The night had settled into a quiet that felt almost deliberate, as though the world itself had chosen to hold its breath.
A gentle wind moved through the valley, not harsh enough to disturb, yet strong enough to be felt. It carried with it the coolness of the river and the faint scent of damp earth, brushing softly against Xing Yue's robes as they flowed behind her like a slow-moving tide. Under the pale glow of the rising moon, the fabric shimmered faintly, shifting between shades of deep blue and silver, while her long hair followed the same rhythm, lifting and falling with each passing breeze.
She stood at the riverbank.
The water stretched out before her, calm and unbroken, reflecting the sky so clearly that it was difficult to tell where the heavens ended and the earth began. The moon hung low above it, its light spilling across the surface in a soft, luminous path, as though reaching down to meet its own reflection.
This was the place.
The place Cui Wulei had mentioned.
Three nights. Midnight. When the moon kissed the river. Xing Yue had arrived earlier than necessary. Not because she feared missing the moment, but because she needed time—time to steady her thoughts, time to face what she had avoided for far too long.
A quiet sigh slipped from her lips as her gaze lingered on the water.
Cui Wulei.
Even now, the thought of her brought a complicated mix of familiarity and unease. Of all people, Cui Wulei was the last person one would expect to offer help without a cost. She was the kind who would extend a hand only after making sure you understood exactly how easily she could withdraw it. Her grudges were not loud or dramatic, but they lingered, subtle and persistent, like shadows that never fully disappeared.
And yet—
She had given Xing Yue this information.
Not freely, of course. Nothing with Cui Wulei was ever free. Xing Yue lowered her gaze slightly, watching as the faint ripples of the river shifted beneath the moonlight.
Her thoughts drifted further back. Far beyond the present. Far beyond the mortal realm. Back to a time that felt both distant and strangely vivid. There had once been four of them. Four figures who, despite their vastly different origins, had found themselves drawn together in a way that defied explanation. Like tides responding to the same unseen pull, they had always gathered where laughter or mischief could be found, their presence as constant as it was effortless.
To call them friends would have been an understatement.They had been inseparable.
Xing Yue. Cui Wulei. Shen Yaoguang.
And Zheng Aoyuan.
The names alone were enough to stir something deep within her chest.
Each of them had been born from something entirely different, shaped not by ordinary means but by the natural forces of the world itself.
Xing Yue had once been nothing more than a drifting cloud, unformed and without direction, until time and cultivation had refined her into something far greater—a being tied to the stars, vast and enduring.
Cui Wulei had come from orbit itself, a silent presence circling endlessly until she, too, took form, her path aligning with the moon and all that followed its quiet pull. Shen Yaoguang had been born from a snow rock, one of the Ansheng stones that carried the legacy of the ancient Snow King, Bing Ansheng. Even in her earliest form, there had been something unyielding about her, something cold yet steady, like the mountains that never bowed to time.
And then—
There was Zheng Aoyuan.
Xing Yue's expression softened almost imperceptibly as she thought of him.
He had been different from the start.
Not powerful. Not extraordinary in the way the others were. He had been an orchid.
Fragile.
Ordinary.
It had taken him nearly a thousand years to achieve what the others had accomplished in a fraction of that time. While they had grown swiftly into their forms, stepping into immortality with ease, Zheng Aoyuan had struggled, his progress slow and uncertain.
And yet–
He had never complained. Never resented it.
No matter how long it took, no matter how far behind he seemed, he had always remained the same—gentle, cheerful, and impossibly warm.
It had been a mystery to many how he came to exist in the celestial realm at all. An ordinary orchid had no place there. But he had not been entirely ordinary. The Flower Goddess, Fuhua of the Sanctuary of Flowering Clouds, had found him in the mortal realm—a dying plant, barely clinging to life. With her power, she had nurtured him, feeding him spiritual essence until he could grow beyond what he once was.
And in time—
He had become something rare. Not strong.
Not dominant. But beautiful in a way that did not demand attention, yet could not be ignored.
Xing Yue's gaze lowered slightly, the reflection of the moon trembling faintly in her eyes.They had all been together then.
Different. Yet complete.So when had it changed?
The question lingered longer than she expected.
There had been no single moment she could point to, no clear fracture that explained everything. Only distance. Assignments.
Time.
She and Jiang LuCi had been sent to the mortal realm on a task that had seemed simple at first—observe, understand, return.
But nothing had remained simple after that.
When she returned—
Everything had shifted. Zheng Aoyuan was gone. Not missing in a way that prompted search or concern.
