Zhu Yinxi gave her one last look before turning to leave.
The morning breeze stirred his robes, and the jade flute at his waist swayed gently, making a crisp clinking sound.
Li Nanzhu stood rooted to the spot, not loosening her clenched fists until both of their figures had vanished into the morning mist.
A sharp pain radiated from her palms. Looking down, she saw that her nails had dug deep into her flesh at some unknown point. But what was this minor pain compared to the hollow void in her heart?
Another day passed.
Li Nanzhu's sword broke.
She had been practicing too hard; the blade could no longer withstand the intensity of her spiritual energy. It shattered into fragments under the cold morning light. She stared at the broken remains on the ground and suddenly laughed.
"Even you couldn't hold on?"
Suisui's bone claws hurriedly gathered a shard of the blade, the soul fire reflecting the wounds on the web of her hand—scabs that had formed and split open repeatedly. Li Nanzhu slowly crouched down, her fingertips tracing the grain of the broken wood. Her eyes began to burn with an intense, stinging heat.
She crouched there, touching the splinters of the wooden sword, and suddenly felt her eyes grow hot.
—As it turned out, the sharpest sword of all was memory.
She suddenly gripped the largest fragment. The moment the wooden splinter pierced her palm, the sound of a dry branch snapping came from behind her.
"Junior Sister!"
Duan Xianxing, who had been watching from the shadows, rushed over and grabbed her wrist, his voice trembling. "What are you doing?!"
She looked up, her smile as perfect as ever. "Practicing my swordplay."
"You—" Duan Xianxing opened his mouth, but ultimately only gritted his teeth. "...Don't be like this. If something is on your mind, just say it."
"Why are you saying the exact same thing as our second senior brother?" She tilted her head, her smile innocent. "Seventh Senior Brother, you don't need to worry so much."
—They knew nothing.
Duan Xianxing's hand still tightly gripped her wrist, his fingertips pressing against her thrumming pulse as if fearing she might shatter in the next second.
His eyes were bright and burning, filled with the clumsy concern of a youth, but to Li Nanzhu, that gaze felt like a knife cutting into her.
—He didn't know who Xiao Yan was.
Zhu Yinxi stood nearby at some point, his jade flute pressed against his lips, though he did not play.
His gaze fell upon her blood-stained palm, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were lost in thought. Li Nanzhu knew that this second senior brother of hers had always been perceptive, but even so.
—He didn't know what she had lost.
Suisui lay on her shoulder, its soul fire gently nuzzling her cheek while its bone claws carefully touched her wound. The little skeleton's worry was pure and direct, but it also didn't know that Li Nanzhu's pain wasn't in her hand, nor on her shoulder, nor in any place they could see.
—None of them knew.
They didn't know who Xiao Yan was. They didn't know that his final words as he dissipated—"the heavens won't fall"—had been spoken with a smile. They didn't know the despair of watching him turn into points of light, unable to even catch a corner of his sleeve. They didn't know how much death she had witnessed on the battlefield, yet this was the one she could not accept.
—They only knew she was very sad.
But what was sadness? Was it practicing the sword until the skin on her hands split? Was it weeping silently in the night? Was it forcing a smile and saying "I'm fine"?
—They didn't know.
They didn't know that every time she swung her sword, she thought, 'If only I had been a little faster.' They didn't know that every breath she took felt like swallowing a handful of shattered glass. They didn't know that every time she smiled, it felt like plunging a knife deeper into her own heart.
—They only felt that she was "very sad."
Duan Xianxing’s grip loosened slightly, his voice dropping. "...Junior Sister, what is really wrong?"
Zhu Yinxi finally lowered his jade flute. He stared at her as if trying to unearth something from her eyes, but Li Nanzhu's gaze was as calm as a pool of stagnant water, without even a ripple.
Li Nanzhu looked at them and suddenly smiled.
"It’s nothing," she said softly. "The sword just broke."
Duan Xianxing’s eyes grew red, and he suddenly pulled her into a hug, his voice choked with emotion. "...If you're hurting, just cry. Stop smiling."
Li Nanzhu's smile finally froze.
—She could no longer smile.
She slowly closed her eyes, and tears fell silently.
"...I'm fine," she said softly, though even she didn't believe it.
Suisui climbed onto her shoulder, its soul fire gently rubbing against her cheek in silent comfort.
In the distance, Feng Yi stood beneath the shadows of the bamboo, quietly watching it all before finally turning to leave.
After a long while, Li Nanzhu bent over to pick up the broken sword from the ground, her thumb grazing the cracks as if stroking a wound that would never heal.
"I'm going to practice for a little longer," she said softly, turning toward the martial arts arena.
Duan Xianxing wanted to follow, but Zhu Yinxi raised a hand to stop him.
"Leave her be," the second senior brother's voice was faint, but carried an undeniable weight.
Li Nanzhu did not look back.
The morning breeze brushed against her robes, and Suisui lay on her shoulder, its soul fire flickering weakly.
—They didn't know.
—And she would not let them see again.
...
By the time the morning dew had yet to dry, Li Nanzhu's sword had already broken seven times.
This time, it was a sword made of Zhe wood that Duan Xianxing had recently carved. The rough hilt still bore traces of blood from where he had chafed the web of his own hand.
The youth sat at the edge of the martial arts arena, silently watching her pick up the broken pieces of the sword one by one—just like picking up the shattered fragments of Xiao Yan's form as he dissipated in the secret realm that day.
Suisui lay on her shoulder, its soul fire flickering intermittently. The little skeleton's bone claws held half a mirror shard, reflecting the spiderweb of bloodshot veins in Li Nanzhu's eyes.
Duan Xianxing suddenly stood up and pulled a fresh piece of wood from the woodpile. The boy's movements in carving the wood with a blade were clumsy; wood chips flew, even cutting his wrist, but he simply jammed the newly formed sword blank into the ground and turned to leave.
The sword blank was crooked and hadn't even been sharpened.
Li Nanzhu knew Duan Xianxing was angry. Angry at her for not cherishing her own body, angry at her for refusing to say anything.
Meanwhile, Zhu Yinxi's jade flute sounded for half a note under the corridor.
Li Nanzhu's movements stopped. They... were all still here.
Even if they didn't know what had happened.
But Duan Xianxing remembered the specific texture of the Zhe wood she preferred when she woke up at the hour of Zi and practiced her swordplay.
Zhu Yinxi noticed the way her fingers refused to let go of the porcelain shards when she accidentally smashed her teacup.
Li Nanzhu raised the new sword blank. As she performed the third variation of the one-hundred-and-eighth form, the blade suddenly let out a groan of being overtaxed.
"Crack!"
Duan Xianxing had returned at some point, carrying a clay jar. He thudded the jar onto the ground, and the potent scent of alcohol immediately drifted through the air.
"Want a drink?" His eyes were fixed on Li Nanzhu's still-bleeding wrist.
Zhu Yinxi's flute music stopped completely. He walked over, his jade flute gently tapping the Zhe wood sword wrapped in green cord.
"Tap."
A crisp sound, much like the sound of Xiao Yan's fan bone tapping against her sword back in the secret realm.
For the first time, Li Nanzhu did not continue her swordplay.
She looked at Duan Xianxing's haphazardly bandaged wrist, at the wear marks that had appeared on Zhu Yinxi's jade flute at some unknown point, and at the fragments Suisui was desperately trying to hold onto—the pieces she thought no one noticed.
They truly did not know Xiao Yan.
But they remembered every bit of pain that Li Nanzhu had forgotten to hide.
When the morning light had fully spread across the land, Li Nanzhu finally let the shards of the broken sword slip through her fingers. Suisui immediately caught a piece, its soul fire reflecting the intersecting scars on her palm—the newest one was still seeping blood, its shape mirroring the grain of Duan Xianxing’s Zhe wood sword blank.
"Today..." Her voice was raspy amidst the scent of wine. "I won't practice anymore."
Duan Xianxing suddenly set the clay jar down heavily, the wine splashing onto his hem. The youth's eyes were red, but he grinned, his canines flashing bright white in the morning sun.
"Perfect! The Zhe wood I just got..."
"...Is terrible for making swords."
Zhu Yinxi's jade flute swept across, gently blocking Duan Xianxing.
Suisui tucked the mirror shard into her hand, reflecting the shadows of the three of them elongated by the morning sun. The little skeleton's soul fire suddenly flared up, forming a blurry silhouette of a figure holding a fan above the shadows—
Only to be quickly dispersed by the morning breeze.
She knew they were telling her through their actions, "You don't need to carry this alone."
She also knew that she would eventually get better—but not today.
Not today.
Today, she simply accepted the bowl of wine handed to her by Duan Xianxing. This time, she was the one who stopped herself.
This time, it was for real.
Rate on N.U.
