The heat had not yet broken.
The breath of autumn should have cooled the mountain, but here, at the height of the Gao range, the warmth clung stubbornly to stone. It softened the wind, turning it into something that drifted rather than cut.
Haoran moved through the trees without hurry.
A narrow ribbon of water wound its way along the mountain’s spine, slipping over stone, threading through roots, vanishing and reappearing. He followed it as one would follow a guide, with trust. The sound of it was constant: a low, patient murmur beneath the rustle of leaves and the distant, uneven calls of birds settling into their evening perches.
The trees thinned gradually as the ground sloped, and the water quickened, its murmur rising as it gathered itself. Without warning, the earth gave way, and the stream broke over the edge of the world.
Haoran stepped out onto the cliff and stopped.
The sky stretched wide and open. The sun hung low at the edge of the horizon, spilling its last light across the mountains in a slow, burning tide. As Haoran watched, it felt almost close enough that, if he reached out—just slightly—his fingers might brush against that gold. He stood there unmoving, as though witnessing dusk for the very first time.
His red and white robes surged and snapped in the wind, alive where he remained still. It was the ceremonial attire adorned by the bearer of the Third Seal, and Haoran wore it for the first time. He removed the bronze guan, pulled the pin free from his long hair, and the strands loosened at once, caught by the wind and scattered to freedom.
He had climbed the summit of the Gao range to celebrate his victory over SiZhui. But he was beginning to feel anxious, a quiet doubt that Huifen might not join him after all.
They had made a promise. Once he received the seal granting him access to the restricted grounds, this would be the first place he came. Huifen, already bearing the Second Seal, had sworn to accompany him.
The sun lowered and the shadows lengthened. The gold dimmed, pulling back from the world inch by inch until the red took hold entirely. Then even that began to fade.
Haoran exhaled slowly, feeling the disappointment settle in his chest as he moved to the edge of the cliff. The roar of the falling water rose around him now, louder and fuller. He looked down and saw nothing—no end or measure, only the pull of it, the sheer drop, and endless descent.
He had meant to jump. That had been the plan. But plans are strange things when made with another person.
So be it.
He turned to leave and nearly collided with Huifen. Haoran stopped short, his breath catching for the briefest instant.
Huifen stood directly before him. There was a smile on his face—small, amused by the fact that he had caught him completely off guard.
“You’re late,” Haoran accused, though the words came out softer than he intended.
“I got held back,” Huifen replied. No apology. “What are you doing, standing there with your guard down?” He stepped past him, moving to the edge without hesitation, and looked over.
Haoran didn’t answer at once.
Then, evenly, he said, “I can sense malice from a mile away.”
Huifen glanced back at him, the smile still on his face. “Fair.”
A pause.
“But why do you want to jump?” His tone shifted slightly, concern threading through it. “This has to be the place for the first?”
Haoran met his gaze directly.
“We,” he said, steady and certain. “We are jumping.”
Something in Huifen’s expression changed, a line drawn, waiting for reason to cross it.
Haoran saw it and pushed back immediately. “You promised.”
Silence.
The last of the daylight slipped beyond the horizon.
“Sun’s already set,” Haoran said. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t wait for agreement. Unfastening his sword, he set it aside.
Then he reached for his outer robe and began to strip, layer by layer. The white fell first, then the red beneath it, each piece set aside with carelessness.
When he finished, he turned back. Huifen wasn’t watching the cliff anymore; his eyes were fixed on his chest.
“What?” Haoran asked. “Why aren’t you stripping?”
No answer. Haoran didn’t push this time.
With only his undergarments left, he stepped back to the edge. He looked down once more, then leaned forward and stepped into empty air.
Huifen moved at once.
“Haoran!”
He lunged, arm outstretched, but caught nothing. Only the sound of Haoran’s name, the echo swallowed by the fall.
Huifen didn’t strip.
He didn’t think.
He jumped after him.
The fall stretched, pulling and pulling. Water crashed past in a relentless column, striking them as they plunged with it, forceful and violent.
