The night settled warmly over the courtyard, wrapping the gathering in a soft, almost deceptive calm. Lanterns swayed gently above, their golden glow spilling across polished stone and finely carved wooden tables. The air was rich—thick with the scent of roasted meats, fragrant herbs, and aged wine poured generously into delicate porcelain cups.
It was a simple meal.
And yet, nothing about it felt small.
Steamed rice gleamed like pearls under the lantern light, bowls of sautéed greens shimmered with oil, and platters of honey-glazed chicken and tender lamb filled the table with an inviting aroma. Clear broth steamed quietly in carved bowls, thin curls of herbs floating upon its surface. At the far end, musicians played softly, their fingers brushing across strings in a slow, elegant melody that seemed to cradle the night itself.
They sat straight.
Every one of them.
Despite the hunger from their long journey, not a single person allowed it to show. Their movements were measured, refined—each lift of chopsticks controlled, each sip of wine deliberate. Even dressed in freshly changed robes, the memory of hardship lingered faintly in their posture.
Yet now, they looked untouched by it.
Silks flowed effortlessly over their forms, colors chosen with care—deep blues, soft greens, pale golds—each garment enhancing the natural aura of its wearer. The faint shimmer of embroidery caught the lantern light, giving them an almost otherworldly presence.
Among them, Zhang Wei stood apart without trying.
His long white hair, threaded with subtle strands of color, fell like flowing silk down his back, catching the light with every slight movement. His pale robe, clean and light, draped loosely over his slender frame, accentuating a quiet, fragile beauty that drew the eye without demand.
But his plate…
Was different.
Where others held rich meats and hearty portions, his was piled high with greens—steamed vegetables, fresh herbs, and light dishes no one else seemed eager to take.
"Eat to your fill."
Elder Mi gestured calmly, his voice even.
They obeyed.
The soft sounds of dining filled the air once more—the clink of porcelain, the gentle pour of wine, the low hum of music.
Then—
"Zhang Wei."
The shift was immediate.
Elder Mi's gaze fixed on him, sharp and unyielding.
"Eat some meat. You need strength."
The words were soft.
But carried no room for refusal.
Zhang Wei's fingers stilled against his chopsticks. The rich scent of meat seemed to thicken around him, pressing against his senses, tightening his chest.
Ever since the core transplant…
His body had changed.
What once nourished him now rejected him completely. Meat—no matter how finely prepared—brought only pain. He had accepted it, quietly, even if it saddened him.
Because he was alive.
"No," he answered.
Calm.
But not without fear.
A pause followed.
Then—
"Hold him down."
The command fell without hesitation.
Two disciples moved instantly, gripping his shoulders and forcing him back into place. His chopsticks slipped from his grasp, clattering softly against the table.
"Elder, stop—!" Zhang Lin rose abruptly, his voice tight with urgency.
"Sit down."
The elder did not even look at him.
Zhang Lin froze, jaw tightening, his protest cut short.
"Please—he cannot—" Sang Sang's voice trembled, her hands clutching at her sleeves.
Ignored.
"Stop this!" Fei Fei stepped forward, her composed demeanor cracking as urgency sharpened her features.
Too late.
A piece of chicken was forced into Zhang Wei's mouth.
For a single heartbeat—
Silence.
Then his expression twisted.
Not refusal.
Pain.
Raw and immediate.
He gagged violently, his body recoiling as though something inside him rejected the intrusion at its very core. He barely managed to turn before vomiting, the contents spilling onto his pristine robe.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
His body convulsed with each heave, weaker each time, as if an unseen force within him clashed violently against what had been forced upon him. It was not simple sickness—it was rejection on a deeper level, something unnatural, something bound to him reacting in fury.
Around them, murmurs rose.
The surrounding diners turned, their expressions ranging from mild annoyance to open disgust. The music faltered briefly, then resumed, softer, more distant.
"Zhang Wei!"
In an instant, the three siblings surrounded him.
Zhang Lin caught him before he could collapse completely, supporting his trembling form. Sang Sang knelt beside him, her hands shaking as she tried to clean his face. Fei Fei stood close, her gaze no longer gentle but sharp, burning with restrained anger.
Zhang Wei's breathing grew uneven.
Fragile.
And then—
Still.
"Take him to his room."
Elder Mi's voice cut through it all, dismissive, final.
Zhang Lin did not hesitate.
He lifted Zhang Wei into his arms, his grip careful—too careful—as if the slightest pressure might break him. The weight startled him.
Too light.
Far too light.
Zhang Wei's head rested limply against his shoulder, his long white hair slipping like silk, brushing faintly against Zhang Lin's arm.
"I've got him," he muttered.
Sang Sang and Fei Fei followed immediately, while Zhang Lie joined them silently, his expression darkened.
Behind them, the music continued.
As if nothing had happened.
—
The further they climbed, the quieter it became.
The warmth and noise of the dining hall faded into stillness, replaced by dim lantern light and the faint creak of wooden steps beneath their feet.
The room they entered was small but sufficient.
A simple chamber—wooden walls, a low bed draped in soft silk, and a single window left slightly open to the night air. The faint scent of herbs lingered, clean and calming.
Zhang Lin lowered him gently onto the bed.
The silk dipped beneath his weight.
Zhang Wei did not stir.
His breathing was shallow, uneven. His face, now free of strain, looked almost peaceful—but too pale, too still.
"You both head back," Zhang Lin said quietly. "We'll change his robe and join you."
Sang Sang hesitated.
Fei Fei lingered longer, her gaze sharp with reluctance.
"…Call us if anything changes."
Zhang Lin nodded.
They left.
The door slid shut.
Silence followed.
—
"Help me."
Zhang Lie stepped forward.
Together, they carefully removed the soiled robe, peeling it away slowly to avoid disturbing him further. The fabric fell aside, revealing pale skin beneath—cool to the touch.
Zhang Lie frowned slightly.
"He's colder than before."
"I know."
A fresh robe was brought out.
Light purple.
Soft.
The fabric was so fine it barely held shape, flowing like water through their fingers. It was delicate—almost feminine in design, with wide sleeves and a gentle drape that softened Zhang Wei's already fragile appearance.
Zhang Lie couldn't help but glance at it.
"…His taste hasn't changed."
Zhang Lin allowed a faint, tired smile as he dressed him carefully.
"It's what his body tolerates."
The robe settled over Zhang Wei effortlessly, blending with the silk bedding beneath him, making him appear even more ethereal—like something that did not quite belong to the harshness of the world outside.
When they finished, they stepped back.
For a moment, neither spoke.
—
"He'll be fine."
Zhang Lie broke the silence.
Zhang Lin didn't answer immediately.
His hand lingered briefly at Zhang Wei's shoulder, as if grounding himself.
"…He has to be."
After a pause, Zhang Lin reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small pouch. Worn. Simple.
He opened it.
Three small carrots.
He placed them gently on the table beside the bed.
Zhang Lie blinked. "…You carried those all this time?"
"Mother gave them to me before we left," Zhang Lin said softly. "She said he might get hungry."
Zhang Lie looked at the carrots, then at Zhang Wei.
This time—
He said nothing.
"…Let him rest."
Zhang Lin nodded.
The lantern was dimmed, casting the room into a softer glow. The night breeze slipped gently through the open window, stirring the curtains, carrying with it a quiet calm the evening had long since lost.
On the bed, Zhang Wei lay still.
Peaceful.
Fragile.
As if untouched by the cruelty below.
But the faint, uneven rise of his chest…
Told another story.