The lantern-lit streets of Jinzhou shimmered like a dream. It was the eve of the Moon Chasing Festival. People wandered everywhere—some aimlessly, some with purpose. Laughter spilled out of open shopfronts.
Children darted through alleys with paper lanterns held high. The city pulsed with a kind of restless joy. Some were still setting up for tomorrow
Crowds roamed freely, laughter bouncing off the walls. Some danced. Some argued over sweets. Others strung up last-minute decorations, eyes wide with anticipation. The air pulsed with life.
But not everyone joined the chaos.
In a quiet corner, behind closed doors, Kyorin slept. Peacefully. Nestled in his mother's arms, limbs tangled like roots seeking warmth. Xia held him close. Too close. Like if she let go, he'd vanish.
Outside, the world celebrated. Inside, Xia trembled.
She wasn't awake. Not fully. Trapped between sleep and fear. Her thoughts blurred.
Flickers of fire. A burning cloth. Wishes—countless hopes—turning to ash. The festival's banner swallowed by flames.
And there, in the heart of it all, stood Kyorin.
Small. Alone. Overshadowed by grotesque creatures—towering things, not meant to exist.
She screamed.
"Kyorin!"
"!!?"
Her eyes snapped open. Sweat clung to her brow. She gasped.
Beside her, Kyorin stirred, half-asleep and blinking.
"M-Mommy?" he asked, voice small, lost.
She didn't answer. Just pulled him into her chest, holding on like he was all that kept her anchored.
Tears fell. Silent, steady. Dropping onto Kyorin's forehead. He looked up, confused. "Mommy… what's wrong?"
No answer.
He reached out, shook her gently. Nothing.
Still, he didn't stop. He asked again. Again. Then louder. Frustrated. Scared.
And finally—he cried.
Only then did her grip loosen. Her body slackened, as if his sobs shook her from that place in her mind.
She whispered. "Don't cry, my baby."
Her tears didn't stop. But she tried to stop his. Tried to hush him. Rocked him back and forth. Patted his back gently.
But this time, Xia failed.
Kyorin wouldn't stop. His cries only grew louder, more desperate. No amount of shushing helped. No gentle rocking. No whispered lullaby.
So—she gave in.
She cried too.
No restraint. No pride. Just a raw, open flood. Mother and son, side by side, letting their sorrow spill into the room like a broken dam.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Their grief spoke for them.
Only after a long, aching silence—after their sobs had drained into silence—did it end. Their faces, stained with tears. Eyes red. Noses runny. Breaths uneven.
They sniffled at the same time.
"Pft."
They both let out a soft pft—a stifled snort, maybe instinctive. Maybe inherited. Who knew?
And just like that, cries turned into laughter.
Unrestrained, tear-streaked, hiccupping laughter. The kind that hurt their throats. The kind that made no sense but felt like the only right response.
Their cries had dried. Their voices worn out. But somehow, that laughter filled the space grief had hollowed out.
And when the laughter faded, when the echoes finally settled—They were ready to talk.
Xia wiped her eyes. Her voice was soft, almost childlike.
"I'm sorry, my baby." She leaned in and kissed Kyorin's forehead.
Kyorin looked up at her, eyes still puffy. "Mommy… why were you crying?"
Xia didn't answer right away. Instead, her face tightened—like the question had scratched at something too personal.
Heaving a breath, she asked, "Tell me… what will you do when Mommy's not with you anymore?"
"Impossible," Kyorin replied, without a second of doubt.
Xia smiled. Just a little. "You love your mommy that much?"
He nodded. Again and again. Fierce. Non-stop, only stopped by Xia's gentle patting
"But Mommy might have to leave someday."
Kyorin blinked. Then he said something that made Xia pause—truly pause.
"But… Mommy's always with me."
She stared at her child, then inquired. "What do you mean?"
He looked her in the eyes. No hesitation was present as he answered. "When I used to go to the academy, I always thought about Mommy. Every day. So it never really felt like you weren't with me. Not even once."