Haoran adjusted his body midair, instinct guiding him. He angled himself through the rushing air, aligning with the narrow channel of water to soften the impact.
The water closed over him at once, swallowing sound and light. It was cold, but more than that, it was heavy—not the clean, yielding weight of ordinary water. It pressed back and resisted, each movement dragging as though he were forcing his way through something thicker, denser, closer to oil than water.
So, it's real.
He had read about it in the worn pages of Jun Lao’s journal from within the sect archives. The old master had written of the place more than once, each account more insistent than the last: a submerged passage, a hidden cavern. And within it—a Bloodheart Elder tree. Its fruit was said to amplify spiritual energy to a degree few treasures could ever match.
Above, the surface broke again. Huifen struck the water hard and sank, pulled down immediately by the same crushing density. Haoran turned in the water, watching the dark shape descend, stall, then struggle.
He cut through the pressure toward him, forcing his body forward against the drag. Huifen’s ceremonial robes spread heavily around him, dragging at his limbs and turning every motion sluggish.
Haoran reached him and caught him, steadying him before the struggle could worsen. He guided Huifen’s hands to his waist, firm and deliberate, then gestured for him to hold.
Huifen's grip tightened. Good. Haoran turned and pushed upward.
The cliff walls rose with them as they broke the surface, enclosing the black water on all sides. It was a submerged basin of stone without an opening or path forward, only up and down.
They drew what breath they could manage.
Then they descended together. The pressure thickened as they went deeper, and the light from above faded quickly, reduced to a dim haze before vanishing altogether.
Haoran’s lungs tightened, the strain building faster than it should have as he dragged both his weight and Huifen’s.
Ahead, something shifted, a pale light within the depths of the pool. Haoran adjusted at once, angling toward it as it grew clearer, resolving into a steady radiance cutting through the dark water.
Moonlight?
Haoran’s chest burned, his movements slowing as exhaustion set in. The last stretch dragged, each motion demanding more than the last. His lungs tightened to the edge of failure, breath clawing for release just out of reach. Almost.
He forced one final surge, pulling them both through the narrow passage.
They broke the surface, and the weight of the water fell away at once. Air tore into Haoran’s lungs and he drew it in sharply, the tightness in his chest loosening with each breath. He did not leave the water immediately.
He lifted his gaze.
High above, a jagged opening split the ceiling of the cavern. Moonlight spilled through it in a pale column, falling upon the outlet. Beyond its reach, the cavern stretched inward, swallowed by total darkness.
Haoran turned and caught Huifen watching him.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
There was a smile on his face—not the usual restrained curve, but something softer, warmer, unfamiliar even.
“What?” Haoran asked.
Huifen did not answer at once. His gaze lingered a moment longer before he said, simply, “Thank you.”
Haoran blinked. “For what?”
No reply.
Huifen pulled himself from the water, his soaked robes dragging heavily against him. That was answer enough.
Haoran climbed out after him and looked back toward the opening high above. It was too far, steep, and without any handholds. The only viable path in or out of this place was through the water passage.
* * * * *
Huifen drew his sword. At his command, a blue flame kindled along the blade, steady and cold, casting light across the stone walls.
The cave opened into branching paths almost at once, a maze. Haoran had read of this, vast and winding, filled with turns that led nowhere or doubled back on themselves. Jun Lao’s journal had not been explicit about the way forward.
“What are we looking for?” Huifen asked.
“A Bloodheart Elder,” Haoran said, unable to keep the edge of anticipation from his voice.
He waited for Huifen’s response.
Nothing.
Haoran glanced at him, surprised. “You know,” he went on, studying him now, “some say its fruit can bring the dead back to life.”
“A gross exaggeration,” Huifen replied, calm and dismissive as he moved forward.
Haoran stopped.
Huifen took one more step before halting as well, turning slightly toward him. Haoran watched him in silence.
