At the summit of the snow-capped mountains, amidst howling and ancient gales, Ye Tong’s once warm gaze had turned gradually cold, with even the last flicker of tenderness dissipating under the biting winds. Observing Qian Ye steadfastly standing there with his defiant resolve, Ye Tong started to speak—then stopped, swallowing the sharper words threatening to spill forth. Eventually, she simply uttered in an icy tone: “It’s impossible.”
“You haven’t even tried.”
Qian Ye’s gaze shimmered with an unusual fire that did not reflect his normally collected demeanor.
“If that’s absolutely what you seek, then do as you please.” So cold were Ye Tong’s words as she cast him aside in tone and emotion.
Nodding resolutely, Qian Ye did not appear affected in the least by her frigidity but continued, “Could you enlighten me fully on the matter ahead?”
“Go ask him about it.” With this, Ye Tong gestured sharply to Gari Nan.
The aristocrat bearing silver wings had been quietly observing their exchange. As details unfolded between them, Gari slowly perceived their intricate bond—an enigma best left untouched, prompting a cautious retreat. Yet before he could slip away discreetly, she summoned him sharply back.
Resolving the situation, Gari finally stood beside Qian Ye, coughed uneasily, mentally preparing his narrative’s outset. Ye Tong, however, interceded with her calm decree: “We’ll go to the crash site—I’ll listen as you talk on the way.”
As promptly as she concluded this, her lithe silhouette blurred—disappearing into the raging winds. When it came to speed, neither Qian Ye nor Gari stood a chance competing. Even that momentous burst only approached what might equal a flash through the void itself.
Offering a bittersweet mirthless smirk, Qian exchanged glances briefly with Garian before pursuing Ye-Tong’s retreating figure. Fully understanding the unlikeliness of their ever matching the swift spectre ahead, they elected instead not to hasten pursuit for now, affording Gari Nan precious reprieve to elaborate as they journeyed onwards together.
Some while earlier, the Emperor of Dark sought Ye Tong’s hand—a request that remained unsatisfactory for refusal. Grueling months following this denial yielded new discoveries—that Qi Ye and Ye Tong had absconded to neutral ground in a place untouched by emerald or duskly powers’ dominion. Undeterred by setbacks, the Emperor summoned elite agents to neutral lands once more in another endeavor, intent on reclaiming Ye Tong by force.
This campaign had drawn careful lessons. Prince Meteonso, the commander, dispatched with unusual precaution, unleashed a deputy duke, three earls, alongside countless noblemen brimming with might at the mission’s core—all in firm determination for absolute success. In lesser circumspection circumstances, the Emperor would undoubtedly have deployed an Archduke had not the Blood Throne posed lingering threats.
Into the heart of perilous neutral space, their ranking subordinate, Somal—known also by his infamous sobriquet as “Stormbreaker” had tempered previous wrathful nature through discipline for covert approach. Their expedition progressed even more seamlessly than expected.
At that moment of approach, Ye-tong had sought contact covertly by vampire bloodline networks back into Duskdom—eventually resulting in this fateful rendezvous. Despite vague forewarnings from their target’s lips, Somal suddenly betrayed them; disregarding their awakened secret altogether.
She’d underestimated the magnitude. The moment of second awakening saw terrifying might manifesting—an awesome power capable of downing an immense airborne battleship, effortlessly decapitating its foe in moments. In fierce skirmishes that followed between remaining forces, the pursued were finally driven to their stand atop an icy cliff where help came—arriving by way of Qian Ye’s unexpected intervention.
However, in seeing her present inhuman speed on full display, Garian came fully into understanding she had effectively played her captors for fools throughout their days of pursuit—evading at will were she ever truly intent toward escape.
At conclusion’s end within that harrowed tale retold, it struck clear to Qian—the truth had unfolded without need for outside interventions. The adversaries were beneath her strength alone, had she not been besieged by them relentlessly. Yet despite his dawning awareness, this fact had made no difference whatsoever for his decision—for regardless how transformed, or whose thoughts lay dominant beneath that form he once knew well and deeply—she would never again feel unshielded beneath his protection.
The burden now entirely unclasped from off his weary heart—the feeling of weightless clarity flooded over, soothing the unrest.
Walking most half a day, terrain slowly shifted. At last they reached a region bordering cliff-edges that abruptly gave way into boundless skies of icy wastes—a great airborne war vessel half sunk deep into rock-solid frost beneath it. The warship’s architecture showed extreme resilience against collapse. Despite deep fissures along external hulls exposed to weathered conditions, its exterior bore mostly intact testimony to survival; an eerie contrast to what destructive measures brought it here in the first place, which puzzled observers alike.
