Jaden stepped into Master Shang's house, moving quietly so as not to wake him. The old man was already asleep, his expression peaceful. He had fallen asleep on his wooden chair, an empty cup of herbal tea beside him. The dim candlelight flickered, casting shadows over the lines on his face and the veins on his hands.
Jaden stood still for a moment, watching him. This man had done what his own father never did—taught him, cared for him, given him a reason to keep going. He owed Master Shang everything.
Reaching for a blanket, Jaden was about to cover him when Master Shang stirred, his eyes opening lazily.
"You're back," he murmured.
Jaden nodded. "Hmm."
Master Shang rubbed his eyes and sat up, grabbing his chewing stick and placing it between his teeth. "How was the appointment?"
"It went well," Jaden replied, his tone unreadable.
The old man chewed thoughtfully, then patted Jaden on the back—a silent signal that it was bedtime. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into his room.
Jaden, however, stayed behind. He sat on the chair, staring at nothing in particular. Sleep had never come easy for him. And when it did, the nightmares always followed. He would dream of falling—endlessly plunging from that cliff, reliving the moment his father had cast him away like he was nothing.
His thoughts drifted to Luna. Was she okay? Had she moved on, or was she still trapped in the past, just as he was?
Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through his side. He clutched his scar, his breath hitching. Blood seeped through his fingers, fresh as if the wound had just been inflicted. The pain was unbearable, sending him to his knees. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress a scream. His body trembled, his vision blurred.
And there he lay until dawn, alone in his agony.