out boxes, help Kafka shove all her coats into her closet. He could still not discern anything about Elio.

These years, as the Stellaron Hunters grew ever closer to achieving their grand finale, so their missions dwindled, and their leader grew ever more silent. Blade was not a loquacious man to begin with, so he took no note of this silence, until the day it was broken. That day, he had just returned to his room in the main ship when he received a text.

[00:24 AM]

Elio: The Alliance Daily—The Divine Foresight Snatches Victory from the Jaw of Defeat—Urgent News from the Fourth Abundance War

[00:24 AM]

Elio: Two hours from when you’ve received this message, proceed to the  coordinates in the link above. Someone is waiting for you there. Once you have arrived, all will become clear.

Blade nearly dropped his phone upon seeing the familiar title. He still rarely ever used his phone, so he was no good at texting. With slow taps of his thumb, he input the letters one at a time and pressed ‘send.’

[00:25 AM]

You: Is this for a mission?

The phone pinged. It was Elio’s near-instantaneous reply.

[00:25 AM]

Elio: This is not for a mission.

[00:25 AM]

Elio: This is to conclude the deal that we made when you first joined us.

Time slowed to a stop. He stared and stared at the last line on his phone screen, in disbelief, uncomprehending, until crimson waves rose in his eyes. From the moment he had signed himself over to Destiny’s Slave, Elio has never lied to him, but this moment still felt surreal—such was how long he had awaited it. Blade remained sitting in the room’s only chair for a long time. At last, he lifted his phone again and typed out two words.

[00:42 AM]

You: I see.

[⚠️ Send error: Recipient does not exist]

Blade stared at the screen, and he slowly leaned back against the wooden chair. So Elio had even removed him from his contacts, which meant he did not intend to contact Blade again. He was serious about this, Blade realized, and that meant Blade had a little less than two hours left in this world.

The moment he left his room, Blade went to see Kafka. The woman had aged like any short-lived species would, but she had aged with elegance, because Aeons forbid that Kafka would do anything in an inelegant manner. The woman looked up from her seat, and she smiled at Blade, who still looked the same as when she had first brought him back and tidied him up all those years ago. “Hello, A-Ren. I must congratulate you for finally getting what you’ve wished for all these years.”

“Mm.” Blade had intended to come say farewell, and yet he stood there, unable to put thoughts to words. He bit his lip and thought for a moment, until he finally summoned his sword. This sword had not left his side since he had woken up in this form, but now he gave it to Kafka, asking in a low voice, “Once I’ve gone, please take this sword to the grave of swords.”

“The place you always went to, right? I know where it is.” Kafka took the sword and nodded. “Silver Wolf is away on a mission right now, so she’s not on the ship. Leave her a text before you go, will you? She will not be back for some time. Oh, right, Sam also asked me to give you a message. He said there’s no need to say goodbye to him, he doesn’t think he can handle it.”

“I understand.” Blade pulled out his phone, and he stood there in Kafka’s room, typing out each letter of the text with slow taps, but he did not press ‘send.’ Instead, he turned off the screen and gave the phone to Kafka as well. “You know the password, it will be there as soon as you unlock it. After I’ve gone…send it to her then.”

“Alright.” Kafka put the phone in her coat pocket. She had always been the paragon of elegance and mystique, yet when she waved goodbye to Blade, her smile was sincere. “Well then, let me wish you well on your last journey, A-Ren. I’m content that we got to spend all this time together.”

“Mm.” Blade turned to leave in a fluid motion, with no hesitation, but Kafka heard his voice right before he closed the door. He said, I am content too.

11

Blade used the teleporter on the main ship, arriving on time to the coordinates Elio had given him. It was the midst of a battlefield, though the battle itself seemed to be over. Smoke and dust nearly choked out the dusk overhead, like a stage after the curtain call, when all the lights had gone out. War with Abundance has always been cruel, and Blade wound his way through all the torn limbs and tattered corpses with his head down, searching for the one who was awaiting him—and whether by instinct or by some twist of fate, Blade already knew who this someone would be.

He found him lying in the midst of a vast clearing, the earth cracked and scorched black by lightning. The General’s white robes and gold armor were so stained by blood and dirt that they were nearly unrecognizable. He lay on his side, his shoulder guard already shattered, though the wounds on his arm were nothing compared to the red slowly spreading out from his abdomen. His cracked glaive was still by his side, though it was jammed deep into the earth, pinning a monstrosity of a Mara beast to the ground. The beast’s fangs were still bared in a snarl, though the life has long since left its eyes.

Blade hurried next to him and put two fingers to his neck—a pulse. Weak and fluttering, but still there. “Jing Yuan,” he said, resting his left hand on the man’s shoulder so he could shake him. The sickness in his chest roared back to life at this contact, the flowers rearing their heads. His left hand burned from where he was touching Jing Yuan. Having progressed this far, his illness finally manifested itself as green shoots sprouting up from between his fingers, eating through his palm, until his whole hand was slowly transforming into a garden. But Blade ignored all of this. Right now, his only focus was to try and wake this man before him.