Something was not right with Huifen. It was not the words themselves, but the ease, the warmth—the way he stood. Subtle shifts, but enough to unsettle.
“What?” It was Huifen’s turn to ask.
Haoran held his gaze a moment longer, then exhaled softly and let it go. “Nothing,” he said, a faint smile following. “It is just… great that you are here with me.”
Huifen returned the smile.
They moved on.
The paths twisted, narrowed, opened, and split again. More than once, they doubled back, correcting their course by instinct and guesswork alone.
Eventually, they found it.
The tree stood in a pocket of near-total darkness, revealed only by the blue flame of Huifen’s sword. It was smaller than expected. No taller than Haoran, a thin white trunk, smooth and pale, rose from the stone near the wall of the cave.
Its leaves were a deep, muted red, unmoving in the still air. At its center hung a single fruit, small and crimson, no larger than an apricot.
They stopped before it.
Huifen spoke first. “It doesn’t look like something that grants immortality.”
“It doesn’t,” Haoran said, his voice holding no disappointment, only focus.
He stepped closer and examined it carefully, the texture of the bark, the veins in the leaves, the faint, almost imperceptible pulse within the fruit. Everything matched.
Except the size.
A slow smile spread across his face.
This was it!
Behind him, Huifen remained silent.
Haoran’s certainty deepened. Huifen knew nothing of the tree, not its magical properties, nor even its history. And why would he? Huifen’s path was martial discipline, leadership, strength honed through effort and control, with no reliance on external props. Haoran, on the other hand, specialized in the unseen forces, the movement of energy.
This was his domain.
He reached out and plucked the fruit. It came free easily, lighter than expected. He studied it up close, then raised it toward his mouth.
Before he could bite, Huifen’s hand closed around his wrist. The grip was firm, though not forceful.
“Remind me,” Huifen said, his voice even, “what exactly does it do?”
Haoran glanced at him, faintly amused by the caution. “It enhances energy. That’s what Master Lao recorded. It is mentioned in other cultivation texts as well as one of the most effective restoratives. In battle, when your reserves are drained, something like this can decide the outcome.”
Huifen did not release his hand.
Haoran continued, more casually now. “There are stories of desperate families seeking it out, parents paying large sums to get it for children who cannot form a spiritual core. For ordinary people, even diluted, it grants strength far beyond their limits.”
A pause followed.
Huifen’s gaze did not shift. “And the side effects?”
“None,” Haoran said without hesitation.
Huifen studied him for a breath longer, as if weighing the answers, not the words themselves, but the ease with which they had been given. “Alright,” he said at last.
Before Haoran could react, Huifen took the fruit from his hand and put it whole into his mouth.
Haoran blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—”
Too late.
Huifen chewed once, then stilled. His expression tightened immediately, a grimace pulling at the corner of his mouth. He chewed again, slower this time, as if reconsidering the decision with each movement.
“It’s bitter,” he muttered.
“Swallow it,” Haoran said, unable to hold back a quiet chuckle.
Huifen shook his head instinctively. His body rejected the idea outright.
“Don’t waste it.” Haoran encouraged. “You won’t regret it.”
Huifen’s eyes narrowed. Reluctantly, he forced it down, his throat tightening as he swallowed.
They waited.
The cave remained still. Nothing stirred, no shift in the air, no surge of visible energy, no immediate transformation.
Huifen exhaled slowly. “I feel like I’ve been poisoned,” he said flatly. “It’s too bitter.”
Haoran stepped closer at once, his earlier amusement fading, his hands hovering slightly, ready to steady him if needed. “Sit first,” he said.
Huifen did not argue. He lowered himself to the stone, leaning back against the cave wall with a measured breath.
In that moment, Haoran took the flaming sword and threw it upward, casting a spell to keep it hovering and lighting the cave. Then his attention returned fully to Huifen.
Aside from Huifen appearing slightly dizzy, nothing was happening.
Then the flame on the sword above flickered, as if dying, before flaring with a sudden intensity that turned the cave white for the span of five breaths, as though something unseen had fed it.
