Xuefeng shut the bathroom door behind him, sealing himself within the echoing quiet. The space was dim and cool, shadows pooling in the corners, and a distant ache settled over him like storm clouds gathering on a horizon he'd been desperately trying to ignore.
He stepped into the shower, twisting the dial hard toward cold, bracing himself as an icy torrent crashed onto his head, cascading over tense shoulders and down his rigid spine. He shivered violently, but the chill felt cleansing, necessary—a punishment for allowing himself to forget.
Water sluiced over his closed eyelids, mingling unnoticed with tears that trickled freely down his cheeks. He couldn't keep lying to himself; he'd hidden from the truth long enough. Somewhere far away—farther even than these bizarre worlds and impossible feats of cultivation—his parents still mourned their son. A son they'd loved, a son they'd lost without ever truly understanding why.
