Parting and Reunion

He soon took his revenge.

He harmed no young children and implicated no innocents. Everything was just right.

That night, I lay in bed, my azure eyes fixed on the plain curtains hanging around it, tossing and turning.

The day of parting drew ever closer, yet I still could not muster the courage to speak, nor did I know how to begin.

Was I supposed to tell him myself that I could not give him wholehearted love, so this was as far as we could go?

It was too absurd, and too cruel.

I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow.

That lingering gloom between his brows surfaced in my mind again.

I remembered his forced smiles these past few days, his deliberately casual tone, the momentary pause and restraint when his gaze fell on me, and his desolate silhouette that night, sitting alone in the courtyard, steeped in moonlight.

Stay with him a little longer, I whispered to myself inwardly. At least until he emerges from this shadow and gets through these unbearable days... perhaps things will be all right then.

It was both a comfort and an attempt to persuade myself.

Outside the window, the moon sank westward, its clear light gradually fading as a streak of fish-belly white appeared on the horizon.

I drew a deep breath, pulled the brocade quilt up to my chin, and sank into sleep amid the night that was about to disperse from the room.

The next morning, daylight filtered through the window lattice, spreading a thin wash of morning light through the room.

I slowly woke from a light sleep and habitually spread my Blue Silver Domain to sense his whereabouts.

Yet the little courtyard was utterly empty. Not a trace of his presence remained in the veins of the surrounding plants.

My heart suddenly clenched. I hurriedly threw on my clothes, rose, and strode to his door.

I raised my hand to knock, only to discover that the door stood ajar, leaving a narrow gap.

I hesitated for a moment, but ultimately pushed the door open gently and stepped inside.

The room was empty.

The bed was perfectly tidy, the bedding folded with meticulous care. The books on the desk were neatly arranged, and the writing brushes hanging from their rack had been washed and dried.

Everything was in perfect order, as though no one had ever been there.

Only a small white jade box sat in the very center of the bed, conspicuous against the plain white sheet.

My heart skipped a beat, and an ominous premonition rose within me.

I hurried to the bedside, picked up the jade box, and lifted its lid with trembling fingertips.

A pale blue-green hairpin lay quietly on the deep crimson velvet lining.

Its slender shaft had a warm, lustrous hue. Blue Silver Grass patterns twined around it, golden markings faintly shimmering, as though a stretch of tender yet stubborn years had wound itself, strand by strand, into this inch or so of blue-green jade.

A neatly folded sheet of plain paper lay beneath it.

My fingertips trembled. I first picked up the Azure Hairpin and clasped it in my palm, then unfolded the paper. Only two short lines were written on it:

"Ah Yin, I'm leaving. This is my gift to you. Don't dwell on me."

The handwriting was hasty, the ink uneven in shade. It had clearly been written in a rush.

I stood rooted to the spot.

So the parting I had rehearsed countless times had already arrived, in such an abrupt and careless fashion.

The plain paper crumpled between my fingers with a faint rustle.

Coming to my senses, I abruptly turned and hurried a few steps toward the door.

The Blue Silver Domain instantly unfurled from my fingertips. Invisible spiritual fluctuations rapidly spread beyond the courtyard along the veins of the plants. Yet when they reached the courtyard gate, they slowly died away.

It was not that I feared I could not find his trail. Even if I found him, what could I say?

Was I to piece a broken heart back together, only to shatter it once more?

I held the Azure Hairpin in my hand, its cool shaft pressing against my palm. My fingers tightened around it, yet my heart felt hollow, filled with a feeling I could not name.

After standing dazed for a long time, I slowly lowered my eyes and murmured, "...Perhaps this is the best ending."

My voice was very soft, scattering in the morning breeze until even I could barely hear it.

Not long afterward, I left that little courtyard, taking nothing with me except the hairpin.

Following the faint pull of our bloodline, I traveled south until I finally reached the waterfall near Holy Soul Village.

Standing at the edge of the woods, I looked through layers of branches and leaves at that familiar figure in the distance, and at the child beside him who was training beneath the waterfall.

Tang Hao looked far more weathered than I remembered, and far more dispirited. His face was covered in stubble, his clothes were slovenly, and the smell of alcohol clung stubbornly to him. He was like a length of old timber rotted by wind and rain, submerged in the roaring water.

Not far away, a boy of fifteen or sixteen swung the Clear Sky Hammer against the waterfall. His features were finely drawn, his shoulders and back perfectly straight. A thin mist enveloped him, and he possessed a tenacity beyond his years.

I stood where I was, unable to move for a long time.

Morning light slanted through gaps in the leaves, casting scattered golden shadows across the ground. The waterfall's roar swept over the treetops with the wind.

I lowered my eyes, gently rubbing the cool Azure Hairpin beneath my sleeve with my fingertips. The jade's chill seeped through my fingers into my heart.

After a long while, I drew a deep breath, put the hairpin into my Storage Soul Tool, suppressed the turmoil in my heart, and slowly stepped out of the shade.

"...Brother Hao," I called softly, in the tone that had once been so familiar.

