Within the cold, dim room, Huiying's cries filled the air, his small, trembling form crouched by the heavy, locked door. His tears poured unchecked down his face as he hiccuped and sobbed, each breath a struggle as his cries echoed off the bare walls. The emptiness around him only seemed to deepen his despair; this room was a cage he knew all too well.
"Mother! Please… please, let me out!" he cried, his voice cracking, desperate. "Mother… please…" His tiny fists pounded on the door, each hit weaker than the last. His sobs were frantic, ragged, as if the force of them might somehow break through the walls confining him.
Outside, two young disciples stood a few paces from the closed door, speaking in hushed tones, their voices soft with pity as they watched the little boy's anguish seep through the walls. "Poor child," one of them whispered, her face twisted in sympathy. "He's so young… and she's so merciless."
The other disciple nodded, glancing back at the door with a sigh. "It's cruel, how strict she is with him. To punish a child so harshly… the boy has barely seen more than a handful of summers, and already she treats him like he must carry the burdens of an adult."
As if conjured by their words, Lianhua's presence emerged like a shadow, gliding silently toward them. She stood tall, her gaze cool and cutting. The two disciples fell silent immediately, their faces paling as they bowed deeply, their postures stiff with fear and respect.
"Honorable Lady Lianhua," one stammered, eyes fixed on the ground, "our sincerest apologies… we… we did not mean to intrude."
Lianhua's expression was a mask, impassive, but her gaze lingered on them a moment longer than necessary, chilling them to the bone. She gave a curt nod, dismissing them with a flick of her hand. "Your apology is noted," she said, her tone devoid of warmth. The two disciples hurried off, their murmurs silenced under Lianhua's scrutinizing gaze.
Once they had retreated down the corridor, Lianhua turned and, with an unhurried grace, slid open the door to the empty room. Huiying's small form stumbled forward, his feet barely managing to carry him as he clung to her robes. His cries renewed, his tiny hands gripping her tightly as if she were the only solid thing left in his small, chaotic world.
"Mother… please… don't… don't leave me here," he gasped between sobs, his voice muffled against the fabric of her robes. He repeated her name over and over, his words blurring together in a desperate mantra.
Lianhua looked down at him, her expression unchanging, almost indifferent. She lowered herself to his level, her hand briefly resting on his shaking shoulder. For a fleeting moment, she wrapped her arms around him, her hold barely more than a light touch, as if the weight of her own son was a burden she had no desire to bear.
"Huiying," she murmured, her tone measured and devoid of affection. She pressed her hand gently against his forehead, her voice a quiet command. "Enough. Rest now."
A faint, silvery glow emanated from her fingertips, swirling in delicate patterns that slipped through his skin and took root in his mind. It was a rare technique, one known only to the few masters of her lineage. It seeped into his consciousness like a slow, heavy tide, a sleep spell that dulled the senses and forced the mind into a gentle darkness.
Huiying's eyes grew heavy, his breath hitching as he fought the strange, sudden exhaustion that swept over him. His hands loosened their grip on her robes as his small body succumbed to the lull of the spell, his sobs quieting into faint, broken murmurs.
Lianhua's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes—whether it was relief, annoyance, or some darker emotion, no one could say.
The dimly lit room was heavy with silence, the only sound the soft, rhythmic breathing of the boy now resting in Lianhua's lap. Huiying's delicate face was streaked with the remnants of tears, his lips slightly parted as the effects of the spell held him in a gentle slumber. His mother's long fingers grazed his cheek, her touch deliberate and slow, as if memorizing every detail of the boy who carried the burden of her bloodline. She reached down, gathering the strands of his dark hair and tucking them behind his ears, her motions mechanical, detached, and yet strangely tender.
The doors creaked open, the soft sound breaking the stillness like the sigh of the heavens. The light from the corridor spilled in, illuminating the figure that stepped through. Ziyue entered the room with an ethereal grace, her flowing robes shimmering faintly as though woven from the threads of moonlight. Her presence was commanding, almost divine; even the air seemed to shift, growing lighter, as though bowing to her unspoken authority. Her eyes, deep pools of wisdom and restrained emotion, lingered on Huiying before shifting to Lianhua, who sat as still as a statue, cradling her child.
"Lianhua," Ziyue began, her voice soft but steady, carrying the weight of unspoken questions. "Are you certain of what you wish to do with him?"
Lianhua didn't look up immediately. Her hand paused on Huiying's face, her fingers trembling slightly as she exhaled, long and slow. "I am tired of living with the uncertainty," she replied, her tone measured, but her words betraying the exhaustion etched deep into her soul. "I can no longer bear to wonder if he will be my salvation or my undoing."