“Jing Yuan!” He called to him again, and at last, the man’s eyes fluttered open, revealing gold irises that have lost their luster. His gaze followed Blade’s voice. When he finally saw who had come to find him, he smiled, warm and bright as ever.

Blade turned his head to spit a chrysanthemum onto the ground. The flower was nearly in full bloom. He chided the man in a horrible, rasping voice, “Only you would still smile on such an occasion.”

So Jing Yuan smiled wider. He ignored the trickle of blood that seeped from the corner of his mouth, only twitched the fingers on his right hand, so he could grasp at the flower Blade had just spat out. “All these years must have been painful for you.”

“I could say the same for you.” Blade dipped his head to meet Jing Yuan’s gaze. The dawn light he had seen in this person's youth had now transformed into dusk, the sunset in his gaze like molten gold. Even the most brilliant light would burn out one day. Blade had already seen death after death over the centuries, so he knew with one glance that this person did not have much time left. “Heh. I told you to live long and well, yet this is how I find you. State your defense.”

“A feint maneuver. If I did not lead this charge, the enemy…the enemy would not have fallen for it.” Jing Yuan coughed mid-sentence, and a splatter of blood colored Blade’s coat. But he still pressed on with what little remained of his life force, his smile brilliant as he spoke to Blade. “Your being here means you’ve found your end, correct? So I have kept my promise after all.”

Tch, he was right as always. The flowers were gathering thick and fast now at Blade’s throat. He grabbed Jing Yuan’s hand with his free hand, ignoring the pain as he spat out another mouthful of golden flowers, temporarily clearing his throat. He did this so he could ask what he could only ask on Death’s door. “Why? Why care for me so?”

The candle flames in Jing Yuan’s eyes flickered, then brightened for a moment. In that moment, he thought of many things.

—The artisan gritting his teeth after losing another Starchess game. The artisan with stars in his eyes, putting a masterfully-crafted glaive into Jing Yuan’s hands. The artisan with Jing Yuan’s cloak over his shoulders, his head thrown back in laughter. Then the artisan was no more, leaving only Blade.

—Blade smiling like a knife’s edge, telling him “I remember you.” Blade in the prison cell, spitting flowers at his feet. Blade vaulting into his sickroom to see him, his cold words unable to disguise the care that had seeped down into his bones, the care that not even disease or death had managed to take from him. And now Blade was here before him, with half his body already overgrown by flowers, yet he still only had eyes for Jing Yuan.

He’s so beautiful, Jing Yuan thought, and he reached out his hand.

Even the sun’s light would burn out one day. But the moment right before it burned out, it would light up even the night sky. Jing Yuan’s hand wiped away the bloody petals on Blade’s lips. His touch was light as a feather, yet Blade still shuddered from the pain.

Ah, look at what this love’s done to him. Jing Yuan had never wanted to see him suffer, had wanted him to never recall a thing again, if only to spare him this pain. But now, at the end of this immeasurably long life, Jing Yuan thought—should I be blessed to retain my spirit at the bottom of Death’s Nine Springs, I would still love him more, and more.

“…If you were to forget everything, it would make things a lot easier for me. But, as I am now…I am so happy.”

Having said this, he gave a long sigh and dropped his hand, and the flame in his eyes went out.

Blade watched that man go, and he said nothing. In truth, he could not have said anything even if he wanted to, for the flowers had already begun to sprout from when Jing Yuan had touched his lips. The garden on his hands has now spread all the way to his chest, and the growth showed no signs of stopping. The endless life-force that was Abundance’s curse was now finally a blessing—the chrysanthemums tore through his veins, devoured his flesh, and ground his bones to dust, to fertilize ravenous roots.

An undying corpse, slowly converted to nutrition for undying flowers, and the soul of said corpse could finally be set free.

As his organs failed, so faded the pain of being gradually eaten away. Blade’s vision blurred, and he even felt somewhat drowsy. The darkness was warm and beckoning, and as Blade’s consciousness drifted away, he only had one thought before letting himself rest at last.

…You go on ahead, Jing Yuan. I will come find you soon.

12

[02:24 AM]

Blade: Silver Wolf,

By the time you see this message, I will have already obtained what I long wished for. I am sorry that I never played a game with you together before I left. The wounds on my hands will never heal in this life, so I would have only dragged you down in your matches. May you enjoy every game you choose to play in this life. I do not know the terms of your deal with Elio, but I only hope that you too, will get what you’ve wanted, just as Kafka, Sam, and I already have.

Blade

[Your message was successfully sent]

13

The aftermath of the Fourth Abundance War left more than a few problems for the Luofu’s new leadership to clean up. From the Alliance’s various allies to the troubles of the common people, nothing could be left to sit too long.

The newly-titled General Fu Xuan more than rose to the occasion—she wrote detailed reports to Marshall Hua, conducted timely meetings with the various Commissions, and even personally led Cloud Knights to clear out monsters from the marketplace, allowing the residents to once again set up shop. After some years of her solid leadership, the Luofu was once again a place of peace. The scars that remained would only be healed by time, and fortunately, time was a resource that the Xian Zhou people had more than enough of.

