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    Summary

    “When I opened my eyes,” Wei Ying said, “my body was that of a child—but my mind had already lived a lifetime. I knew the rites, the faces, the mistakes. I remembered dying—the screams, the flames, the blood.”
    The words hung between them like a drawn blade. Divine pressure pressed against the bond; Wei Ying shuddered, lips parting in a soundless gasp.
    “When I woke that day, I already knew what would come. Tiāndào had whispered my parents’ fate before I ever opened my eyes—that their end was written as the mark of my beginning.” His lips curved faintly, a ghost of irony that only made the words hurt more. “When I found them already gone, I told myself it was mercy—that this time, at least, I had bodies to bury.” His breath shook. “But it felt as if the world had waited for me only to watch me break.”
    Xichen brushed his thumb along Wei Ying’s lip, wiping the blood that had gathered there. Through the bond came grief, compassion, helpless devotion.
    “That’s when I realized,” Wei Ying said, “I didn’t know how to live among the living. I could walk beside them, laugh with them—but part of me was still beneath that willow tree, buried between my parents’ bodies.”

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    Chapters:
    45/?
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