Xia's body trembled. She pulled him into her chest again, holding him tight.
"But those were just small partings," she whispered. "What if Mommy has to leave for a long time?"
Kyorin didn't flinch. His voice was soft, but certain.
"Then I'll keep you in my heart. Always. I'll focus on you. That way, I'll never feel like you're gone. You'll be with me… every second."
Xia could barely get the words out. "Then… so be it."
They stayed that way for a while. No more tears. Just quiet. Just familial warmth.
And then—drowsiness. It came like the tide, slow and irresistible. Sleep pulled them under, mother and son drifting off with their arms still wrapped around each other.
But where one dream ended… another began.
Kyorin opened his eyes.
He was somewhere else now. Standing alone. A breeze tugged his sleeves.
A figure stood ahead with their back turned to him. Wearing a straw hat. Robes like a wandering monk.
The figure spoke. Calm. Cold.
"What have you done?"
Kyorin didn't answer.
"You know your words aren't to be spoken lightly," the figure continued. "Why attach yourself to someone?"
A pause. Then, she continued. "Have you learnt to form attachments?"
Kyorin stroked his chin, looked at his body, and then answered with a raised brow. "Is it odd?"
The figure turned slightly, just enough to show a sliver of their face.
"Xin Yao… you fear me growing attached to these new lives," Kyorin said, voice calm, almost amused. "But it's part of what I am. It's in my human nature."
He paused, gaze steady.
"And this… attachment you speak of. You think it might chain me?" A soft laugh escaped him. Ironic. Almost bitter. He pointed at her, not unkindly. "Besides, it's not me. It's you. You're the one bound by the chains of attachment."
Xin Yao puffed her cheeks in offense, turning away with a sharp humph.
"As if," she snapped, "it's all because of you that I haven't begun my journey to Tathāgata."
Kyorin didn't flinch. He only looked down.
"Each of us, seekers of strength, walk a path," he said slowly. "Some gather allies. Others walk alone, trusting only in themselves."
He raised his eyes again—this time with a strange stillness in them.
"But in the end… the one who walks alone is the one closer to truth. No matter how much dust gathers, it's still dust. Still separate."
A quiet breeze passed between them.
"In this path we call life, it's the individual who must walk it. No one else can live it for them."
He glanced at his hands.
In one: riches beyond imagining. Gold, jewels, all things that shimmered.
In the other: a single grain of rice.
Both had been given to him. And so—he accepted both. That was his Dharma.
"Xin Yao," he said at last, voice softer now.
She turned to him.
"I will set you free. Soon."
Her eyes widened. Helpless, a single tear traced down her cheek unknowingly.
"Perhaps…" she smiled helplessly, "…I've begun to harbor attachments."
Before he could reply, the dream broke.
And Kyorin's eyes fluttered open.
A new dawn had arrived.
Immediately, Kyorin was hit with a dryness in his throat. He rose, heading for a glass of water. But then, a sound.
Ki-ki-ki-ki-ki.
It echoed from outside, sharp and unsettling.
Kyorin's gaze shifted to the window. There, a hawk soared, slicing the morning air and the gleam with its wings.
Suddenly, everything blurred.
A vision appeared, where, a snake slithered, gobbling a small chick.
Then, as if two realties were merging, the chick's face—It merged with the hawk's.
He stared, unblinking. A once seen presence it was. Yet, Kyorin's face betrayed no emotion, detached. No nostalgia. No longing. Just the simple acknowledgment that how something, once, had existed.
He turned back to the glass of water, drinking slowly. Outside, the hawk flew on, vanishing into the horizon—its sharp eyes watching clouds gather in the distance.
They looked like rain clouds. Ordinary. Harmless.
Yet something about them felt different.
Heavy.
Mourning.
...
"The Mournful Tear?"
Kyorin's voice broke the silence.
DEVA projected a faint blue glow, revealing a teardrop-shaped artifact as she explained, "Yes. It's an ascension material. You'll need it."
