She took his hand.

Qigang’s eyes were dry, but he squeezed her hand gently, and for some time, they stood on the silent hilltop and watched the cherry blossoms fall.

—❈—

The sun sinks beneath the horizon, taking with it its dazzling orange lighting and the ambience of the hilltop.

In the sunset, the hilltop had felt soulful… bittersweet somehow, but now, in the dark, it’s just cold and depressing.

I sigh. Then again, death is always depressing. It’s why I’m always thankful that my experience with it has been limited.

Meng Yi squeezes my hand consolingly, once again accurately gauging my mood.

I look at her, this young woman who dedicates her life to me, despite the history she has with the man who had this face before me.

I swear, if compartmentalization were an Olympic sport, Meng Yi would be its Simone Biles, because the level of compartmentalization that it must take to manage… all this. It must be insane.

In her shoes, I’m quite certain that I would manage nowhere near as well.

“Is there something on my face, Young Master?” Meng Yi teases, and I realise I’ve been staring at her for too long.

“Right, sorry,” I say awkwardly.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” she says.

We settle into silence once again, but that only reminds me of why we’re here.

“In my old world,” I say, “people made up all sorts of afterlives to make themselves feel better about death. A kingdom with streets of gold, a field of reeds, spirits going up to the sky to become stars. Anything, just to help soothe ourselves that we can see our loved ones again one day.”

“You don’t believe they do?” Meng Yi asks, tone merely curious without any hint of judgement.

“I didn’t,” I say, emphasis clear on the second word.

“What changed?” Meng Yi asked.

“My soul got shunted across dimensions into the body of a cultivator,” I say flatly. “Hard to not believe in souls after that.”

“Fair enough,” Meng Yi allows. “Though that isn’t proof that any of those places exist. Souls or not, a kingdom with streets of gold sounds farfetched.”

“It is a bit, isn’t it?” I say, cracking a smile.

“More than a bit, Young Master Xian. A sunny day in such a kingdom would be a nightmare for the eyes.”

I snort at that.

A gust of wind blows through, and while to me it feels no cooler than room temperature, Meng Yi shivers a bit.

“You’re cold,” I say.

“Just a little,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

I reach my left arm across her shoulders.

“May I?” I ask, and after I get her answering nod, I wrap the arm around her and pull her into my side.

Reaching for the technique that had simply just been there since I’d woken up in Sprouting phase, I activate it, seeking to use its warmth only.

Glory of The Sun.

The sun within my chest flares, and warm qi pours gently from me at my command.

Meng Yi’s breath catches, then, with a slow exhale, she snuggles deeper into me, the difference in our heights putting the crown of her head at just below my shoulder.

“Is this the technique you grew the plants with?” she asks, and I hum an affirmative.

“Hmm, growing trees and keeping women warm, a versatile technique you have there, Young Master.”

I laugh, trying not to think too deeply about her words.

Glory of The Sun could grow trees and keep women warm, yes, but by Heaven it could also bring so much death.

With the same words I could bring life or terrifying destruction.

That feels wrong somehow.

Eager to distract myself from the turn my thoughts have taken, but mind still full of the topic of death, I ask Meng Yi, “Have you ever lost anyone?”

It takes Meng Yi a moment to answer. Long enough that I’ve already begun to regret the question. Eventually, she says, “My father died some years ago.”

Crap.

“I’m sorry,” I say, already pulling away from her. “I shouldn’t have—”

Meng Yi grabs my arm, keeping me in place, and her stuck to my side. “It’s okay,” she says. “You didn’t know.”

I settle down, accepting her words. “I’m sorry all the same,” I say. “For your loss, if nothing else.”

“It was a long time ago,” Meng Yi says softly.

“Even so,” I say. “Besides, people tell me that the loss of a loved one never gets easier.”

Meng Yi frowns thoughtfully at that, then she shakes her head. “It does. Not easy. Never that. But it does get easier.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“That’s a good thing,” I say. “Hopeful.”

“I suppose it is,” Meng Yi agrees.

