When peach blossoms fell, the past chased after Fu Xuan.
Again.
Emerald vines tried to drag her into an endless abyss. A body cloaked in ginkgo leaves stared at her with hollow eyes.
"I'm sorry…"
Fu Xuan murmured. If given another chance, she'd accept even an immortal husk—anything to escape this bone-deep agony.
Longing was the cruelest torture, especially for the dead.
The sweeter the memory, the sharper the blade. It magnified pain endlessly, carving scars that never healed.
Fu Xuan feared forgetting.
A fate worse than death. She'd rather die than lose her memories of Anming.
Gasping, she jolted awake from the nightmare. Cold moonlight streamed through the window, but no gentle-eyed youth stood there offering her sweet tea.
"I just… wanted you by my side forever."
She reached toward the moon, yearning to touch his face, but grasped only air.
After Anming's death, joy and warmth vanished. All that remained was relentless pain—so intense her tears dried long ago.
Regrets?
Perhaps.
Regret for not joining him in death that day.
Regret for not forcing him to live by any means.
Regret for piercing his heart herself.
But regrets meant nothing. The world offered no second chances—only broken souls.
Barefoot, Fu Xuan walked to the mirror. Moonlight revealed eyes glowing crimson.
Mara-struck.
Her memories had reached their limit… just from missing him.
Weakly, she crouched before the mirror. Silent tears fell like dewdrops.
Her master and beloved were gone. She'd learned to stand alone.
Why did everyone leave her?
Her palm pressed against the icy glass. Yes… she was truly alone now.
Was this fate's mockery?
Those happy days she'd taken for granted—her delusion of "forever"—were gone.
Happiness existed only because he had been there: watching her sleep, breathing warmth against her neck, kissing her softly.
Every ordinary day she'd thought eternal had been a miracle.
Fu Xuan rose, her third eye blazing.
"Anming…" She whispered to the night. "Do miracles… grow from longing?"
She no longer cared about fate.
She would command fate. She would bestow it upon all things.
If it meant keeping him beside her forever—clutching that warmth—
She'd gladly fall into the abyss.
Qlipoth Fort, Front Plaza
"Where's Anming?"
"Still with that Firefly girl."
March 7th propped up a drunken Stelle. The gray-haired "puppy" slumped against March's chest, cheeks flushed, muttering: "We've… met somewhere…"
"I've had enough!" March huffed, steadying Stelle before she faceplanted into snow. "It was one bottle of Belobog swill! You'd think her childhood sweetheart dumped her!"
Stelle, now raiding a trash can, giggled like a gremlin. March yanked her out under suspicious glares from Silvermane Guards, scrambling to clean the mess.
"Dan Heng! Help!"
March shot a pleading look at their "invincible" archivist. Two days on Jarilo-VI, and they'd made zero progress on the Stellaron. If Welt and Himeko heard…
Stelle needed discipline! No more coddling! Even a S-rank Valkyrie could become a Herrscher! Once she maxed her Eidolons and Paths, she'd—
"Negotiations may proceed smoothly."
Dan Heng recalled Cocolia's wary gaze at Anming. That sword scar on the floor-to-ceiling window spoke volumes.
"Welcome back."
Bronya approached, her smile faltering. "Where is Mr. Anming?"
She remembered him vividly—not just his dramatic entrance, but the way he'd kissed Firefly mid-air.
After their departure, she'd seen the window. The cut was too perfect. The glass remained intact, unaware it had been severed—a display of controlled menace, leaving choice to Cocolia.
Bronya rarely saw her mother so shaken.
Anming could change Belobog.
She believed it. If the Fragmentum vanished, hope would bloom.
Naively, she thought the Fragmentum monsters were the root conflict. Eliminate them, and unity would return.
Would it, though?
Her gaze darkened. For now, stopping the Fragmentum's spread took priority. If it reached the Administrative District…
"The Supreme Guardian awaits."