The black iron chain in the ginseng roots glinted in the dawn light—not menacing, just there, like an old scar finally seen.
Xiao sat beside it, the Stellar Soul Lantern resting in her lap, its blue flame steady. She didn't touch the chain. Didn't need to. The frost-cage she'd woven the night before still held it—clear, quiet, safe.
Chen knelt beside her.
"It's thinner," he said.
She nodded. "It's… tired."
Inside the house, a new sound filled the air: Lu Zhong's laughter.
Not the weak chuckle of recovery—but deep, warm, whole.
They found him in the courtyard, barefoot on the stones, guiding Yan through a slow, old guard stance—Mountain Root, the one he'd taught Chen as a boy. His movements were smooth. His breath, even.
"Look who's stealing my students," he said, spotting them.
Yan grinned. "He's better at explaining than you."
Lu Zhong clapped Chen on the shoulder. No tremor. No hesitation.
Then—a voice from the gate.
"Lu Chen!"
Zhao Wei stood there, Lan beside him. She wasn't just walking. She was running—light-footed, Qi flowing steady and bright beneath her skin.
She stopped before Xiao, breathless.
"It's gone," she said, eyes shining. "The heaviness. The… wrongness in my chest." She held out her wrist—no discoloration, no strain. "Elder Lin checked. I'm clear."
Xiao smiled. "Welcome back."
Zhao Wei bowed—deep, formal.
"My family swears the Blood Oath of Gratitude to the Lu House," he said, voice firm. "Not debt. Not service. Honor. While blood flows, the Zhao minor branch stands with yours."
No grand ceremony. Just truth, spoken in the light.
Chen didn't refuse.
He placed a hand on Zhao Wei's shoulder. "Then stand with us. Not for us."
A warmth bloomed in his chest.
The System chimed—soft, certain:
[GIFT RECORDED]
— Item: Acceptance (of oath, without condition)
— Recipient: Zhao Wei & Zhao minor branch
— Intent: Trust. Equality.
Return Ready.
🔸 [QUANTITY]
🔸 [QUALITY]
Quality.
✅ Return: Oathstone Shard
A fragment of ancient covenant stone. When held during a vow, ensures sincerity is felt by all present.
Note: Last seen in the First Giver's hand.
A smooth, warm stone—no bigger than a thumb—appeared in Chen's palm. Etched with a single symbol: ⌖.
He didn't keep it.
He gave it to Zhao Wei. "For your family's altar."
Zhao Wei's fingers closed around it. Tears welled—not of shame, but release.
"Thank you," he whispered.
That afternoon, a dust-covered figure climbed the path.
Bai Rong.
No Sect robes. Just his faded herbalist's tunic, satchel slung over his shoulder, eyes alight with exhaustion and triumph.
"I came as soon as I could," he said, breathless. "They wouldn't let me leave until I copied Fragment III."
He unrolled the scroll right there, on the courtyard stones.
No poetry this time.
Just a single line, written in tight, ancient script:
"The Heartseed is not a place. It is the echo of a final breath—held in silence at the world's edge."
Chen's pulse quickened.
Echo of a final breath.
Not power. Not a relic.
A choice, preserved.
Bai Rong pointed to the bottom—a sketch: a simple altar, a robed figure with back turned, hands raised. At the figure's feet, light flowed downward, into a cracked land.
"The Temple of the First Giver," Bai Rong whispered. "And the altar… it's not for sacrifice. It's for return."
Xiao leaned closer, Lantern's light spilling over the parchment.
As it did, the ink shimmered.
And in the sketch, the robed figure's shadow… shifted.
For a heartbeat, it looked like Chen.
Then it was still.
Bai Rong didn't see it.
But Chen did.
He took a breath.
"Thank you," he said, and gifted Bai Rong a cup of his mother's mint tea—warm, sweet, home.
[GIFT RECORDED]
— Item: Tea (effort: brewed with care)
— Recipient: Bai Rong
— Intent: Rest. Belonging.
Return: [QUANTITY] — 10,000 hours of focused clarity
Bai Rong's shoulders relaxed. His frantic energy stilled.
He smiled. "I could work for a week straight now."
"Don't," Chen said.
Dusk fell.
Chen walked to the ginseng lotus.
It glowed faintly, white and warm.
He knelt.
Gently parted the golden leaves.
At its heart—a seed.
No larger than a grain of rice.
Pulsing—slow, deep, alive.
He cupped it in his palm.
The System glowed:
[DAILY SIGN-IN AVAILABLE]
Streak: Day 13
Rewards:
🔸 1 × Spirit Stone (High)
🔸 Ginseng Seed (Primordial)
🔸 Herb: Sunpetal
Note: The first fruit of harmony.
He chose Ginseng Seed (Primordial).
A second seed appeared in his other hand—identical, warm, his.
He gave the first to Xiao.
"Plant it at the gate," he said. "Where everyone can see it grow."
She took it—Lantern flaring softly as her fingers closed around the seed.
Then Chen looked east.
The red star shone—steady, bright, waiting.
Not a threat.
A threshold.
That night, Chen stood on the roof.
Bai Rong joined him, sipping tea.
"The Sect will call you back soon," he said quietly. "You've been gone ten days."
Chen nodded.
He lifted his father's flute.
Played one note.
Far below, the new seed—planted at the gate—glowed faintly in the dark.
And high above, a shadow circled.
Rui.
Watching.
Waiting.
Ready.
The path home was ending.
The path forward was just beginning.