I look back to the cherry tree, grown in seconds and blooming at a time of year in which it absolutely should not be.

“Maybe you’ll meet him again one day,” I say.

Rebirth, an afterlife, the possibilities are endless in such a world.

To my surprise though, Meng Yi shakes her head. “I hope there is nothing after death,” she says. “I hope when we die our souls break into qi and merge with the universe.”

“Why?” I wonder. People who’ve lost loved ones are usually the most zealous about the afterlife.

“Because life doesn’t always go well, Young Master Xian. Awareness after death means having to watch your loved ones suffer without even being able to hold them. That sounds like torture to me,” she says.

My eyes widen at her words, and I remember the reason why I now have a new bed.

Imagine having to watch someone I love go through that, unable to help. Unable even to be heard or seen.

I would run mad.

“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing her soothingly while paradoxically feeling the urge to step away from her.

Xiuying was right. How can she bear to be around me?

The Simone Biles of compartmentalization indeed.

“Don’t be sorry,” Meng Yi says. “Ironically, it was one of the few things that Xian Qigang and I agreed on.”

“He felt the same?”

She nods. “‘Funerals are for the living,’ he told me once. ‘The dead don’t care.’”

Yes, that sounds like something that prick would say. Probably after being invited to a relative’s funeral too.

By Heaven, I hate him.

I mean, I had before, but ever since my meeting with The Sun Emperor, the very thought of him makes me feel a strong urge to punch something really fucking hard.

Meng Yi looks up at me. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

How does she even know I’m upset? I wonder for a moment before discarding the thought.

“Remember when I told you and Xiuying about my meeting with The Sun Emperor?” I ask and wait for her answering nod to continue. “I didn’t tell you everything.”

“I assumed as much,” Meng Yi says. “It relates to your unique circumstances, I’m guessing.”

I nod. “It’s why The Sun Emperor hates me. He called me a liar and a worm. He said Xian Qigang is a better man than I’ll ever be.”

Meng Yi makes a thoughtful sound. “He’s an idiot,” she declares, then turns back around to watch the tree.

I blink at her. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Meng Yi says.

I laugh. “Okay, then,” I say.

Hear that, Sun Emperor? Meng Yi thinks you’re an idiot.

I can almost picture the jerk’s perfectly manicured eyebrows knitting in annoyance at that.

We don’t stay on the hilltop for much longer, it’s late and quite a walk back to the manor.

Silver Springs turns out to have a bit of a nightlife, although this could only be because it’s still early in the evening. Open shops, pedestrians on the street, even the odd rickshaw.

Oddly enough, the rickshaws are usually ridden by cultivators, and I find myself wondering why people who could probably tag Captain America in a race need to offload their walking to someone else.

Well, whatever, at least they’re keeping the rickshaw pullers in business.

On the far side of the street, a little girl with a bowl full of oranges on her head rushes across the road right as one of these rickshaw pullers comes barrelling down the street.

The man pulling the rickshaw stops in time, screeching to a halt bare inches from slamming into the girl. And the girl, shocked, shrieks and drops her bowl of oranges.

It’s a bit of scare, but besides the oranges, no one seems to be hurt.

The wave of beast rank qi that spills from the carriage of the rickshaw promises to change all of that.

Across the street, I feel the mood change, some people speeding up while the looky-loos slow and halt to watch the altercation.

The rickshaw puller meanwhile pales, as does the girl, and they watch, still like mice in the gaze of a cat, as the cultivator in the rickshaw steps down.

The cultivator is in the Sprouting phase, second layer, and he’s dressed in a beautiful white outfit.

It must have been immaculate once, but now, there’s a garish, greenish stain all down the front. That, along with the traces of liquid on his chin tell the story clear as day. Mr. Cultivator must have been having a drink when the rickshaw stopped suddenly.

Oof. I actually feel bad for him. That outfit looks nice.

Bad as I feel for him though, his reaction is sending up warning signs in my head.

