CHAPTER 145: CH-145: WHY THAT

Morning arrived with a hush, not a herald. The orchard woke in its usual rhythm, dew still clinging to the blades of grass, petals curled like dreams just beginning to unfold. The Hearttree stood solemn and still, its silhouette painted gold by the newborn sun.

Feng Yin was the first to rise. He moved through the orchard in silence, as if to preserve the sanctity of the sleeping world. A small wooden basket hung at his side, and he plucked herbs with gentle precision—his fingertips brushing leaves as though memorizing their shape.

Tian Shen joined him shortly after. His hair was still damp from the stream, and the edge of his robe carried droplets that gleamed in the light. He said nothing at first, simply mirrored Feng Yin’s movements as they worked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, in that sacred quiet.

"I had a dream last night," Tian Shen finally said.

Feng Yin didn’t look up. "Tell me."

"We were fighting again," Tian Shen murmured, brows slightly furrowed. "But not together. Opposite sides. I didn’t understand why until I woke up."

Feng Yin paused in his gathering. "And why was that?"

Tian Shen exhaled slowly. "Because I was still afraid. Of going back. Of losing this."

Feng Yin looked up at him then, the sunlight catching his eyes. "Dreams reflect fears, but they don’t decide our future. We do that."

Tian Shen nodded, but the tightness in his chest lingered. It wasn’t the dream itself, but the echo of a truth he hadn’t fully faced. The peace they had built was delicate, like the skin of a bubble. And he had lived too long in a world where things burst.

Later that morning, they returned to the Hearttree with their gathered herbs and a new intention. Feng Yin laid the basket down and drew a small circle into the dirt, using a slender bone stylus etched with runes.

"We’re going to plant the new seed today," he said.

Tian Shen raised a brow. "You actually made one?"

Feng Yin smiled with a flicker of pride. From a pocket in his robes, he pulled a tiny bundle wrapped in cloth. Unfolding it revealed a seed—iridescent, shaped like a teardrop, and pulsing faintly with light.

"A seed made of memory, song, and starlight."

Tian Shen blinked. "You always surprise me."

"Good. If I didn’t, you’d grow bored."

Together, they planted it in the center of the circle. Feng Yin chanted softly, ancient syllables meant not to command but to invite. Tian Shen placed his hand beside Feng Yin’s in the soil, adding his qi—stable, grounding.

The seed accepted them both.

A tremor passed through the earth—not a quake, but a sigh. A ripple of resonance moved through the orchard, as if a new heartbeat had joined the rhythm. From the soil, a delicate sprout emerged. Not glowing yet, not singing, but there. Alive.

They sat back, side by side, breathing in the moment.

The orchard welcomed the new life as if it had always belonged.

---

In the days that followed, the sprout grew faster than expected. Each morning it was taller, leaves unfolding with a peculiar shimmer. Birds gathered nearby, watching it with curiosity, as if waiting for it to speak.

On the fifth day, it did.

Not in words, but in music—a hum so soft it could barely be heard, felt more in the bones than the ears. It vibrated through the grove, harmonizing with the wind, with the creaking of branches, the drip of water.

Feng Yin called it the Whispering Sapling.

The children who often visited the orchard began to call it the Dream Tree.

Tian Shen simply called it Home.

They built a small shrine near its roots, not for worship, but remembrance. In the shrine, they placed tokens—a talisman from Feng Yin’s sect, a shard of broken sword once wielded by Tian Shen, a dried blossom from the Hearttree. Symbols of their past, now sanctified by transformation.

One morning, as Tian Shen tended to the sapling, a shadow fell across the grove. Not dark, but sharp. He stood, hand instinctively going to his side, where a weapon no longer hung. A figure approached—an older woman in traveling robes, bearing the crest of the Windward Sect.

"You are Tian Shen?"

He nodded. "I am."

"And this is the orchard?"

"It is."

She lowered her hood. Her face was lined by time and wind, but her eyes were kind. "I came seeking healing. They say the orchard mends not just wounds of the flesh."

Feng Yin appeared from behind the sapling, hands still damp from watering it. "Then you came to the right place. But healing here begins with honesty."