Just… gone.
As though he had never been there at all.
And the others—
They had changed.
Cui Wulei no longer laughed the same way.
Where there had once been mischief, there was now something sharper, something edged with resentment that surfaced in every word she spoke. She did not avoid Xing Yue; instead, she confronted her, each meeting laced with mockery or violence, as though something unresolved simmered beneath the surface.
Shen Yaoguang had chosen a different path.
She did not confront. She did not speak.
She simply refused to appear. Yet even in her absence, her presence could be felt—small disturbances, subtle attacks, petty tricks that never caused true harm but carried unmistakable intent.
It was as though both of them had something to say—
And neither was willing to say it. Xing Yue exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible over the quiet flow of the river.
She had not understood it then. She did not understand it now. And Zheng Aoyuan…
Her fingers curled slightly at her side. There had been no trace of him. Not a whisper.
Not a rumor.
Nothing.
The wind shifted again, brushing past her as though urging her back to the present.
Her gaze lifted once more to the river. The moon had risen higher now, its reflection growing brighter, clearer, stretching across the water like a silent path waiting to be followed.
She had not yet opened the Scroll of Hundred Memories. There had been no time.
Or perhaps—
She had simply avoided it. Obstacles had come one after another, each delaying her just enough to keep the truth out of reach.
But tonight—
There would be no more delay. Cui Wulei had given her a place. A time. And though the intention behind it remained uncertain, Xing Yue knew one thing with absolute clarity.
She would not leave without answers.
The river remained still before her, the moonlight deepening as midnight slowly approached. And beneath that quiet, beneath the calm surface of the water and the gentle pull of the wind, something unseen waited. So Xing Yue stood there, unmoving, her figure framed between sky and reflection, as though she belonged to both and neither at once.
Waiting.
___
Xing Yue had not moved from her place by the river. Time passed slowly, almost imperceptibly, marked only by the shifting position of the moon and the subtle change in the wind. The world remained quiet, wrapped in a calm that felt deliberate, as though everything present had agreed to remain still in anticipation of something yet to arrive.
An hour slipped by.Then—The wind changed.
What had once been a gentle current brushing against her robes grew heavier, denser, carrying with it a strange weight that did not belong to the natural flow of the night. The surface of the river trembled, faint ripples spreading outward without cause, distorting the reflection of the moon into wavering fragments of light.
Xing Yue's gaze sharpened. She did not move, but every sense within her shifted into focus. The air thickened. And then, without warning, space itself seemed to twist.
A vortex formed above the riverbank, silent yet powerful, its edges folding inward as though reality had been peeled back by an unseen hand. The light around it dimmed, swallowed by the distortion, until the only thing visible was the slow, spiraling darkness that pulsed at its center.
From within it—A figure emerged.
He stepped forward as though crossing an invisible threshold, his presence carrying an ancient weight that settled immediately into the space around them. His beard, long and white as untouched snow, moved faintly with the wind, while his robes flowed in muted layers, unremarkable at first glance yet imbued with a quiet authority that could not be ignored.
Dreamer Long.
The Thousand-Year Dreamer. A man who did not govern the waking world, but ruled over something far more elusive—the unconscious, the unseen, the fragile realm where thoughts dissolved and truths took unfamiliar shapes.
For a brief moment, the vortex lingered behind him. Then it collapsed in on itself, vanishing as though it had never existed.
The night returned to stillness.
Xing Yue lowered her gaze immediately, bringing her hands together in a respectful bow.
"Great Long," she greeted, her voice steady and composed.
The old man regarded her quietly before giving a short nod. When he spoke, his voice carried the roughness of age, slightly hoarse, yet steady enough to command attention.
"When the Red Omen told me you wished to see me," he said, "I found it… amusing."
His gaze lingered on her, measuring, thoughtful.
"You seem to have found yourself with some measure of freedom."
Xing Yue did not raise her head.
"Indeed," she replied calmly. "I may not have much time, but I am no longer as bound as I was within the celestial realm."
Dreamer Long shifted slightly, his posture bent with age, his hands clasped behind his back in a manner that suggested both habit and contemplation. The wind tugged faintly at his robes, but he paid it no mind.
"You and the Red Omen," he continued, "have never had what one would call a harmonious relationship." A pause followed, his tone tinged with curiosity. "How, then, did you convince her to carry your message? And more importantly… how did you know she could find me so easily?"
Xing Yue remained still for a moment, as though weighing her answer.
"For the first," she said slowly, "it is true that our relationship has long been strained. But before that strain… there was something else."