The amount, and intensity, of the qi he’s pouring is, while insignificant to me, dealing serious damage to the rickshaw puller and the little girl, the clear targets of the cultivator’s ire.

The girl looks like she would cry if she could choke out the sob through a throat constricted by whatever that qi is doing to her.

Probably just plain fear.

Since my advancement to Sprouting phase, I’ve noticed that I can now also sense the flavour of a cultivator’s qi, and this guy’s is Hawk.

Hawks are predators, which means that girl and the rickshaw puller must feel like mice being stared down by certain death right now.

That girl looks no older than ten.

What kind of asshole releases killing intent on a preteen!?

And, why, because she made you pour a drink on yourself? Seriously?

“Hey!” I call out into the silent street, and all eyes turn to me.

Mr. Cultivator looks to me too, expression one of disbelief, like he can’t actually believe I’m talking to him.

“Yeah, you, the jerk in white picking on a kid. Shame on you,” I call.

Mr. Cultivator’s eyes flash, and the next words he says are the last ones I ever expected.

“You dare!?” he screams at the top of his lungs.

I blink, caught flatfooted by the remark, then I react in the only way that someone in my situation possibly could to it.

I burst out laughing.

“Dude, are you serious, right now?” I ask, trying, and failing, to restrain my giggles. “How cliché can you be?”

As anyone who knows anything about cultivators could predict, Mr. Cultivator does not like being laughed at.

He doesn’t scream anymore though, instead his expression shifts to one of quiet fury, and he walks across the street to me, raises his hand, and slaps me in the face hard enough to probably shatter concrete.

Too bad for him then that my face is a whole lot stronger than concrete.

I feel the bones of Mr. Cultivator’s hand shatter against my face, and I watch in near slow motion as his expression goes from quiet fury to surprise, then finally to very loud agony.

I watch the man cradle his broken hand in pain and growing fear.

“Did you seriously not even bother to check whether you’re stronger than me before attacking?” I ask him. “How dumb can you be?”

Ever helpful, my Manager speaks up from behind me. “He couldn’t, Young Master. He’s beast rank, their qi sense lacks the finesse that yours does.”

“Oh,” I say, my evaluation of the whimpering cultivator climbing up half a centimetre. “But even so, shouldn’t he know the faces of the dangerous people where he lives? That’s just careless.”

“I don’t think he’s from here, Young Master Xian,” Meng Yi says, then looks to the kneeling cultivator. “Are you?”

Mr. Cultivator shakes his head quickly. “N-no,” he says. “I’m from Verdant Plains. To the east. I came here yesterday. For The Auction.”

“Oh. I see. Um… well, welcome to Silver Springs. I assure you most of the people here are lot nicer than I was to you… But, then again, it was your fault for being mean to a kid so…”

“Yes, of course, Young Master. I understand. I apologize. I deserve to have my hand broken ten times over for daring to raise my hand against you,” Mr. Cultivator says desperately, tears and snot pouring down his face as he bows repeatedly.

Great, now I feel like a jerk. Same with those hangers-on of Old Qigang’s. I got angry, they hit the dirt, and then I got upset and scared by the ease with which I’d subdued them.

This kind of power doesn’t suit me. I don’t want it, and I never want to need it.

“I could heal you if you want,” I offer to the bowing man, but he immediately slams his head to the ground again.

“No, I deserve these wounds, Young Master. Please, let this be my punishment. Please. Forgive me. Please.”

“You’re forgiven,” I say. “It’s fine. You can go.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Bowing and scrapping and thanking, Mr. Cultivator rushes down the street, wounded hand cradled gingerly.

I watch until he disappears down a bend in the street, then I notice all the eyes now watching me, which makes them immediately find other things to focus on.

I consider walking across the street to check on the girl and rickshaw puller, but just at my gaze alone, they throw themselves to their knees, heads pressed to the floor.

I feel my stomach twist uncomfortably, then I turn and walk away.

I’ve done enough.

Meng Yi snuggles into my side as we walk, and I wrap my arm around her, enjoying her warmth as much as she enjoys mine.