"An Ming, do you know why I summoned you?"
At the table, Jing Yuan lounged lazily opposite An Ming, who silently stared at his teacup. He no longer drank alcohol—Fu Xuan disliked it, so he'd abstained entirely.
"The Abundance's blood within me."
"Mm. Since you understand, this will be simpler." Over the years, Jing Yuan had grown familiar with An Ming—not just as Yingguang's quasi-disciple, but as someone who echoed a shadow of an old friend.
For swordsmen, a shattered sword heart could never be reforged.
Jing Yuan's master had once become the sword itself, walking a different path. He couldn't guide An Ming—each person's journey diverged.
Jingtian had often mentioned the sealed golden blood within An Ming, a blessing from Abundance that had lain dormant—until the Third Abundance War.
No mortal, however gifted, should have survived the Aeon's strike. Yet An Ming alone remained where thousands perished.
The Alliance swiftly uncovered his secret. Yuque's classified reports—Jingtian's earliest observations—sparked fierce debate. Golden blood meant one thing: an Emanator of Yaoshi. Death was demanded.
But Yingguang and Jing Yuan intervened. "Must we fear our shadows?" Jing Yuan argued. "He slew tens of thousands of Abundance's followers. Is that a servant of the Plague Author?"
Yingguang was blunter: "The Alliance does not execute Cloud Knights unless they succumb to Mara." He nearly added, "To harm him is to oppose Yuque"—Jingtian's final charge—but held his tongue.
The Alliance Marshal's decree arrived.
Today, Jing Yuan delivered the verdict.
"An Ming of Yuque's Cloud Knights, your sentence is…"
"Perpetual Confinement."
Jing Yuan studied him. "Nothing to say?"
An Ming smiled faintly. "No."
He stared at his tea, chest tight. Would wine have been better?
Jing Yuan patted his shoulder and left.
Outside, drizzle glazed the pines.
[Age 19. The Alliance's final judgment: An Ming is confined indefinitely to Yuque, guarded by Cloud Knights.]
An Ming stood under the eaves, watching raindrops ripple puddles.
"Does it weigh on you?"
He turned. A woman lifted an oil-paper umbrella, its ink-dark edge veiling her face, revealing only coral lips. Black hair streaked with pink—she stood beside him, yet seemed part of the rain itself.
"Loneliness, grief, pain… But first, ask here." Her finger tapped his chest.
"My heart?"
"No. Your sword heart."
She offered the umbrella. Beneath it, eyes like springwater met his—pools reflecting all truths.
An Ming couldn't define her. Her jade-green robe seemed to exist beyond this world.
Taking the umbrella felt like awakening from a dream. When he blinked, she was gone.
"Reforge the sword heart."
"Only then can fate be severed."
Her words lingered. Was the Alliance's punishment not condemnation, but protection? A way to silence his executioners while sparing him. A necessary lie—for the Alliance could never tolerate an Abundance Emanator roaming free.
An Ming guessed her identity. Her power is unfathomable.
The umbrella's handle held residual warmth. As the rain slowed, he stepped into the clearing sky.
Luofu
"Absurd!"
"This Diviner will demand justice from the Alliance!"
Fu Xuan rarely lost composure. Had An Ming not gripped her wrist, the new Master Diviner would have stormed the Council.
"Xuan'er-jie, I'm unharmed."
"But this injustice…" She fought tears. It's wrong. Everyone knows—yet they pretend blindness!
She'd abandon her title, flee the Alliance with him—if not for the Hunt's unrelenting pursuit. A General might hunt them down.
Fu Xuan hated her helplessness. She couldn't protect him.
"Don't look so sorrowful." An Ming brushed a tear from her cheek. "We'll meet again."
"...Again?"
She clung to his sleeve, strength gone—a girl powerless against fate.
If I could see further…
If my divinations were sharper…
Here, she vowed: No matter the cost—never again.