At the Ruomu Pavilion, Herta carefully carved her name into the Lovers' Lock. Every stroke was deliberate, as if she were pouring all her hope into that small piece of metal.
Ruan Mei watched her. "You believe in this, Herta?"
Herta stiffened, then turned away with a proud shake of her head. "Of course not. But when in the Luofu, do as the Luofu does."
Ruan Mei's expression didn't change.
Asta, sensing the tension, quickly handed the lock to Ruan Mei. "Madam Ruan Mei, your turn."
Ruan Mei wrote her name in a single fluid motion. Her calligraphy—the strokes, the elegance—far surpassed Herta's.
Herta stared. She had forgotten that Ruan Mei excelled at poetry and painting. This made her look like a mere backdrop. Unacceptable. She needed to rewrite it.
Asta stepped forward. "Madam Herta, it's bad luck to rewrite a Lovers' Lock. Xianzhou tradition."
Herta frowned. "Why?"
Asta sighed. A genius among geniuses, yet completely lacking in social graces. "Do you want to grow apart from Madam Ruan Mei? Divorce and remarry?"
Herta clenched her jaw. She let it go.
They walked to the wooden railing where the locks were hung. Feixiao and Yukong had left one nearby. Fu Xuan and Qingque too. Some were ancient, rusted over.
One stood out—sealed in frost.
Herta studied it. "This one's special."
Ruan Mei nodded.
Herta reached for the seal. Frost bit at her fingers. She smiled. Something to do with the moon. This would be easy.
Five seconds. The seal broke.
On the front of the lock: a fox and an ancient sword. On the back: the names of those who left it, their origins, the date.
Origin: Cangcheng. Swordmaster of the Luofu. Jingliu.
Origin: Yaoqing, Qingqiu Caveheaven. Wanderer of the cosmos. Pilot. Baiheng.
Date: Stellar Calendar 7299, twelfth lunar month, thirteenth day.
Herta looked at Ruan Mei. "Jingliu and Baiheng. Eight hundred and ninety years ago."
A pause. "Help me reseal it."
Ruan Mei did not move. "Why?"
"Most locks here aren't sealed. Why is theirs different?"
Ruan Mei closed her eyes. "The swordmaster walks the edge of Mara, wavering between memory and madness. Sealing this lock—sealing her feelings—is how she cuts herself off from the past. Revenge against Yaoshi is all she has left."
Asta understood. Herta did not.
"Revenge against Yaoshi? Then why seal the lock?"
Ruan Mei opened her eyes. Her gaze reflected Herta's curiosity, her lack of understanding. "She is not sealing the lock. She is sealing herself."
Herta nodded slowly. She had lived for ages, but the Xianzhou's hatred for Yaoshi—she had always viewed it from the outside.
The Hunt was born from revenge against Abundance. That made sense. But the Xianzhou had also received Yaoshi's blessing. Immense longevity. Physical prowess. An ordinary Cloud Knight could become legend on a frontier world.
And Mara was balance. If no Xianzhou native aged or died, resources would dwindle. The end would be unpredictable.
Was Yaoshi wrong? Was Lan right? If Yaoshi fell, would Lan fall too?
"What are you thinking?"
Ruan Mei's voice pulled her back. The lock was sealed again. Hers and Ruan Mei's hung beside it.
"Ruan Mei, what do you think of Lan and Yaoshi?"
Ruan Mei considered. "I grew up on a planet blessed by Abundance. Right or wrong—I don't know. But as Aeons, both have research value."
Herta nodded. "I knew you'd say that." She turned. "Asta? What do you think?"
Asta blinked, caught off guard. She scratched her head. "I'm not interested in either. But Abundance never refused anyone. The Xianzhou sought the Arbor. There's a saying here: as you sow, so you reap."
---
Back in Herta City, Herta Ninety-Nine studied Lingsha. "You're more stubborn than Silver Wolf."
Lingsha smiled. "Herta City is nothing. My master was framed, exiled to the Zhuming, and stripped of everything. Hardship is smoke to me."
Herta Ninety-Nine waved. The puppets lowered their hammers.
"Do you have to oppose Madam Herta?"
Lingsha's smile did not waver. "Not have to. Want to. If you let me leave, I will pursue Ruan Mei. My kindred spirit. Win or lose—I will make things difficult for Herta."