The evening was winding down as the students continued to showcase their skills. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd when Wei Jun, known for his rare Heaven-grade metal elemental spiritual root, stepped forward. But he carried himself with a quiet humility that made even the haughtiest guests soften their expressions. Holding a small clay instrument in his hands, he looked out at the crowd, his voice gentle but clear.
“I won’t be showing any combat techniques today,” he began, his tone sincere and calm. “Instead, I’ll play a song—one my mother taught me. It’s the only one I know, but I hope it brings you joy.”
In his hands was a xun, an ancient, ocarina-like instrument crafted from clay, with an unassuming beauty that contrasted sharply with the grandeur of swords and weapon techniques on display earlier. Its earthy texture seemed to resonate with something deep within Wei Jun, a connection he wore openly on his face as he closed his eyes and lifted it to his lips.
The crowd fell silent, curiosity piqued by the unusual choice. Wuji leaned forward, his attention drawn by the sincerity in Wei Jun's expression.
A single breath filled the instrument, and the first notes floated into the air. The melody began softly, a lilting, gentle sound that wove through the crowd like a breeze over rippling water. Each note carried a warmth and innocence, an intimacy that felt deeply personal. It wasn’t the sound of a practiced performance, but something much closer—a glimpse into Wei Jun’s heart.
The song was a cheerful tune, light and bouncy, and as it continued, smiles spread through the crowd. The audience swayed gently, drawn in by the purity of the melody. Even Wu Lin, the arrogant disciple of Elder Di, found himself tapping his foot along to the rhythm, caught up in the simple joy of the music. The xun's haunting tone, rich and resonant, seemed to carry the essence of something timeless and true. The music wove around the listeners, lifting them as if they were leaves floating on a gentle stream.
But for Wuji, it evoked something deeper. As he listened, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia washed over him. He was no longer Wuji, the disciple in a foreign world, but Amar—the boy who had once known a life so different, so distant. The melody unfurled memories that had long lain dormant. He saw his mother’s gentle smile, felt his father’s warm embrace, and remembered evenings filled with laughter and love.
For a moment, he was a child again, sitting in the comfort of his family’s presence, safe and cherished. His heart ached with a quiet longing, a reminder of the people he had lost but would never forget. He felt the pang of longing, but it wasn’t sorrowful. Rather, it was a gentle reminder, a thread of connection to the world he had left behind.
As Wei Jun played the final notes, they hung in the air, delicate and bright, like the last rays of sunlight at dusk. The crowd erupted in applause, a heartfelt reaction to the pure, sincere performance that had touched each of them. Even the sternest of the elders nodded in silent appreciation, moved by the young man’s humility and grace.
Wuji joined the applause, his face softened with a wistful smile. He clapped slowly, savoring the lingering warmth of the melody. Quietly, he whispered to himself, "Thank you, Brother Jun… for the memories."
With that, the evening's showcase continued, with other students displaying their talents. One disciple performed a striking sword dance, while another demonstrated a remarkable display of calligraphy, their brush moving so fluidly it seemed almost like magic. The crowd enjoyed every moment, their spirits lifted by the talents and sincerity of those around them.
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As the banquet progressed, the evening mellowed into a warm, communal atmosphere. The banquet tables were brought out, laden with a feast that seemed to glow under the lantern lights. Plates were filled with fragrant rice, steamed buns, sweet and sour dishes, and an array of roasted meats and vegetables. Laughter and chatter echoed across the hall as everyone indulged in the feast.
Wuji took his time with the food, savoring each bite. It was a reminder of the simple pleasures that connected people, no matter their origins. The warmth of the company, the sound of friendly voices, and the taste of good food—all of it grounded him in the present moment. It was a rare respite in a world where power and ambition often drove people to forget such joys.
As the banquet drew to a close, Wuji rose to bid farewell to his new acquaintances. He exchanged respectful bows and warm words with many in attendance, especially Han Bao, who had invited him to the event, as well as Wei Jun, Zhao Shan, and Qin Yulan.
Han Bao approached him with a grin, his eyes shining with genuine warmth. “Brother Wuji, I’m glad you could join us tonight,” he said, clapping Wuji on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
Wuji returned the smile. “Thank you for inviting me, Brother Han. It’s a night I won’t forget.”
Han Bao gestured towards the front courtyard, where a carriage awaited. “I’ve prepared a carriage to take you back to your inn. You must be tired after tonight’s excitement.”
Wuji nodded, grateful for the gesture. “You’re too kind, Brother Han. Thank you for everything.”
With a final wave and a respectful bow to the others, Wuji made his way to the carriage, feeling a quiet contentment settle over him. The gentle sway of the carriage on the road back to the inn allowed him to reflect on the evening’s events.
Upon reaching the inn, Wuji felt a lingering warmth in his chest, a blend of satisfaction and nostalgia. The evening had offered him more than he’d anticipated—a sense of camaraderie, memories of family, and the thrill of new challenges. He knew that his journey was only beginning, but tonight had reminded him of the joys and connections that would guide him along the way.
In his room, Wuji changed out of his banquet attire, folding the white robe with care before placing it aside. He stretched, feeling the pleasant weariness that came after a fulfilling day. His thoughts drifted back to Wei Jun’s song, and once again, memories of his past life flickered in his mind like stars in the night sky.
As he lay on his bed, he closed his eyes, allowing the memories to fade gently. He smiled, murmuring softly to himself, "Thank you… for everything."
***
In the boundless void, a broken whisper drifted through the darkness, barely audible.
“A… Amar... w...wake... up… Am...ar...”
Each syllable seemed forced, dragged out, as if spoken by someone struggling against immense weight, their voice cracking and stuttering.
Wuji’s eyes opened, yet he found himself adrift in an endless, empty space. Shadows stretched beyond sight, smothering everything in stillness. The voice trembled back into the silence, but this time, it sounded strained, as though each word were being torn from a place of pain.
“R-r...remember...”
The single word was like a plea, fragmented and fading, yet somehow it surrounded him, pressing in from every direction. More words came, disjointed and fractured, slipping from the voice’s grip.
“...Se....ven..."
"la...last…”
Compelled by a strange urgency, Wuji turned—and in the depths of the darkness, a whirlpool of light appeared, vast and impossibly distant, yet also close enough to reach. It swirled in silence, pulling at him with an ancient familiarity. He took a step forward, yearning to touch it, but the distance seemed to stretch, as if infinity itself lay between him and the light.
Wuji raised his hand, struggling against an unseen force that seemed to hold him back, his fingers just shy of reaching the whirlpool’s edge. But before he could touch it, everything plunged back into darkness. The voice faded, leaving only the hollow echo of its struggle—a fragile connection, slipping away, like something that desperately needed to be known but was bound by forces too great to break.