Petals fell upon the lake, rippling the reflection of Fu Xuan's face—blurring the past.
Years ago...
"Lady Fu, are you returning to Yuque?"
Qingque had said "returning", not "going". In her memory, Fu Xuan only ever smiled genuinely in Yuque.
But after Anming's death, Fu Xuan never went back. Not once.
The last time she had visited was to hold a final memorial beneath the peach tree. The courtyard that had witnessed their love, the tree that had shaded their vows—all remained frozen in Yuque.
Fu Xuan was never one for hesitation. After securing leave, she went alone.
The courtyard was unchanged. The eaves swept clean. Standing at the gate, she almost smiled.
This was where I first confessed.
Drunk on courage and wine, she had stepped inside—into Anming's arms, into a life she'd never regret.
Pushing the gate open now, the past rushed back: the red "double happiness" character on the window, the figure beneath the peach tree dropping his sword to embrace her—
Her fingers closed around a falling petal.
The illusion shattered.
Pathetic. You still can't let go.
"I'm home," she whispered.
The peach tree bloomed as always, indifferent to her grief.
Inside, her fingers brushed the pillow where Anming once lay, watching her study divination late into the night.
"Xuan, you're on leave. Must you work?"
"And must you distract me? At least pretend to practice while we're at Master's house."
"This is my practice."
"You—! Where are your hands?!"
She smiled faintly. How often had she knocked him out in mock fury, only to cling to him in the dark?
"Anming," she said to the empty room, "the Mara is worsening. To finish what I've started... I must lock my heart away."
The third eye's light surged, drowning emotion in cold logic.
When Fu Xuan returned to the Luofu, Qingque noticed immediately.
"Did you visit his grave?"
"No."
"You weren't at the Commission. I worried—"
"One thousand sword drills. Now."
Qingque watched her walk away—so alone, so resolute.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—
A sprout by the pavilion, breaking soil in spring.
The Luofu's first peach tree.
Fu Xuan drank tea there daily, ignoring the ache in her chest. Residual sentiment, logic told her.
But what of the body's memory? The soul's indelible love?
Why cling to such pain?
Perhaps because the pain proved the joy had been real.
On the anniversary of Anming's death, she drank alone. One sip, and she was back in an ordinary afternoon—
A treasure beyond reach.
Present - Divination Commission
Mist swirled as Fu Xuan drew Wuming Sword.
"You said no fate would bind me again."
The lake erupted in violet light, sigils spiraling skyward as she advanced toward Anming.
Their blades met—Mingye shattering formations, Fu Xuan countering with flying divination texts sharp as daggers.
"Welcome home," Anming laughed, sweeping her into his arms.
They spun across the lake, her skirts flaring like blossoms, until he vaulted them airborne—parrying sigils mid-kiss.
Fu Xuan's gasp melted into the press of his lips. Centuries of longing left her pliant, flushed.
"I missed you," he murmured.
"Hmph. Who knows where else your mouth has been."
"Only yours, my lady."
As they landed, Fu Xuan summoned Wuming Sword back to her hand.
"Ten years ago, I planted a peach tree." She gazed at the sapling by the pavilion—leafy, but never flowering. "It never bloomed."
Her fingers traced Anming's jaw. "I missed you."
Their lips met again—
Then cold steel pierced his chest.
Anming looked down at the blade protruding from his heart, the red tassel swaying.
Fu Xuan's tears fell onto his face as she whispered:
"I can't lose you again."
Wuming Sword slid free, dripping crimson.
The final move, hidden beneath kisses and longing:
A strike named "Love."