Yuzhen looked at the pendant in his hand. For a moment, he thought he was imagining it. He'd worn it for years, ever since his mother left. It was just one of those things he stopped noticing because it was always there, cool against his skin in any weather, silent no matter how often he touched it. But now, it felt warm. Not hot, not burning, just warm enough to feel… off.
He frowned and gripped it tighter. Nothing changed. The room stayed quiet, the candle flame by the desk unmoving. Outside, crickets chirped in the garden as if the world hadn't shifted at all. Yuzhen almost laughed at himself. "Too tired," he thought. "Too much pain today, too many old memories, not enough sleep."
He let the pendant fall back against his chest and reached for the pill his grandmother had given him. It sat pale gold in his palm for a second before he swallowed it. It dissolved fast, a cool sensation spreading through him, slow and steady. The ache in his chest eased, not completely, but enough. He breathed out. "Better. At least I won't spit blood if I stand up too quickly now."
Yuzhen poured himself the rest of the tea and forced down half the bowl of soup. He wasn't hungry, but his grandmother always knew if he left everything untouched. She just *knew*. When he finished, he stood and went to the washbasin in the corner. The water was cold. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, rinsed his hands, and then stared at his reflection in the water for a beat longer than he intended.
He looked tired. Not weak – he hated that word – but tired, yes. His face had thinned over the past few months. The softness of youth was still there, but less so. His eyes looked darker tonight, sharper. He turned away. The room felt smaller now, too full of things he didn't want to deal with: his father's letter, the paper crane, the meditation mat in the middle of the floor, like a quiet insult.
Yuzhen walked back to the center of the room and stood over the mat. He should leave, go to sleep, stop thinking, stop trying. Instead, he crouched down and reached for the small, dark, nearly dry stain of blood he'd left on the floor. His sleeve brushed the mat, his hand slipped slightly on the polished wood.
The next part happened so fast he couldn't quite piece it together. His fingertip scraped against the edge of a broken stone piece from the spirit board he'd apparently brought back without realizing it was still in his sleeve. Pain flashed. A thin line opened on his finger, and a bright bead of blood welled up. Before he could react, it fell. Not to the floor. To the pendant.
The jade drank it. Yuzhen froze. He had no other word for it. The blood touched the surface and vanished as if it had never been there. Then the pendant turned hot. He sucked in a breath, almost dropping it, but the cord was still around his neck. Heat rushed through the jade, up into his fingers, across his chest. It wasn't painful, just too fast, too sudden.
The room changed. The candle flame bent sharply with no wind. Shadows on the wall twisted. For one impossible second, the air in front of him rippled like disturbed water. Yuzhen stumbled back. "What—" A low humming sound filled the room. It came from the pendant, no, from everywhere – the floor, the walls, the air pressing in. The jade at his chest flashed white. Then the whole room disappeared.
Yuzhen's feet hit ground. Real ground, soft ground. He nearly fell but caught himself. The first thing he noticed was the smell: not sandalwood, not dust, not the stale, closed smell of his cultivation room. This smelled clean, like wet soil, fresh leaves, and a faint sweetness like crushed herbs. The second thing was the light. Not candlelight, not moonlight. The whole place seemed lit from everywhere and nowhere at once, pale, even, and strange. Only then did he look up. And stop breathing.
He stood in the middle of a vast, open space that shouldn't have existed. Ahead, a field of dark earth stretched out, divided into neat rows, empty but radiating spiritual energy so thick he could feel it from where he stood. To the left, a spring flowed from white stone into a clear pool, quiet and steady, its surface shining like polished glass. Beyond that stood several small buildings made of jade-colored wood and pale stone, simple in design but ancient in a way he couldn't explain. Further back, almost hidden in mist, rose a line of halls. Not just one hall, but several. Grand, silent, their roofs curved like wings, their doors closed, their steps white as frost.
For a long moment, Yuzhen could only stare. *This is not possible.* That was the first thought. The next came right after: *Mother.* His hand flew to the pendant at his chest. It was gone. No—not gone. When he looked down, a faint jade mark had appeared on the inside of his wrist, pale silver for a blink before fading again.
Yuzhen stood very still. His heartbeat was loud in his ears now. He should be afraid. He was afraid. But fear wasn't the strongest thing in him at that moment. Shock, yes. Confusion, yes. But beneath it all, sharp and rising fast, was something else: hope.
A voice cut through the silence. "You finally came."
Yuzhen turned so fast his sleeve snapped through the air. No one had been there a second ago. Now, something small stood at the edge of the spring, hands behind its back, looking at him with obvious impatience. Not a child, not exactly. It was the size of a six or seven-year-old, with soft white clothes, pale skin, and long green-tinted hair tied loosely. Its face was round, its eyes bright, and at the top of its head, half-hidden in its hair, was a tiny sprout.
Yuzhen stared. The little thing stared back. Then it sighed. "You took too long."
For once in his life, Bia Yuzhen had no words ready. The creature frowned at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Yuzhen found his voice. "Because you shouldn't exist."
The answer seemed to offend it. "Hmph. Ignorant." It jumped down from the stone by the spring and landed lightly on the grass. Up close, the spiritual energy around it felt pure and rich, thick enough to make Yuzhen's skin tighten. "You can call me Xiaoren," it said. "I've been waiting for you for years."
Years. Yuzhen looked from Xiaoren to the fields, to the spring, to the halls in the distance. Then back. "This is..." He stopped. Started again. "What is this place?"
Xiaoren lifted its chin. "Your inheritance."
The words hit harder than they should have. Yuzhen let out a short, humorless laugh. "I think I need a better explanation than that."
"You will get one." Xiaoren turned and pointed toward the distant halls. "There are libraries. Spirit fields. A spring. Storage rooms. And things you can't touch yet, even if you cry about it."
"I'm not going to cry."
"That would be good. It would be very annoying."
Despite everything, despite the shock, the unreal ground under his feet, and the fact that none of this made sense, something in Yuzhen almost steadied. Because Xiaoren sounded real. Not like a dream, not like an illusion. Real in the most irritating way possible. He took one careful step forward. The grass bent under his shoes. The air was cool on his face. This was real.
His throat felt dry. "My mother left this?" he asked.
At that, Xiaoren's expression changed. Not softer, just less smug. "Yes," it said.
Yuzhen's chest tightened. He had questions. Too many. Where was she? Why had she left? Why now? Why him? Why had the pendant never reacted before? But one thought broke ahead of all the others.
"If this place is real," he said slowly, "then there must be—"
"A way forward?" Xiaoren cut in.
Yuzhen looked at it. The little spirit folded its arms. "Obviously."
Those two words landed like thunder. For a second, Yuzhen just stood there. His ruined foundation. His father trapped in a secret realm because of him. The months of failure. The pity. The anger. The helplessness. All of it seemed to stop and hold its breath with him.
Xiaoren was already walking away toward the spring. "Come on," it said. "I'll show you the place. And before you ask, yes, there is something here that can help you."
Yuzhen did not move. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat now. "Help me how?"
Xiaoren looked back. Its eyes were bright and very old. "Help you cultivate again," it said.
And for the first time since his foundation broke, Bia Yuzhen forgot how to breathe.