Only now could Fu Xuan finally catch a breath. She sent a hurried text to the Alliance’s newly-crowned Sword Champion, then more texts to Su Shang, Bai Lu, and Qing Que. After a flurry of coordinated efforts, Fu Xuan and Yan Qing managed to slip away from the Luofu on a starskiff “borrowed” from the Sky-Faring Commission, setting off toward the place where the Divine Foresight had breathed his last.

Fu Xuan’s mind was filled with the coordinates she had divined. She took off running as soon as the starskiff has landed, only to pause in confusion when she arrived at what had once been a battlefield.

“Oh Master Diviner, are you sure we’ve come to the right place?” Yan Qing, running up behind her, froze as well upon seeing the sea of chrysanthemum flowers. He shot Fu Xuan a skeptical look.

Fu Xuan looked upon the fields of gold before her, and she did not scold Yan Qing for referring to her as “Master Diviner” instead of her rightful title. The whole purpose of their trip here was to bring Jing Yuan home, and she understood that within their generation, the title of “General” would likely be linked to that man for quite some more time. So she only led the way into the sea of flowers, reassuring Yan Qing as she went. “Of course my coordinates are correct. Do not be hasty just yet, at least not until we find the exact location.”

As the two Xian Zhou visitors waded their way through the Autumn flowers, they could not help but look about in wonder. The Alliance and the Denizens had waged a terrible battle here a mere few years ago. This land was meant to be scorched earth, but now there was nary a sign of all the bloodshed. Fu Xuan kept her sights on the navigation device, and she finally found the spot at the heart of all the verdant life. There was no body to be found, only a glaive webbed with fine cracks, surrounded by a particularly brilliant patch of flowers.

Beside the flowers stood a person, or rather, a hologram of a person. Both Fu Xuan and Yan Qing recognized her immediately—the genius hacker was no longer a little girl, but she still kept her hair in a high ponytail, with silver ringlets. Silver Wolf put one hand on her hip, and she greeted the two Xian Zhou residents in a cool voice. “I knew you all would come here one day.”

Fu Xuan replied without missing a beat. “Stellaron Hunter. What business do you have here?”

“Just here to see an old family member.” Silver Wolf frowned. She made a vague gesture with her hands that seemed to refer to the flowers. “I’ve actually already visited a few years ago, but I kept this hologram here to make sure you all got my message. If you Xian Zhou residents still care to do that thing—what’s it called, ‘saving face?’ Anyway, if you care about that stuff at all, you won’t take anything away from the grave of someone important to me. Of course, if you insist on playing this game, I’m more than happy to crush you. That’s all.”

With her message delivered, Silver Wolf’s hologram disappeared, leaving Fu Xuan and Yan Qing to stare at each other in silence. If the Divine Foresight were still alive, Fu Xuan would have long since lost her temper at such an arrogant threat. But that person was gone now, and she was the one in his seat. She sighed deeply before turning toward Yan Qing. “Well, what are your thoughts on this matter?”

The young sword champion lowered his gaze, which was itself a rare sight. He seemed to think long and hard before speaking. “I care not about the Stellaron Hunter’s threat, but I do remember something else. Decades ago, I was borrowing the General’s phone to transfer some funds, and I saw a text conversation between him and the Trailblazers by accident. The General said when he was young, he wanted to become a Galaxy Ranger so he could see the stars, but he still ended up devoting his life to the Xian Zhou. I have never even seen him leave the Luofu unless it was for battle.”

As Yan Qing spoke, he summoned one of his many swords and flipped it idly in his hand. “The General bought me this sword too. Ever since he took me in, I’ve told him I wanted to be the Sword Champion, and he’s always supported me. That makes it more sad to me that he didn’t get to achieve his own dream, you know? So now that I see him resting here, far away from the Alliance and everything…I can’t help but think that he’d be happy.”

Fu Xuan listened to his words without interrupting. She was quiet for a long time. “So you are saying, that the General would not want to come back to the Luofu?”

“Yes.” Yan Qing dismissed his sword in a shower of blue light. He gave Fu Xuan a sharp nod.

“…I understand. Then I will listen to you this once. As soon as we return to the Luofu, I will go speak with the Ten Lords Commission and order them not to try and retrieve the General’s spirit.” Fu Xuan cast one last look toward the broken glaive surrounded by flowers. She lowered her eyes, and her tone was soft. “Let him keep on being the Dozing General here. I’ll let him sleep as long as he wants.”

“That’s a brilliant plan, General. I fully support you on this endeavor!”

With that, the two Xian Zhou people turned to leave. They brought the starskiff away with them too as they departed, leaving behind the glaive and its sea of flowers, to continue holding each other in their eternal sleep.

14

You see, Blade? I told you the kids are respectful these days.

…Just kiss me again if you cannot keep your mouth shut.