With the departure of Long Guan and the sect leader, the air over the courtyard began to calm, and servants began emerging from the various buildings of the manor, eager to step away from fear and return to work.

Bailian, to my side, sighed and sat back onto one of the larger boxes.

"We really are alike, aren't we, Chunxue?"

I nodded.

"We are. I suppose... you've known that for a while."

But I hadn't. For a long time I had suspected that Bailian's show of friendship was more a matter of profit and loss than anything else. It had not really mattered to me much, but... it was strange to think that she, too, might have suffered as I had.

Her cheeks tightened, creasing the skin under her eyes. She turned her chin up and drew her finger across the scar that cut through the upper end of her neck.

"My position in the Long family is not a secret, but the depths of our problems are... a bit difficult to talk about."

And what could I say to that? It was the same for me as well. It was not easy to talk about such things. It was not easy to even think about such things.

—"The humans who live here east of Altyn-Tagh have a peculiar way of always lying about all manner of matters."

It was thus Natsuki who spoke first, as she placed her hand over my head and ruffled through my hair.

"It is yet difficult for me to find the truths beneath the lies. But, Xue'er, insofar as you wish to create a world which cultivators do not rule by force... then I suppose this is the manner in which you ought to lie. To my understanding, you have done well."

I felt myself overtaken by a simple yet overpowering feeling of warmth, a kind I could not liken to any other sensation because it was only under Natsuki's words, in her arms, that I could feel it. It was acknowledgement. It was love! It was that one sensation I craved more than anything else!

And so I, gratefully, tilted my head towards her hand, only smiling, saying nothing, because there was nothing more than nothing that I needed to say.

—From the corner of my eye I saw Bailian, leaning forward, her ears open to Natsuki's words flowing through the air, her eyes pinned on Natsuki's hand sifting through my hair. Yet at the same time I could see in the creases on her forehead that she did not understand the significance or the weight of Natsuki's actions. Not that long ago, I, too, would not have understood the meaning of such words or such gestures. But there are no words more important than these! Words of love, words of approval! If you do not hear these words, if in the face of suffering you do not have hope of hearing these words, then how can you live?

Once I had hoped that the Bai family would offer me these words. They would not. They never would. But Natsuki— she would. She always would, in that awkward verbiage of hers—

It is evident even to me that you are exceptionally skilled in the arts.

From that very first moment, on that very first day, she had always been willing to offer me these words!

If Bailian did not understand Natsuki's words, if she herself had never experienced the feeling of being acknowledged— then I, as her friend, could hope for nothing more than that one day she might.

"Bailian..."

I turned my gaze fully to her.

"I hope that one day you'll inherit the Long family, and restore it to its former glory. I know you can do it."

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That was the truth, the whole truth. And though it was nothing but the truth—

Bailian only turned her gaze off to the side, her brow furrowing slightly. No doubt I had done the same when Natsuki had first offered me such words.

"I see."

----------------------------------------

There was little of interest that occurred in the last smattering of days before my departure. I met Professor Jibeidi once more, and she gave me a recommendation letter for the Imperial University. In a better world, perhaps such things would not be necessary. But the words of others weigh just as much as— perhaps more than— one's family background in the meritocracy, and Professor Jibeidi was a senior alchemist of the Tower, someone who had received the direct approval of the Emperor. Her words were a gift I could not refuse.

Of course I also had to venture back to City Hall several times over, to finalize the details of our transfer of property. Before I had even left the city, several officials had come several times to the manor to take inventory and prepare for taking over management. Yet in all this bureaucratic drudgery I understood well that Sima Rui was— in one way or another— an "ally" of mine, and for that, I was grateful.

Bailian left the day after our meeting— earlier than originally planned— heading back for Anyang, the place I suppose she might call her home. I had no doubt that one day we would meet once again, in the Imperial Capital if not elsewhere. Perhaps that would be after she had settled her debts with the Long family. Or perhaps it would be before. Perhaps when we met again I would help her, or perhaps I would only congratulate her. That was yet far in the future.

And as for everyone else... as for what happened to the sect in the wake of so much death...

I did not care to find out. It did not matter to me anymore.

Thus was the end of my sojourn in the Phantom Orchid Sect, and by extension, in Kangtian.

I had come, I had stayed, and now I would leave.

One lifetime, one meeting.

Two lines travelling straight into the endless depths of the nether might intersect once, but never twice.

Kangtian was not the place I was born. It was not the place I would die. It was not my home, nor was it my destination. It was simply one stop on the road that I would make out of my life. I truly hated the time I had been forced to spend in this city, but all that meant was that I had to spend my future elsewhere.

My future—

it was in my own hands now.

It was freedom. For the first time in my life, I had freedom. A beautiful, weightless freedom, the kind that a crow must feel as it sweeps its black plumage over the sky.

And in that freedom, I had taken hold of a dream. My dream, that I would create a world where the powerless had the right to hold their heads high. I, myself, who was one of the powerless, who but for a short dream of a few months, had always been one of the powerless.

And my dream— it weighed down on me, not like a great load upon my shoulders, but rather like the weight of my own bones and muscles, a duty that I could not help but carry. Was this duty a burden? A burden? How could I call it a burden? My legs serve no purpose but to carry forward my body, so what purpose could I myself serve other than to carry out my dream? No, I was happy to feel its weight, pinning me down to reality like the force of gravity pins one down to the earth.

Freedom and duty. Weightlessness and ponderance. In the unification of these antitheses I had found a way to live. And it was all thanks to—

Xia-jie, my sister; Natsuki, my god.

Without her I would not have had the right to call myself human. Without her, I would not have had the confidence to raise myself from an ant into a person. I would have lived and died without even enough self-respect to lift my head and gaze upon the world.

She was my power. She was my justice. She was my humanity.

And thus, less than a week later, we departed Kangtian, travelling light. Two riding horses for myself and Xia-jie, and one additional pack horse. That was all we needed. In fact, it was all I wanted.

We stood outside of the east gate of the city, facing the rising sun and the Imperial Capital, verifying our bags one last time. And once we were satisfied—

"Shall we go?" I asked, running my hand through the horse's mane.

"Wherever you go, so shall I, for I am always by your side," Xia-jie answered.

Taking this characteristically enigmatic response as a yes, I mounted the horse— then turned around in the saddle, one last time, not to look upon the city I was leaving behind but to catch one last glance at Xia-jie's face.

There, hanging behind me, was only my own shadow.

I turned back and, with a smile, pressed my knees gently into the horse's sides.

And thus we went forwards, forwards, into the future yet to be drawn.