The crash of the collapsing gate startled An Ming. Instinctively, he reached for the sword beside the table, wondering if assassins had come.
But when he saw the silhouette at the ruined entrance—a figure he hadn't glimpsed in years—his heart froze.
"Shijie…?"
Was this a dream?
An Ming half-considered slamming his head against the tree to test reality. How could Fu Xuan appear so suddenly?
"What… did you call me?"
"Shijie?"
A glacial chill emanated from Fu Xuan's gaze. The third eye on her forehead, unseen in his memories, glowed with an eerie light.
The Fu Xuan before him had changed. Gone was the timid junior disciple. Here stood the Seer of the Luofu, her aura sharpened by authority and latent power.
"Xuan'er."
"Mhm."
Fu Xuan's reply was soft, her eyes fixed on him like he might vanish.
Four years—a blink for long-life species—yet it had felt like an aeon. A kalpa of absence.
An Ming returned with tea, catching the faint scent of alcohol on her lips. "You drank?"
"No…" The blush creeping up her jade-like neck betrayed her. Her sakura-pink eyes lowered. "You… haven't changed."
But he had. His bearing was steadier, his frame taller. To Fu Xuan, though, he remained her An Ming.
"Do you hate me?"
Her palms pressed lightly against his chest. "I… lacked the courage to come. Yet I thought of you every day."
The longing had nearly shattered her. She'd watch passing Cloud Knights, hoping to spot him. Brew tea clumsily, only to recall his patient guidance. Every memory a blade.
"Xuan'er."
An Ming knelt to meet her tear-streaked eyes. The third eye's coldness had melted into vulnerability.
"I don't hate you."
"I love you."
He brushed her tears away, heart aching. "I'll always wait here. Come whenever you wish."
Fu Xuan sniffled. "Why… are you so kind to me?"
"Because it's you."
A sob escaped her. She clung to him, weeping like a child. True intimacy wasn't kisses or embraces—it was trusting another with your tears.
The peach tree bloomed unchanged. As did they.
Some bonds deepen with time, like aged wine. Beneath the petals, they relived simpler days—yet their relationship had long transcended "shijie" and "shidi."
"An Ming," Fu Xuan murmured against his shoulder, "I can't exist without you."
If fate's path excluded him, it wasn't her fate.
"Ever heard of 'destiny'?"
Her crystalline eyes sparkled.
An Ming pondered. "Like Master's prophecies?"
"Perhaps." She smiled. "I am your destiny."
Before him, she'd resigned herself to divination's chains. Now? Love defied even heaven's decree.
"You're my fate."
Her everything.
The one worth defying cosmos to hold.
This was true destiny.
Fu Xuan closed her eyes, tilting her face upward. Instead of a kiss, warmth flooded her senses—sweet tea, his signature brew.
"Blockhead! Clueless jerk! Worst An Ming ever…!" She laughed through tears, draining the cup. "More."
"As much as you want."
He ruffled her hair. "Rest if you're dizzy. Alcohol's no good."
She gripped his sleeve. "No."
Not a second would she waste.
"Lady Seer—"
"Mmmph!" She pouted. "It's Xuan'er-jie!"
Becoming Seer was merely to glimpse their future.
"Alright, Xuan'er-jie." An Ming scooped her up bridal-style. "Time to rest."
A fleeting kiss grazed her lips.
Fu Xuan looped her arms around his neck, satisfied. "Stay with me."
"Always."
He laid her on the bed, brushing hair from her feverish forehead. How much had she drunk for courage?
Yet seeing her again filled him with quiet joy.
When he returned with tea, she'd already fallen asleep, clinging to the quilt. A peaceful smile played on her lips.
"Xuan'er?"
No response. He settled beside her, gently pinching her cheek.
"Don't go…" she mumbled, seizing his arm mid-dream.
"I won't."
He smoothed her disheveled hair, watching her sleep.
No force could pry him away—not anger, nor fists, nor fate.
Outside, peach blossoms blazed brighter than ever.
Pink as Fu Xuan's flushed cheeks.