Her voice softened, though it did not falter.
"We were once bound by something stronger. I believe, over time… I was the one who ruined it."
Dreamer Long's brows lifted slightly.
"How so?"
A faint breath escaped her.
"That," she admitted, "is something I have yet to understand. I am still… trying to piece it together."
The old man hummed quietly, the sound low and thoughtful as he turned his gaze toward the river. The moonlight reflected faintly in his eyes, though it revealed nothing of what lay behind them.
"The heavens," he said after a moment, "have a way of weaving truths that do not appear as they are. What seems real is often no more than a reflection of the heart. That… is what troubles this old man."
Xing Yue said nothing.
She could feel his gaze shift back to her, but she did not lift her head to meet it. Instead, she allowed the silence to settle between them, calm but heavy with unspoken understanding.
Then, he spoke again. "And the second question?"
Xing Yue finally raised her head slightly, though her eyes remained lowered.
"I am the Star Goddess," she said. "If I know where the sun resides, then the moon is not beyond my understanding. And you…" Her voice grew more certain. "You exist between illusion and truth. Neither fully present nor entirely absent."
The wind stirred again, brushing past them as she continued.
"You divided your presence into three domains—the north, the northwest, and the south—leaving the east as your true anchor. A method to avoid disturbance, to ensure that no single path leads entirely to you."
Dreamer Long's expression shifted, the faintest trace of interest appearing.
"The northwest is distant," Xing Yue went on. "Difficult to reach, even for those who know of it. But the south…" She paused briefly. "The south is closest. And Cui Wulei stands nearest to it."
Her gaze lifted just slightly, enough to acknowledge him without fully meeting his eyes.
"Though you live in solitude, hidden from most, it is not absolute. There are always traces. Patterns. Connections." A faint breath followed. "And if there is one who might know them… it would be her."
A quiet stillness followed her explanation.
For a moment, Dreamer Long said nothing.
Then—He smiled. It was not a broad expression, nor one filled with warmth, but it carried a quiet acknowledgment, the kind given when one recognizes precision in thought.
"Impressive," he murmured, shaking his head lightly. "It seems this old man has indeed grown complacent with age."
The river flowed steadily beside them, its surface once again calm, as though the earlier disturbance had been nothing more than a passing illusion.
Above them, the moon had risen higher, its light now fully settled across the water.
The appointed time had come. And with Dreamer Long standing before her, the answers Xing Yue sought were no longer beyond reach.The night, though quiet, no longer felt empty. It felt… expectant.
___
The river continued its quiet flow, as though nothing of significance had occurred upon its banks, yet the air between Xing Yue and Dreamer Long carried a subtle weight that made even the wind seem more deliberate in its passing.
For a time, neither of them spoke.
Then the old man shifted slightly, the faint creak of age in his movement as his clasped hands adjusted behind his back. His gaze, though calm, settled fully on her now, no longer drifting with idle curiosity.
"So," he said at last, his voice steady despite its roughened edge, "what is it that you want?"
Xing Yue did not hesitate.
"I need your help," she replied, lifting her head just enough for her voice to carry clearly, though her posture remained respectful. "People in the mortal realm—villages beyond Yanli—have fallen unconscious."
Dreamer Long's brows knit faintly.
"Beyond Yanli?" he repeated. "You said 'mostly.'"
Xing Yue gave a small nod.
"The Yanli Continent itself is not the core of the problem," she explained. "I came from there. The land is rich with spiritual energy, and its people are… different. They do not reject what others would. Bandits, demons, fair folk—they coexist, more or less. Even now, the spirit and soul of Hong Yanli remain with them, anchoring the land in ways few understand."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the river, as though recalling what she had witnessed.
"Yet even there, something is wrong. A fog has settled—thick enough to prevent movement at night. It does not harm directly, but it confines. It watches."
Dreamer Long listened without interruption.
"That alone," he said after a moment, "is not unusual. There are many forces that linger between night and boundary."
"It would not be enough to bring me here," Xing Yue agreed quietly. "The true concern lies beyond. Other villages, other cities… they are not merely restrained. They are… asleep. Unnaturally so."
A pause followed.
"Not resting," she added. "Trapped."
The old man studied her in silence, his expression unreadable. "Look at me," he said suddenly.
Xing Yue stiffened slightly, her instinct immediate. She shook her head.
"I dare not," she answered honestly. "It is…"
"Only dangerous if I will it to be," he interrupted, his tone neither harsh nor gentle, but firm enough to leave no room for evasion. "Does your neck not ache from lowering it so long?"
