Age 15 — Late Autumn
The courtyard bench became their place.
Lin Yue talked. Gu Chen listened. That was the rhythm. She told him about her family—her mother who worried too much, her father who worked too much, her younger brother who was "absolutely insufferable but also kind of cute."
He told her nothing.
She did not push.
"Why don't you ever talk about yourself?" she asked one afternoon, not accusatory, just curious.
He considered the question. Considered lying. Considered silence.
"Nothing to tell," he said.
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded, as if he had answered something she already knew.
"Okay. Then I'll talk enough for both of us."
She did.
---
Age 15 — First Snow
It snowed for the first time that year. Fat flakes drifting down, covering the courtyard in white.
Lin Yue caught one on her tongue. Laughed. Grabbed his hand.
"Come on!"
She pulled him into the open, spinning, snow catching in her hair. He stood there, letting himself be moved, not knowing what to do with his hands, his face, the feeling in his chest.
She stopped spinning. Looked at him. Still holding his hand.
"You're smiling," she said.
He was not. But something in his face had shifted. A fraction. A hair.
She smiled back.
"Let's get hot chocolate."
---
Age 16 — Early Spring
The fountain had been fixed. Water trickled. Birds bathed at the edges.
Lin Yue was nervous.
He could tell. She was talking faster than usual, bouncing between subjects, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Lin Yue."
She stopped.
"What's wrong?"
She took a breath. Looked at him. Really looked.
"I like you."
The words sat between them.
He said nothing.
"I mean—I really like you. I know you're quiet and weird and you never talk about yourself, but I don't care. I just... I want to be with you."
He stared at her.
The voices exploded.
Say yes!
It's a trap. She'll leave. They always leave.
Maybe not. Maybe this time—
There is no "this time." There's only now and then gone.
Something in his chest pulsed. Warm. Alive.
"Why?" he asked.
She blinked. "Why what?"
"Why me?"
She stepped closer. "Because you're real. Everyone else is pretending. They pretend to care, pretend to listen, pretend to be your friend. You don't. You're just... you. And that's enough."
He did not understand. But the warmth in his chest did not fade.
"Okay," he said.
Her face broke into a smile. "Okay? Okay as in...?"
"Okay."
She laughed—bright, relieved, happy. "You're impossible, you know that?"
He did not know what that meant either.
But when she took his hand, he did not pull away.
---
Age 16 — Spring to Summer
They were together.
She walked him home after school. He sat with her at lunch. They shared headphones in the library, listening to music he did not know and she loved.
He learned things.
Her favorite color was blue. "Like the sky in summer. Not too bright, not too dark."
Her dream was to be a doctor. "My grandmother died when I was little. No one could help her. I want to help people so that doesn't happen."
Her fear was that she was not good enough. "What if I try and try and still fail? What if I'm just... average?"
He listened.
He did not know what to say. He had never learned how to comfort. But he stayed. That was something.
She noticed.
"You're really bad at talking," she said one day.
"Yes."
She laughed. "That's okay. I talk enough for both of us."
She never pushed about his past. The other foster kids, the homes, the abandonments—she sensed it, maybe, the wall he had built. But she did not try to knock it down. She just sat beside it.
She stayed. Every day. She stayed.
For now.
But even the Beggar's voice was quieter.
For the first time in sixteen years, Gu Chen started to believe.
Maybe not everyone leaves.
Maybe he was not cursed.
He stopped the thought before it finished. Hoping was dangerous. He knew that.
But when she smiled at him across the courtyard, he could not help it.
He hoped.
---
The neighbor
Old Mrs. Chen from across the street watched everything from behind her curtains. She saw them walking home together. Saw them sitting in the courtyard. Saw the way Lin Yue looked at him.
She mentioned it to Lin Yue's mother. Casually.
"Your daughter's got a boyfriend, I think. That quiet boy. The foster one."
Lin Yue's mother smiled and said nothing.
That night, she asked.
"Yueyue. Is there a boy?"
Lin Yue hesitated. Then: "Yes. His name is Gu Chen."
"What's his family?"
"He doesn't have one. He's in foster care."
The air changed.
---
The next day
Lin Yue's father came home early. He sat at the kitchen table, face hard.
"Sit down, Yueyue."
She sat.
"Tell us about this boy."
She told them. Good student. Quiet. Kind. Never caused trouble. Made her laugh, in his own way.
"Foster care," her mother said. "No family. No future."
"That's not fair. He's smart. He could be anything."
"Could be. Or could be nothing. Foster kids have a high dropout rate. Higher crime rate. You know the statistics."
"He's not a statistic. He's Gu Chen."
Her father leaned forward. "Yueyue, we're not saying this to hurt you. We're saying this because we love you. You have a future. College. Medical school. A good life. This boy—he could drag you down. Not because he's bad. Because he has nothing. And nothing pulls everything down with it."
She stared at them.
"You don't even know him."
"We know enough."
---
That night, she cried.
Not loud. Quietly, into her pillow, so her parents would not hear. She cried because she knew them. Knew they were not monsters. Knew they genuinely believed they were protecting her.
And she knew they would never change their minds.
---
The next morning
She found Gu Chen at the gates.
He looked at her. Saw her eyes—red, puffy.
"What happened?"
She tried to smile. Failed. "My parents. They found out."
He was silent for a moment. Then: "What did they say?"
"That I can't see you anymore."
He nodded. Slowly. As if he had been expecting this his whole life.
"Gu Chen—"
"It's okay."
"It's not okay. I'm going to talk to them again. Make them understand."
"They won't."
"How do you know?"
He looked at her. Flat. Empty. But underneath, something breaking.
"Because they're parents. They want what's best for you. And I'm not it."
---
Three days later
Lin Yue fought.