Tang Hao's body jolted. The wine flask slipped from his fingers, struck the bluestone, bounced twice, and rolled into the stream with a dull clatter.

He spun around. The instant he saw me, he froze as though struck by lightning. His Adam's apple bobbed, and only after a long while did a few broken syllables escape his throat.

"...Ah Yin? Is that you?"

"It's me." I nodded slightly.

"It really is you-!"

He strode forward and flung his arms wide. The mingled scent of strong liquor and dust from the mountain wilderness rushed toward me as he tried to gather me, whom he had not seen for so many years, tightly into his arms.

But I turned slightly aside, quietly evading his embrace. I brushed past him and walked straight toward the boy standing nearby, staring blankly at me.

The boy's features bore a faint resemblance to Tang Hao's, their contours holding some of the same tenacity. Yet he was much more handsome, with the brightness and purity unique to youth.

I raised my hand slightly, my fingertips trembling as I tried to touch his thin cheek.

"You... are my child, aren't you?"

He simply stared at me, bewilderment first filling his eyes. Then, as he felt the warmth and closeness surging from deep within his bloodline, his pupils trembled slightly.

After a long while, he abruptly came to his senses, and his eyes reddened at once. His lips moved several times before he finally managed a hoarse, quiet call:

"Mom-"

Something seemed to strike my heart hard, and my eyes reddened too. I reached out and gathered him tightly into my arms, my voice catching. "...Good boy... my good boy!"

We held each other silently for a long time. The waterfall thundered in our ears, making everything around us seem especially quiet.

After a while, our emotions settled somewhat.

Tang Hao slowly approached us as well, a lingering trace of disbelief still on his face. He composed himself before speaking. "Ah Yin, this is our child. I named him-Little San."

At the name, my expression shifted slightly. A trace of tenderness spread through my heart, and my gaze toward Tang Hao unconsciously softened.

Back then, I had become sworn siblings with the two brothers. Since the age I gave was the youngest, I ranked third, so they always called me "Little San."

So he had hidden all that longing in our child's name.

The tension in my chest eased a little.

Since he treasured this bond so deeply, surely he would not have let my child suffer too much during the years I was gone.

Tang Hao turned to Tang San, his voice softening in a rare display. "Little San, this is your mother."

He said no more, having clearly told him about my identity and past long ago.

After a pause, he reached out and pressed the boy's shoulder, a touch of awkward pride entering his tone. "Little San has been sensible since he was small. By three, he could light the stove and cook for himself, and manage our daily needs."

"And he's extraordinarily gifted. He inherited my Clear Sky Hammer and your Blue Silver Grass, making him the third person with twin martial souls in ten thousand years. At such a young age, he already has the cultivation of a Soul Emperor..."

Hearing his father praise him to his face, Tang San's ears flushed faintly red. He awkwardly scratched the back of his head and lowered his eyes, too embarrassed to respond.

Yet as I listened, the softness on my face faded little by little. I slowly turned and stared fixedly at Tang Hao, my eyes filled with disbelief.

My stare unnerved Tang Hao, and his voice gradually dwindled. "Wh-what's wrong, Ah Yin?" he stammered.

"Tang Hao!"

I stared hard at him, my gaze growing colder by degrees.

"You mean-while my child was with you, he had to light the stove and cook for himself at three? And look after both of your daily needs?"

My voice was not loud, but it carried anger I could not suppress.

"He was the only flesh and blood I left in this world. You promised me yourself that you would take good care of him for me."

"Is this how you took care of him?!"

By the end, my voice was trembling slightly, with both anger and disappointment that chilled me to the depths of my heart.

Tang Hao froze for a moment, then clenched his fists and slowly lowered his head. He did not dare argue, nor did he have any defense.

Only after a long while did he squeeze a sentence from his throat. "I'm sorry, Ah Yin."

Seeing this, Tang San hurried forward and gently tugged my sleeve, his voice somewhat cautious. "Mom, please don't blame Dad. He just... he just missed you too much, so he often couldn't attend to daily life."

"Besides, I can take care of myself, and I can take care of Dad too. Really."

He said it so naturally and with such certainty, as though all of this were merely a few trivial things to be taken for granted.

My nose stung, and my eyes grew hotter. I turned to the boy before me and looked into his clear, bright eyes, which held a maturity beyond his years.

My fingertips gently brushed the top of his head, and the guilt in my heart deepened, as did my disappointment in Tang Hao's neglect over all these years.

"I'm sorry. It's all Mom's fault... I left too soon. I couldn't stay with you as you grew up, couldn't protect you properly... and made you suffer so much..."

The boy gently shook his head and raised his hand to clutch my sleeve, as though holding a treasure he had lost and found again. His voice was soft, yet utterly certain. "Mom, all that matters is that you're back."

And so this reunion after more than ten years apart slowly drew to a close amid the thunder of the rushing waterfall, mingled with surprise, relief, guilt, and anger.

PS: Gathering some readers' opinions.

What do you all think of this sort of mother-son affection?

1. A deal-breaker.

2. Human nature.