The woman bowed her head. "Then allow me to begin."

She told them her story. Of a son lost to war. Of a home swallowed by political strife. Of guilt she carried like a second skin. She had wandered for years, seeking not forgiveness, but meaning.

Feng Yin listened. Tian Shen did too. And neither offered words of solace, only space. When she finished, they led her to the Hearttree, and let her rest in its shade.

She stayed for three days. On the third, she planted a seed beside the Whispering Sapling.

"It’s not magic," she said. "But it’s from the hills where my son was born. I want it to grow here."

And it did.

---

As the seasons began to shift, more visitors arrived. Some came with pain. Others with hope. All left something behind. A song, a tear, a poem, a dream. The orchard accepted them all.

Feng Yin began to archive these offerings. He created a new map—not of roads or landmarks, but of memories. Each root, each path, each bloom connected to a story.

Tian Shen watched him work, and marveled. Once, maps led armies. Now, they led hearts back to themselves.

They made a ritual of walking the grove at twilight. Not to guard, but to listen. Some nights, they heard laughter among the trees—echoes of visitors past. Other nights, silence reigned. But even silence, here, felt like a lullaby.

One evening, as they walked the path near the sapling, Tian Shen stopped. "Feng Yin."

"Yes?"

"If I asked you to marry me again—not as warriors, not for strategy, but here, now—what would you say?"

Feng Yin looked at him, smile slowly blooming. "I’d ask if you had the ring this time."

Tian Shen reached into his robe. From a hidden pocket, he pulled a ring carved from the Hearttree’s fallen branch. Simple. Whole.

"I made it."

Feng Yin took it, his hands trembling slightly. "Then yes. A thousand times, yes."

Under the Whispering Sapling, they wed again. No ceremony. No audience. Just them, and the orchard that had become witness to their rebirth.

---

Years passed, though time here moved gently. The sapling grew into a young tree, and children still called it the Dream Tree.

More trees joined it. More stories. The orchard expanded, not in borders, but in meaning.

And one day, long after, when Tian Shen woke alone to find Feng Yin not beside him, he knew.

He followed the winding path to the Hearttree, where Feng Yin sat, eyes closed, smile on his lips, body still.

Peaceful.

Gone.

Tian Shen wept. The trees did too.

But grief, here, was not the end.

He buried Feng Yin beneath the Whispering Sapling. He placed the old map beside him, and the ring.

He tended the orchard still.

And when others came seeking peace, he gave it.

Not just as Tian Shen, the warrior.

But as Tian Shen, the gardener of memory.

Of love.

Of everything they had built.

And so the orchard lived on.

As did they.

...

Morning arrived with a hush, not a herald. The orchard woke in its usual rhythm, dew still clinging to the blades of grass, petals curled like dreams just beginning to unfold. The Hearttree stood solemn and still, its silhouette painted gold by the newborn sun.

Feng Yin was the first to rise. He moved through the orchard in silence, as if to preserve the sanctity of the sleeping world. A small wooden basket hung at his side, and he plucked herbs with gentle precision—his fingertips brushing leaves as though memorizing their shape.

Tian Shen joined him shortly after. His hair was still damp from the stream, and the edge of his robe carried droplets that gleamed in the light. He said nothing at first, simply mirrored Feng Yin’s movements as they worked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, in that sacred quiet.

"I had a dream last night," Tian Shen finally said.

Feng Yin didn’t look up. "Tell me."

"We were fighting again," Tian Shen murmured, brows slightly furrowed. "But not together. Opposite sides. I didn’t understand why until I woke up."

Feng Yin paused in his gathering. "And why was that?"

Tian Shen exhaled slowly. "Because I was still afraid. Of going back. Of losing this."

Feng Yin looked up at him then, the sunlight catching his eyes. "Dreams reflect fears, but they don’t decide our future. We do that."

Tian Shen nodded, but the tightness in his chest lingered. It wasn’t the dream itself, but the echo of a truth he hadn’t fully faced. The peace they had built was delicate, like the skin of a bubble. And he had lived too long in a world where things burst.