Haoran tensed, his gaze snapping back to Huifen.
Huifen’s breathing shifted. He drew in sharply through his mouth, each breath heavier than the last.
Haoran’s concern turned to fear. “What is it?”
Huifen leaned his head back against the stone, eyes half-lidded, his expression tightening in a way that did not match pain alone.
“I feel…” He paused, searching, his breath uneven. “…too much.”
Haoran frowned. “Too much? Too much what?”
Huifen’s fingers curled against the stone, tension gathering through his arms, his entire body. “It’s—” He broke off, his jaw tightening. “It feels good.”
Haoran went still.
Huifen’s brow furrowed as if resisting something rising within him. “Too good,” he corrected, his voice strained now. “It hurts.”
“Where?” Haoran asked. “Where does it hurt?”
Huifen did not answer.
The tension in him snapped. A sharp sound tore from him, half a shout, half something less restrained, as his body jacked forward and then backward, slamming hard against the stone wall.
Haoran’s eyes widened. He had never seen him like this, never heard him scream before.
“Huifen?”
Another sound escaped him, lower this time, dragged from somewhere deeper, his breathing breaking into uneven, forced pulls of air.
Energy surged, overwhelming and unfiltered, flooding every nerve at once, stretching sensation beyond what his body and mind could bear. Huifen forced himself upright into the lotus position and began to meditate, dragging control back through breath and stillness, letting the foreign energy pass through him without resistance.
Haoran watched, uncertain. He could not tell if Huifen stood on the verge of a breakthrough or collapse.
Gradually, with time, the tension eased. The rigid lines of Huifen’s body softened, the force that had gripped him loosening its hold. Only then did Haoran allow himself to relax. The tightness in his chest eased as he lowered himself to sit beside Huifen—close enough to steady him if needed, but no longer braced for immediate disaster.
“How is it now?" he asked.
Huifen's eyes remained closed, his attention turned inward, as he measured what had yet to settle. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but distant.
“I feel off balance,” he said. “Overwhelmed. I am not certain, but I imagine this is what drunkenness would feel like.”
The tension in Haoran’s shoulders eased fully at last. “You could release some of the excess energy,” he said more lightly. “Though that would defeat the purpose.”
Silence returned, softer this time.
Then, almost as an afterthought, Haoran added, “You really had me worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Huifen said.
Haoran’s head snapped up sharply, all ease leaving him at once. Those were two words Huifen had never said to him. His mind reeled as he studied him—the man beside him—and this time, he truly looked.
Then his awareness drifted outward, to the space around them, to the weight of it. He lifted his own hand and examined it, watching how the light touched his skin.
Huifen spoke again, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative.
“If it can bring back the dead, why can it not grant immortality?”
Haoran frowned first, then a faint smile tugged at his lips as realization dawned. Huifen was not one for idle chatter. None of this was real.
His thoughts began to slip, unable to settle on anything solid. He stood and stepped back, giving space without thinking.
When he turned and looked again, Huifen had not moved. He remained seated in the lotus position, eyes closed, breath steady.
But something had changed.
A faint sheen of light traced the outline of his form. At first it was barely there, like a trick of the eye, but it deepened with each passing breath, growing clearer, brighter, until it settled around him like warmth made visible.
Haoran’s chest tightened as that warmth deepened into gold.
This was not something meant to be seen.
An aura was not merely power made visible. It was the self, unguarded. To look upon it felt like standing too close, like hearing words never meant to be spoken aloud. And revealing it, even by accident, was to stand exposed in a way no cultivator allowed lightly.
“Huifen—" Haoran stared, his thoughts faltering.
“This isn’t real,” he said at last, the words quiet, almost uncertain. “I’m dreaming.”
Huifen’s eyes opened.
Aura brighter.
He looked at Haoran, calm, composed, as though nothing within him had shifted.
“Then wake up,” he said.
Haoran closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, it was to the dim light of the infirmary.