There was no mockery in his words. Only a quiet, practical observation.
The stories surrounding Dreamer Long were not exaggerated. His eyes were said to hold entire worlds within them—depths that could swallow a person whole, trapping them in endless cycles of sorrow and illusion. It was why few dared to meet his gaze, and why he himself often chose solitude over company.
Xing Yue had known this.
That was why she had not looked at him since his arrival.
But now—
Slowly, she lifted her head. At first, only slightly, testing the boundary.
Then fully.
Her neck did ache, though she had ignored it until now. The movement alone brought a faint stiffness, a reminder of how long she had held herself in restraint.
Her eyes met his. And yet—Nothing happened. No abyss. No pull.
Only the quiet, steady presence of an old man who had seen far more than he ever spoke of.
"You are not in a condition suited for this kind of burden," Dreamer Long said after a moment, his gaze sharpening ever so slightly.
Xing Yue did not look away.
"But I must be," she replied. "That is why I am who I am."
The old man exhaled slowly, the sound carrying both patience and something akin to resignation.
"I have been the Dreamer long before your existence took form," he said. "And I can assure you—this world does not rely on a single being to correct its imbalance."
He shifted his stance slightly, his robes brushing faintly against the ground.
"Cui Wulei has not been idle," he continued. "If matters had spiraled beyond control, she would not be sparring with you in petty conflict. She would be here. Or there. Acting."
A brief pause followed, his gaze softening just slightly. "And the celestial elders would not remain still if the matter had reached that point."
Xing Yue's fingers tightened subtly at her side."But—"
"No," he cut in gently, though firmly. "Not 'but.'"
The wind passed between them again, carrying the faint chill of the river.
"Instead," Dreamer Long said, lifting one hand, "I will give you something."
With a simple motion of his fingers, space before Xing Yue shimmered faintly. A small porcelain box appeared, its surface smooth and pale, delicate patterns etched into its lid like quiet whispers of craftsmanship.
It settled into her hands as though it had always belonged there.
"Take one each night," he instructed. "Before your meditation. And remember this well—you must not use your spiritual energy during the period you take it."
Xing Yue looked down at the box, then back up at him."What is this pill called?" she asked.
The old man paused. Then, quite unexpectedly—
"Wow."
Xing Yue blinked. "...Wow?" she repeated, uncertain if she had misheard. "As in… an exclamation?"
Dreamer Long gave a small shrug, entirely unconcerned. "Names are tedious," he said. "They require thought, and thought requires effort. I have no patience for such things anymore. So I call it the 'Wow Pill.'"
For a brief moment, even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Xing Yue could not quite decide whether to question it further. "I cannot tell you what it does," he continued, as though her confusion was irrelevant. "It has a temperament of its own. It prefers suspense." A faint glint of amusement passed through his eyes. "So I will simply tell you this—do not miss a dose. Continue until it is finished… or until I grow tired of making more."
Before she could respond, he lifted his hand once more. The air twisted again.
The vortex returned, forming with the same quiet distortion as before, its presence bending the light around it.
Dreamer Long stepped toward it.
Then paused. As though remembering something.Without turning fully, he spoke again.
"There is a ring in your pouch," he said. "Use it as you wish. Tap it twice, and it will bring you directly to my domain."
A brief pause followed. "It will save time. And prevent unnecessary… bloodshed."
With that, he stepped into the vortex.
And vanished. The distortion folded in on itself, collapsing into nothingness, leaving the night exactly as it had been before—calm, silent, undisturbed.
Xing Yue remained where she stood. For a long moment, she did not move. The porcelain box rested in her hands, its surface cool against her skin, its presence both simple and inexplicably heavy.
Slowly, she lowered her gaze to it. Then, almost as an afterthought, she reached into her pouch. Her fingers brushed against something smooth. When she pulled it out, a ring lay in her palm—a delicate band shaped like a blooming lotus, its petals carved with careful precision. It held a faint pink hue, soft and unassuming, yet there was something within it that pulsed subtly, like a heartbeat just beneath the surface.
She held both objects now. The box. The ring. Two things given without full explanation. Two things that carried more meaning than their appearances suggested.
The river flowed on, the moonlight steady upon its surface, as though bearing silent witness to everything that had passed.
Xing Yue stood there, the wind moving gently around her once more, her thoughts quieter than before, yet no less heavy.
In her hands lay answers—
Or perhaps, only the beginning of them.
And for the first time that night, uncertainty settled not as confusion…
But as something she would have to walk through, step by step, whether she wished to or not.