Ziyue's brows furrowed ever so slightly. "You speak as though you no longer see the days ahead, Lianhua. Surely—"
"I do not," Lianhua interrupted, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. She finally lifted her gaze, meeting Ziyue's eyes with a look that was raw and unguarded. "These are my final months, Ziyue. I have felt it in my bones for some time now."
Ziyue stepped closer, her normally composed face faltering for a moment. "Do not speak such words. You are strong, stronger than—"
"No," Lianhua cut her off again, this time shaking her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "Strength? What use is strength when the world devours you anyway? I was the prodigy of the Bai Sect, Ziyue. The pride of my clan. Yet look at me now." She gestured vaguely at herself, her body thin and fragile, her once-radiant complexion pale and tired. "The prodigy who fell. The prodigy who was weak."
Her gaze dropped to Huiying, the weight of her self-loathing palpable in the room. "And here he is. My son. Proof of a love that should never have been. Proof that I allowed myself to falter, to dream of a life that was never meant to be mine. He is my shame, Ziyue. My failure, embodied."
Ziyue didn't speak immediately. Her chest ached at the sight of Lianhua, this woman she admired more than anyone, crumbling under the weight of her regrets. She moved closer, lowering herself to the ground so they were at eye level. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing Lianhua's chin, tilting it up so their eyes met.
"Look at me," Ziyue said, her voice a low murmur, intimate and commanding all at once.
Lianhua obeyed, her glassy, tear-filled eyes locking onto Ziyue's. The pain in them was unbearable to witness. Ziyue leaned forward, their foreheads meeting, her touch deliberate and unyielding. She closed her eyes, her breath mingling with Lianhua's as she spoke softly.
"You are many things, Lianhua," Ziyue began, her voice trembling slightly with restrained emotion. "But weak is not one of them. Do you hear me? You are not weak. Your decisions, your fears, your regrets—none of them diminish the strength I see in you. I trust you, Lianhua. I trust every choice you have made and will make."
Lianhua let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening around Huiying's small body as if to ground herself. "You place too much faith in me, Ziyue," she whispered.
"Perhaps," Ziyue replied, her lips curling into a faint, almost sad smile. "But my faith in you is unwavering."
For a moment, the room was still, the two women locked in this intimate exchange. The tension between them was palpable, their closeness teetering on the edge of something unspoken. Ziyue's hand slid to Lianhua's cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Whatever happens, know this: I will honor your wishes, Lianhua. Always."
Lianhua closed her eyes, leaning into the touch for the briefest moment before pulling back, her composure returning like a mask being slid into place. "You are a fool to trust me so completely," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Then let me be your fool," Ziyue replied softly, her gaze unwavering.
Huiying stirred slightly in his sleep, drawing both their attention. Ziyue looked down at the boy, her expression softening. "He is not a failure," she said quietly. "He is proof that you dared to love in a world that seeks to strip us of such things. And that, Lianhua, is something even I admire."
Lianhua didn't respond, her gaze fixed on her son. Her fingers brushed his hair absently, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in a storm of emotions she couldn't voice.
Lianhua rose slowly, her arms cradling Huiying's small frame with an unnatural stillness. Her movements were deliberate, her expression a blank mask as though emotion had been siphoned from her soul. Ziyue watched her closely, standing as Lianhua stood, her own motions graceful and fluid despite the unease that gnawed at her chest. The boy stirred slightly, his face pressed against Lianhua's shoulder, oblivious to the weight of the moment.
Outside, the snow fell in delicate silence, blanketing the sect in a shroud of white. The cold bit into their skin as the two women stepped beyond the room's threshold, the muted crunch of snow under their feet the only sound accompanying them. The Secta Jin seemed untouched by the turmoil in Lianhua's heart; the disciples moved about their duties, the soft murmur of chants carrying on the wind. Yet the stillness between Lianhua and Ziyue spoke volumes, an unspoken tension lingering in the air.
Ziyue walked alongside Lianhua, her hands folded neatly within the voluminous sleeves of her robes. Her gaze flicked to Huiying now and then, noting how fragile he seemed against the harshness of the world. "The snow is heavier today," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the brittle moment.
"Indeed," Lianhua replied curtly, her eyes fixed ahead.
They walked in silence until they reached a secluded building at the edge of the sect. It was an ancient structure, its wood darkened with age, the carvings of celestial patterns on the doors worn but still discernible. Lianhua pushed the doors open with her shoulder, revealing a room unlike any other in the sect.
