Though the heated air of the council had dispersed, its echoes still lingered in Yuan Yu's mind.
His father's calm words, his uncle's ambitious declarations… even after leaving the hall, those two voices continued to clash within him.
Instead of returning home, Yuan Yu followed a hidden trail behind the mountain—toward the waterfall cave, the sanctuary of his childhood.
There, the roaring cascade drowned out every thought.
It left only silence.
Shedding his outer robes, Yuan Yu stepped beneath the rushing torrent. A sharp chill spread through his body as the water struck his shoulders with relentless force, piercing deep into bone and breath alike.
For nearly half an hour, Yuan Yu endured it, until his pale skin turned crimson—like the petals of a pomegranate blossom.
Yet it felt like purification itself.
Each droplet seemed to carry away a fragment of his burdens, leaving his mind clear and bright.
At last, he whispered,
"Enough…"
Yuan Yu stepped out slowly, water streaming from his body as he drew in a steady breath. Dressing again and tying back his damp hair, he began the quiet walk home.
By sunset, he returned to his chamber, drying himself before changing into his emerald silk robes—the color that suited him best. Wrapped in green, he felt strangely at ease.
He lay down, closed his eyes… and drifted into a brief sleep. When he awoke, the sky had already darkened.
"I will not go to the market tonight," Yuan Yu murmured.
Yet in the very next moment, the image of the stranger surfaced in his thoughts—those night-blue eyes.
A quiet ache stirred in his chest.
Perhaps I will never see him again…
Perhaps he was never truly there…
Restless, Yuan Yu rose from his bed and crossed to his desk. Resting upon it was a leather-bound journal—more than an object.
It was ritual.
It was a confidant.
Sharp though his memory was, he recorded each day faithfully. Perhaps one day these pages would illuminate the future.
And besides… he loved to write. Time vanished the moment ink touched paper.
Dipping his quill, Yuan Yu began:
"Today, words clashed like blades within the council hall. My father spoke of patience and wisdom, while my uncle championed strength and power. I remained silent…
Yet upon my shoulders, I felt a weight.
The future is shifting. Even our own sect grows restless for strength. Perhaps these lines will one day reveal the truth—what we fought against… and why."
When he finished, Yuan Yu set the quill aside.
The lamp's trembling glow cast shadows across the walls. Sleep did not return. Instead, he reached for a book and read beneath the flickering light.
And meanwhile…
In the bustling city market, Han Liang moved through the crowd.
He gathered whispers and fragments of knowledge, yet his gaze searched ceaselessly for something else—for that face, those eyes.
He did not yet know the man's name…
but he could not erase him from his mind.
That night, he did not find him.
Still, Han Liang made himself a vow:
Next time… I will find him.
I will speak to him.
I will not let him slip away.