Really fought. Yelling. Crying. Begging. Locking herself in her room. Threatening to run away.
Nothing worked.
Her parents were immovable. Kind, but immovable. "We're doing this for you. Someday you'll thank us."
She would never thank them.
On the third day, they delivered the ultimatum.
"End it, or we'll end it for you. We'll transfer you to another school. We'll make sure he never gets near you again."
She knew they meant it.
That night, she called him.
"Gu Chen."
"Lin Yue."
"We need to talk. Tomorrow. Behind the school."
A pause. Then: "Okay."
---
The next day — afternoon — rain
She got there first.
The spot behind the school—hidden by trees, away from the main building. Their spot. Where they had sat a hundred times.
Now she stood in the rain, already soaked, already crying.
He came.
Walked slowly. Stopped a few feet away. The rain ran down his face, but she could not tell if he was crying. She never could.
"Gu Chen—"
"Your parents."
She nodded. "They said if I don't end it, they'll transfer me. They'll make sure you can't... they'll ruin you."
"I don't care about ruin."
"I do. I can't watch you get hurt because of me."
"You're hurting me now."
She broke. Sobs tore out of her, loud and ugly. "I know. I know. But this is the only way they'll leave you alone."
He looked at her. Really looked. Memorized her face—the rain on her cheeks, the red in her eyes, the way her lips trembled when she tried to speak.
"If I was stronger, would you stay?"
She did not understand. "What?"
"Nothing."
She stepped forward. Closed the distance. Pressed her forehead to his chest. He did not move.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you, and I'm so sorry."
He said nothing.
She lifted her head. Kissed him.
Rain and tears and a goodbye that tasted like both.
Then she walked away.
He stood there.
The rain fell.
Hours passed.
He did not move.
---
Night
The school was dark. The courtyard was empty. The rain had stopped, leaving everything wet and gleaming under the streetlights.
Gu Chen still stood there.
A security guard found him at midnight.
"Kid? Hey, kid. You okay?"
No answer.
"Come on. Let's get you inside."
The guard touched his shoulder. Gu Chen flinched—just once, just slightly—and then followed.
Silent. Empty.
They sat him in the guard station. Gave him a blanket. Called someone.
Gu Chen stared at the wall.
Inside, something was happening.
---
The shelter — later that night
They found his foster parents. Picked him up. Asked questions he did not answer.
In his room, he sat on the bed. Still wet. Still staring.
The voices screamed.
She left! She left she left she left—
Told you. Told you they all leave.
KILL THEM. KILL THE PARENTS. KILL THE SCHOOL. KILL EVERYONE WHO MADE HER GO.
Peace. Forgiveness...
SHE LEFT!
Gu Chen closed his eyes.
---
A battlefield. Mud and blood and the smell of death.
A young man—barely twenty—lay in the muck, his legs twisted, his guts spilling through his fingers. He was not screaming. He was past screaming.
He stared at the gray sky and whispered: "She said she'd wait."
No one came.
The battle moved on. The sounds faded. The cold set in.
"She said she'd wait," he whispered again. "She promised."
Silence.
His hand fell.
The sky stayed gray.
---
Gu Chen's eyes snapped open.
His body burned.
Not fever—power. Raw, uncontrollable, flooding through him like fire through dry grass. His meridians screamed. His dantian convulsed. Something was forming inside him, something that should not exist—
A golden core.
It spun to life in his chest, blazing, perfect—
And cracked.
A fissure ran through it, dark and jagged. It would never heal. It would never be whole. It would pulse and ache and remind him forever of this moment, this pain, this girl who chose to leave.
Core Formation.
He was Core Formation at sixteen years old. Impossible. Unheard of.
He did not care.
The Soldier's voice was loudest now, clear and brutal.
Love is weakness. Forget her. Forget them all. The only thing that matters is strength. Strength so no one can make you hurt again.
The Orphan wept.
The Beggar laughed, bitter and broken.
The Monk said nothing.
Gu Chen lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
He did not sleep for three days.
---
Three days later
He left the house.
His foster parents—the current ones, a couple who barely noticed him—did not ask where he was going. They had learned not to ask.
He walked.
No destination. Just movement. One foot in front of the other, through streets he did not see, past people who did not exist.
He ended up in a part of the city he did not recognize. Old buildings. Dead trees. A street that seemed to have no purpose.
She was there.
Su Wan.
Standing under a dying tree, watching him. Waiting.
He stopped.
"You," he said.
"Me."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who should have been there. But wasn't."
He stared at her. Something stirred in his chest—not the voices, something older. Something that recognized her, even if he did not.
"You know me."
"I've always known you."
"Then why didn't you stop them? The Wangs? Lin Yue? Any of it?"
She was silent for a long moment. Her hand pressed against the tree. The bark cracked.
"Because if I stop them, you never become what you need to become."
"What I need to become?"
She stepped closer. Reached out. Her hand hovered near his cheek—close, but not touching.
"You'll understand. At the end."
"The end of what?"
"Of the journey. Of the abandonments." Her eyes were ancient. Broken. Beautiful in a way that hurt. "You've been abandoned three times now. Six more to go."
"Six more?"
"Six more." She lowered her hand. "And then you'll have to choose."
"Choose what?"
But she was already stepping back. Already fading.
"Wait—"
"I can't stay. Not yet. But I'm watching. I've always been watching."
"Who ARE you?"
She looked at him one last time. And for a moment—just a moment—her face was not ancient or broken. It was young. Hopeful. The face of someone who loved him, once, a long time ago.
"Someone who's sorry," she whispered. "Someone who's very, very sorry."
She vanished.
Gu Chen stood alone on the empty street, staring at where she had been.
For the first time in sixteen years, he did not feel empty.
He felt angry.
---
END OF CHAPTER 4