Waving His Sleeves, He Said Nothing of Parting

That night was the longest, coldest night Wang Xian had ever spent.

King Qin Guang waved his sleeve and drove him away from the banks of the River of the Weak back to the world of the living.

When he opened his eyes, two teardrops still clung to his cheeks, and a faint, delicate fragrance lingered on his lips.

He lowered his head and froze.

He hadn't expected that, upon entering the Yellow Springs again, he would truly pluck a petal from that lush garden, driven by his unwillingness to accept things.

He gazed at the petal in his hand, thinking of King Qin Guang's words.

For a moment, he was stunned. What did that mean?

Could it be that the King of Hell had softened out of sympathy for his lingering regret and unwillingness to let go? Did he have a tender, soft-hearted side after all?

Damn it, just say what you mean!

He stared at the dewdrop-covered petal in his hand, speechless.

After a long silence, he took out Dongfang Yun's purple-gold gourd.

He rummaged through the room until he found a jade bottle of just the right size. With a faint sigh, he slipped the petal inside.

Then he slowly filled the bottle with spirit wine. It came to exactly three cups. One petal really was too little; if only he'd picked a whole flower.

They say the great are often forgetful. Wang Xian had no idea how many treasures he had on him by now.

He had traveled between heaven and earth several times, yet in his eyes, he was still nothing but a poor man.

He'd forgotten that he still had a divine flower from the other shore, leaves and all, resting quietly in a jade box inside the tiny world within his jade disc.