ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO UNTIL THE FIRST VOLUME IS DONE!

VIVIAN

The gates of the Li estate opened before dawn.

No ceremonial send-off. No dramatic speeches.

Just a line of pale-cloaked riders, a hovering supply cart, and the soft rhythm of hooves over dew-slick stone.

Vivian rode at the center of the formation, flanked by Mei and four elite handmaidens. Each of them was armed, robed in silence, and alert—not for threats, but for missteps.

They would not embarrass their lady. Not today.

Not on the road to Lotus Peak.

The higher they climbed, the quieter it became.

The wind sharpened. The light shifted.

The cloudline blurred everything behind them into memory.

It suited her.

And yet—her chest ached.

Not sharply. Not enough to stop her.

But it had settled there, low and quiet, between breath and bone.

She hadn’t said goodbye.

Not properly.

Ethan—still unreadable, still maddening—had walked her to the steps. Had said nothing.

And it wasn’t indifference. She knew that now.

It was restraint.

And she didn’t know whether to resent him for it—or thank him.

Mei rode behind her, quiet as ever.

Vivian could feel the curiosity there. But no intrusion.

Mei never pushed.

They reached the first overlook by late morning.

A flat plateau framed by whisper-pines and a thin, frost-fed stream.

Vivian raised a hand.

“Break here.”

Mei approached, voice low. “We’re two hours from the pass.”

“I’ll return shortly.”

No questions. Of course not.

Vivian dismounted, her robe catching faint light as she turned from the trail and walked alone into the pine-lined slope that curved inward toward a familiar glade.

She didn’t plan this.

But her feet knew where they were going.

And so did her heart.

Jin was waiting. He always was.

Seated cross-legged on a low stone ledge, eyes closed, breath steady.

Not meditating. Just… waiting. Listening.

The way he did when he wasn’t sure she’d come, but hoped anyway.

His head lifted as she stepped into the clearing.

“I thought I felt you,” he said softly.

Vivian didn’t answer.

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She crossed the glade.

The moss was cold beneath her boots, but clean.

Unfiltered by politics or expectation.

Jin rose slowly. No bow. No smile.

But that look—the open one.

Careful. Like he was trying to match her shape without assuming her need.

“I heard you were going up the peak,” he said. “Six months?”

“Maybe longer,” she said.

“Clarity?” he asked.

She nodded once.

He took a half-step closer. Not invading her space—just closing the air between them.

“You look tired.”

Vivian’s brow twitched. “I’m not.”

“I didn’t say you were weak.”

The silence stretched.

She felt the ache press sharper behind her ribs.

He saw it.

“You didn’t come for a lesson,” Jin said. “You didn’t come to say goodbye.”

Still, she didn’t speak.

“I’ve seen that look twice,” he added. “Once when you asked for your father’s blade.”

“And the second?”

He stepped closer. Not a reach. Just proximity.

His fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve. Light. Familiar.

“The night before your wedding.”

Vivian’s jaw set.

But she didn’t pull away.

She didn’t want to.

She hated how steady he was.

How easily he could still match her rhythm.

How this place—this moment—felt like it had been waiting for her to arrive.

Like she was the one who was late.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said.

Jin’s voice was quiet. “You’re searching.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t the first time.

They’d kissed before—quiet, stolen moments on rooftops or inside training courtyards.

It had always felt inevitable. Charged. Beautiful.

But this time? It was different.

Slower.

Softer.

Less need.

More meaning.

His hand cupped the side of her jaw.

Gentle. Steady.

And she kissed him back.

Because part of her still wanted to.

Because this was the last place she remembered being sure of herself.

Because he still saw her the way she used to want to be seen.

She didn’t stop it.

Didn’t rationalize it.

She just… felt it.

And for one breath, one flicker of stillness—

She let it matter.

When she pulled back, his hand didn’t follow.

He didn’t chase her.

Didn’t try to hold on.

He just stood there, like he understood something they hadn’t said aloud.

Vivian touched her lips once.

Not regretfully. Just to anchor herself.

Then she turned. Walked away.

Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t look back.

She told herself it was closure. That she needed to let him go.

But the truth was harder.

Because she hadn’t let him go. Not really.

And she hadn’t chosen Ethan either.

Not yet.

And as the cold wind of the Lotus Mountains wrapped around her like a second robe, the ache in her chest stayed sharp.

Not because she was lost.

But because—for the first time in her life—

She wasn’t sure what she wanted.

As the last bend of the trail disappeared behind her, Vivian emerged once more into the silence of her waiting retinue.

No one asked where she’d gone.

Mei simply stepped forward and handed her the reins.

Vivian took them without a word.

She mounted. Settled.

And for the first time since they left the estate, she looked back.

Not at the path.

Not at Jin.

At the clouds.

At the sky she had left behind.

At a house that didn’t quite feel like hers—and a husband she hadn’t chosen, but who somehow kept surprising her anyway.

Ethan hadn’t kissed her.

He hadn’t begged her to stay.

He hadn’t asked for anything.

And yet, in the quiet of their last ride together, he’d offered something no one else ever had.

Not loyalty. Not admiration. Not even love.

Just space.

A place where she could be herself without permission.

A partner who would meet her blade for blade, silence for silence, and never flinch from the questions she didn’t know how to ask.

Vivian exhaled slowly. The ache was still there.

But it was different now.

Not weightless.

Not healed.

Just acknowledged.

She looked forward again.

Toward the mountain peak.

Toward months of solitude and steel and discipline.

And maybe—if she was honest—

Toward the day she would come back down and see what remained.

“Let’s ride,” she said.

The riders obeyed.

The wind rose.

And the mountains kept their silence.