Amused at contemplation of this conundrums’ nature he’d voiced aloud his speculation onto Garian—who merely turned embarrassed again, hesitating over responses he seemed incapable of producing himself. It would finally be understood: the silver-fingered earl himself had only vague notions—never grasped fully the mechanism whereby Somal fell—much less any comprehension toward means that sent such colossal airborne warships plungingly earthward.
While the demise of Somal could at the very least still be explained through bloodline disintegration—a theory consistent if one assumed her lineage proved simply insufficient against Ye Tong’s own. However the descent of the warship remained an impossibility: hovering miles high above the battlefield, and showing no structural faults detected afterward upon investigation—it became an utter enigma beyond any logic he’d previously witnessed or studied.
Concededly unwise toward further probing without leads at hand, Qi-Ye abandoned the inquiry and proceeded in his company with Garian further still—eventually arriving at the warship’s wreck amidst frost plains.
The wait was brief though, as Ye Tong had beat them there—lost in introspection; the nature of her silent contemplation remaining elusive to even her companions.
Their arrival marked by silence unbroken, Ye-Tong turned away without acknowledging the arrival of either Qian Ye or her previous pursuers—issuing flat declarations of intent with detached nonchalance. “I shall make this wreck sufficient for a temporary dwelling, starting repairs. Garian—you’ll see the vessel refurnished.”
The title bearing an air of nobility did no justice to his knowledge in airship maintenance—it showed no sign at all his skill aligned to task. Yet he bore responsibility as second in presence. As vassal to his lord, what one cannot knows now one must learn by doing. Gari Nan offered not rebuttals of impossibility, promptly taking flight and disappearing within wreck’s inner depths with purpose he only guessed at now.
Left then in the presence were only Ye Tong and Qian Ye himself—strands of thoughts forming, dissolving. Yet not one sound found expression past his throat. A sea of feelings churned within; yet none were fit enough against time as he stood wordless, caught between what to keep unsaid, the worth of speechless understanding, versus meaningless attempts at re-igniting past familiarity or closeness never to return.
After a pause measured by silence, Ye Tong resumed her detached tones of indifference—her words cutting through like icy wind: “If you lack tasks to perform, you may go.”
“And how might I contact you after departure henceforth?
This question slipped freely from Qian Ye’s lips with instinctual urgency. To her credit, rather than irritation or aloof silence she merely answered with serenity: “Wait here, for now—for a departure I’ve no inclination toward.”
“But…” Qian Ye, circling, could barely distinguish why she’d elect such a place. “This location is not exactly a beacon of splendo…”
Ye Tong allowed her gaze to rest for a long moment at the edges of her thoughts—addressing it briefly.
“Reconstruction has commenced. This body is inadequate. Far too weak to bear further forces yet unexplored—I seek renewal over great time required in its transformation.”
She turned partially sideways now—eyes catching sight of Qian Ye once, her voice revealing rare vulnerability within the mask of solemnity:
When the reconstruction finishes…” Her glance spoke of the future with finality—a truth irreversible.
“… the Ye Tong you’ve known, once, no matter what from where deep within—you may lay to rest. The girl you’ve known won’t exist—not heart nor shell, neither form nor thought.”
Her words pierced like ice but Qian Ye remained motionless through her revelation for a long silence—until, his voice broke, soft like whisper: “It was because of the soul’s restoration, wasn’t it?”
A long drawn intake of icy air was the first response from across.
“Yes.”
It left his chest hollow to hear the admission so plainly issued.
“I had sustained grievous trauma—then came reconstruction anew before expected timeline ever matured from nature or time.”
“You would likely wait lifetimes for awakening if not for these incidents…”
“Indeed, this is how things stand.” Another bitter smile traced across Qian Ye’s expression.
“It matters neither one jot. There’s never even a speck of regret from here, inside me.”
For the first time after so long, Ye Tong turned towards him—locking gaze upon his figure intently—for every motion unmissed; each memory preserved like sacred relics—until soft lights dimmed gradually back into habitual serenity.
“As the very first person my vessel’s spirit bonded through love shared long gone past lifespans, I recall you always… these words, these moments are granted because once you meant much to her—the original consciousness. Go now.”