The air inside was cool, almost unnaturally so, and the faint scent of aged parchment and polished stone lingered. The walls were lined with shelves, each filled with scrolls and celestial artifacts—astrolabes, star maps, and spheres of crystal that refracted the dim light into fragments of color. In the center of the room was a bed carved from marble, its surface polished to a reflective sheen. Above it, the ceiling opened into a domed skylight, revealing the endless expanse of the heavens. Even now, as snowflakes drifted down, the stars glimmered faintly beyond the veil of clouds.
Lianhua approached the bed and carefully laid Huiying down, her movements precise and unhurried. His small form looked even smaller against the expanse of marble, his dark hair splayed like ink against the cold surface. Lianhua straightened, staring down at her son with an unreadable expression.
Ziyue stepped closer, her gaze shifting between Huiying and Lianhua. "He looks so... delicate," she murmured, almost to herself. "It is difficult to believe that within him lies the potential for greatness—or ruin."
Lianhua's lips twitched, a faint ghost of a smile that held no warmth. "Fragility often hides what is most dangerous," she said, her tone devoid of affection. Yet Ziyue caught it—a flicker of sorrow in her confidante's eyes, quickly buried beneath her cold exterior.
Lianhua took a deep breath and turned to Ziyue. "Shall we begin?"
Ziyue nodded solemnly, stepping to the opposite side of the marble bed. "This seal," she began, her voice steady, "is no small feat, Lianhua. You understand the toll it will take?"
"I do," Lianhua replied, her voice resolute. "It must be done. No matter the cost."
Ziyue said nothing more, only raising her hands and letting her Qi flow. The air in the room shifted, growing heavy as a faint glow began to emanate from Ziyue's fingertips. Lianhua mirrored her actions, and together, they began weaving the intricate patterns of the seal.
The process was excruciatingly complex, each step requiring absolute precision. The patterns they traced glowed faintly, forming a lattice of golden lines across Huiying's small body. His meridians, normally invisible, became illuminated under their touch, a vast network of pathways carrying his Qi. The seal was meant to block these flows completely, to render him inert, his potential locked away indefinitely.
The first stage involved mapping each of Huiying's one thousand meridians. Lianhua's brow furrowed in concentration as her Qi seeped into his body, tracing the delicate lines that crisscrossed his being. Ziyue worked in tandem, her hands weaving sigils in the air that hovered momentarily before sinking into Huiying's skin.
As the second stage began, the room seemed to grow colder, the very air resisting their efforts. Lianhua's breathing grew labored, her normally flawless complexion marred by a faint sheen of sweat. "Damn this body," she muttered under her breath, her frustration slipping through her otherwise composed demeanor.
Ziyue glanced at her, concern flickering in her eyes. "You should rest. Let me handle—"
"No," Lianhua snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. She took a shaky breath and steadied herself. "This is my burden to bear."
The third stage was the most harrowing. Each meridian had to be sealed individually, a painstaking process that required immense precision and endurance. The golden lattice grew more intricate, expanding until it resembled a web of stars etched into Huiying's skin. With each meridian sealed, Lianhua felt a piece of herself slipping away, her Qi draining steadily. Her hands trembled, but she did not falter.
Ziyue's voice broke the silence. "The seal will hold only if your intent is unwavering. Hesitation will compromise its integrity."
"I am not hesitating," Lianhua replied through gritted teeth, though her body betrayed her, swaying slightly.
As they neared the final stages, the strain became unbearable. Lianhua's knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, catching herself with trembling hands. Ziyue immediately moved to support her, but Lianhua waved her off. "Do not... stop," she panted.
Ziyue hesitated but continued, her own Qi beginning to waver as she pushed herself to the limit. Finally, the last sigil was placed, sinking into Huiying's chest with a faint hum. The golden lattice shimmered brilliantly for a moment before fading into invisibility, leaving only the faint glow of the room's celestial artifacts.
Lianhua collapsed onto the floor, her body shaking with exhaustion. Ziyue knelt beside her, her expression a mixture of concern and admiration. "You have done what many would deem impossible," she said softly.
Lianhua let out a bitter laugh, her voice hoarse. "Impossible, yes. And yet, at what cost?" She looked at Huiying, her gaze distant. "What have I condemned him to, Ziyue?"
Ziyue placed a hand on Lianhua's shoulder, her touch light but grounding. "You have given him a chance to be free from what would destroy him. That is no small mercy."
Lianhua said nothing, her eyes fixed on her son. For the first time in years, she allowed a single tear to escape, tracing a silent path down her cheek before falling onto the cold marble below.