Kyorin studied it. "Where can we find it?"
"You misunderstand. We do not need to find it," DEVA replied.
Kyorin raised an eyebrow. "It's coming to us?"
"Affirmative," she responded, tone as calm as ever.
Kyorin nodded. "Well then, what's the wait?"
DEVA pulsed lightly in her orb form, bobbing up and down—her version of a nod.
Kyorin moved fast. He scribbled a note, dropped it on the desk: "I'll be out for a while."
Without a brake. He passed through the city gates, heading southeast. The destination? Unknown.
****
"Where is he?!"
Changli's frustration echoed in the courtyard as she searched when—
"Kyorin? Kyorin?"
A familiar voice called out. She turned sharply.
Xia stood there, worry written across her face.
"Lady Dan," Changli called out, walking toward her.
"Have you seen Kyorin?" Xia asked quickly.
Changli shook her head. "No. I'm looking for him too," she replied.
Xia gave a teasing smile. "Oh? Planning to ask him on a date?"
"As if," Changli snapped, face heating up. "Lady Dan, you cannot tease me like that!"
Xia chuckled. "Alright, I will stop. But on one condition." she raised her finger with a mischievous smile.
Changli tilted her head. "…What?"
"Call me Mother."
Changli froze, cheeks glowing red. "Lady Dan, you—"
Xia laughed, then softened. "Changli, you're like a daughter to me. Of course I'd want to hear it from you… just once."
"You're speaking nonsense," Changli muttered, already turning and distancing herself. Then, over her shoulder she said—"If I find him, I'll let you know."
Xia turned away, hiding the faint disappointment in her expression—Until she heard it.
"Mother."
She blinked. turned around to see Changli skidding away. Then smiled.
Just then, someone approached her. An elder, calm and dignified. She turned to greet him with a bow.
"Elder Gui."
The elder stroked his beard, nodding. "Come with me. Just for a moment."
Xia followed him into a quiet chamber. A few figures stood waiting.
Elder Gui stepped forward. "Your Magistrate, I have brought her."
Xia dropped to one knee, head bowed. "Greetings, Your Magistrate."
Behind a thick curtain, the magistrate sat unseen—though Xia could feel her gaze.
"She is good," the magistrate murmured. Then motioned for her aide to pass forward a piece of cloth.
"For writing the wishes of the masses," the aide said gently.
Xia reached out to take it—then stopped cold. A shiver crawled up her spine.
The cloth... It was the same.
The one from her dreams.
Burning. Screaming. Soaked in fire.
Her back was drenched. Robes stuck to her skin like second flesh. But it wasn't the cold.
No.
It was the thought—"Kyorin."
Meanwhile, under the relentless downpour, Kyorin stood still. Soaked to the bone, face tilted toward the sky. He felt it.
A presence, no multiple.
Unseen, but there. Watching.
Then they came.
A horde of avian Tacet Discords—ripping through the clouds like falling artillery.
Kyorin exhaled. "Guess it's time to stretch."
DEVA had already shifted into her scythe form, her blade glinting in the storm light. Kyorin caught her with ease.
A diagonal slash. A spin. An upward arc.
Three moves.
Three bodies hit the ground, twitching wings folding in like broken fans.
More came. He didn't flinch.
"How exactly are we supposed to get that artifact?" he asked, voice calm, casual—like this was a warm-up.
DEVA's voice responded through the weapon, smooth and measured. "I have a plan. But I'll need your help."
Kyorin raised a brow. "Alright. Spill the beans."
A pause.
"Well," DEVA admitted, "I'm not sure you'll survive it."
"Just speak, will you," Kyorin muttered, eyes still fixed on the sky.
DEVA responded, her voice steady, almost too calm. "The artifact has a mind of its own. It relishes feeding on struggling souls."
Kyorin narrowed his eyes. "And?"
A beat.
"And what?" DEVA said simply, "Struggle."
To be continued...
****
A/N: Time to end this volume, two chapters left.