Qian Ye raised no objections—merely inclined respectfully, pivotted and began stepping away through snow-laced plains, his silhouette slowly fading.
At Juno Zhu’s side however lay the young girl quiet until the breaking point: “We not going to bring Sister along this time?”
With one gentle motion—a tender hand reached down; tousling strands of young hope—his expression a smile—shadowed now only faintly by sorrow: “She remains. Choosing place over companions.”
“But this place…!” Juno scanned wide left then right across endless frost plains. “It feels… sad and cold.”
“Of course, we will return. Often!”
Silhouettes gradually blurred against the horizon, two figures dissolving into the snowy background, until all trace melted from human perception, vanishing into distant white. Ye Tong: unmoving.
Over the eastern ocean skies, Valhalla drifted slowly across—great wings unfurling like a giant manta ray cruising skies instead than seas—leaving silence trailing far beneath. Even leviathan horrors of deepest waters dare not expose itself.
Days passed before Qi Ye would arrive upon familiar northern tundras.
Across low valley, fresh wooden huts dotted terrain with elegant gardens forming around—fresh earth revealing green patches peeking shyly: young life springing anew.
This gentle display came with quiet astonishment.
He had not envisioned Yue Qing possessing any inclination toward these gentler pastimes—yet, amidst his past memories of this strategist born cold from ancient warrings, it felt strange but welcomed, this glimpse into a different self hidden somewhere long unseen. Soon, the creak of wood betrayed her movements from within the home. Emerging slowly outward in careful steps. A blade hung from her waistline—a weapon of quality, foreign amidst their last moments apart.
With idle gestures of feigned indifference she turned her head toward the forest, only later taking note of this hovering colossus, alarm rising as she fumbled trying to pull hidden dagger behind her.
Yet as she turned sharply—his form appeared unsummoned—a figure already present where only silence reigned minutes before.
He observed this small display with mild amusement, barely hidden grin upon countenance. She lingered between surrender and concealment. The blade trembling as her hands clenched reflexively.
Finally, she reached out—offering weapon forward in silence, surrendering hands that barely held it steady.
Qi-Ye gestured wordlessly but decisively: “Bring this close, and let me see.”
With this quiet authority, her shoulders dropped—realization settling like a storm’s hush before rain, surrender in motion. Still reluctant yet resolute, her hands offered blade to Qian Ye. A visible trembling overtook the motion: an act meant, presumably, to signal her vulnerability—but met with silence.
He held little surprise toward her games or deceptions. Years of shared knowledge toward her scheming, manipulative core rendered gestures beneath her mastery irrelevant at last.
Lifting from her palms to his—blade turned expertly through his hands. With a delicate stroke of skin at his thumb tip, a tiny crimson line appeared—an unmistakable test’s successful completion of sharpness. That it had sliced Qi-Ye himself without any resistance spoke volumes—its keenness ranked highly, perhaps even elite-grade within weaponry rated as sixth level.
Still… there lay mysteries.
The origin intrigued his thoughts, circling with rising suspicion. That she once stood unclothed in front of Qi Ye in those old moments—body displayed without barriers—he personally overseeing removal of all technological and armor components attached then. There had been no place left to secretly stow contraband.
Gaze returning to hers—a single demand spoken without doubt.
“A very exquisite craftsmanship this one. But pray, where, might its origins be?”
A long heavy sigh escaped her lips—relieved of any pretenses, acceptance flowing freely now.
She bent and pulled garments, baring mechanical legs blending seamlessly within living skin of thighs that still held aesthetic symmetry despite their unnatural structure—a strange allure amidst synthetic art, human grace merged.
Reaching along the leg bone once—an outstretched palm summoned forth a dark crystal of highest caliber.
The response: instantaneous realization—spoken almost to air.
“A Spatial artifact?”
Qi-Ye—caught unaware in stunned disbelief that now gripped tightly into hands gripping the dark crystal, thoughts reeling from this discovery:
In realms of the Emperor, or Eternal Dusk—for even basic spatial artifacts commanded exorbitant pricing—each carrying limited storage potential, volatile in function, and restrictive upon use due to their unstable nature. Most fetched their value less due to their inherent utility, but through study—knowledge hidden in potential applications. A spatial device such as An Dudua’s hidden dimensions remained a legend unheard of even in theory. The emergence of just so small an artifact—here on Qing Yue, was beyond all expectations—an event unforeseen.
An object of such caliber appearing upon this woman, of all possible individuals—was, indeed, staggering to say the least.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage