Blossoming Path-259. And Still the Blossoms Fall

I woke to the weight of the earth.

Warm. Dense. Alive.

Roots coiled around my limbs, pulsing faintly, as if reluctant to let go. Kudzu tendrils slithered across my ribs like threads stitching a cracked bowl back together. My breath caught... but I was breathing. That alone felt like a miracle.

The air smelled of moss and crushed petals. My skin prickled with the sensation of damp loam. I tried to move, but the plants held me gently, as though I were something precious they’d spent too long guarding. My thoughts scattered like dust in wind.

The battle. The Phoenix Tears. The Envoy escaping.

“Is everyone… okay?” I whispered. Or maybe I only thought it. I wasn’t sure my lips moved.

A shadow fell over me.

I turned, slowly, my neck aching like stone. And then I saw her.

“Tianyi…?”

She stood beside me, barely upright, her wings tattered and trailing glimmering wisps of qi like smoke from a dying flame. Her antennae drooped. Her usually impassive expression cracked as her enormous eyes widened in disbelief.

“Kai…?”

Her voice was a broken thing. Shaky. Raw. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around me before I could even sit up.

I clutched her tight. I didn’t care that she was trembling or that I felt half-dead.

“You’re alive,” I breathed. “You’re really—”

A sudden knock, a scraping sound.

I turned.

Windy pressed his snout against the window frame, eyes wide. His scales shimmered, sporting several new scars along his body.

I reached out with one arm, still tangled in vines, and he slithered in with an undignified squeal, coiling around my chest and burrowing into my shoulder. I winced, but didn’t stop him.

“Hey, hey…” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They were alive. Both of them. That was all I needed.

The door creaked.

A tray clattered to the ground.

A young woman, one of the refugees—I didn’t recognize her name—stood there frozen, staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.

“You’re—! I… I’ll go tell the others! They’ll want to know you’re awake—”

“Wait—” I sat up too fast. My vision swam. “Where is everyone? Are they... okay?”

She paused at the door, caught between fear and awe.

“They’re with Lan-Yin,” she said softly. “She’s… in labor.”

My blood ran cold.

“…What?”

“She started yesterday. They say it was... the stress.”

I didn’t wait to hear more.

“Guide me,” I said, rising shakily. The plants fell away from me with a reluctant hush.

The woman looked startled. “A-Are you sure? You’ve only just woken up, I don’t think—”

“Please.” I steadied myself with one hand against the wall. “Just take me to her.”

She swallowed and nodded, leading the way out of the room.

Each step I took was like wading through molasses. My muscles felt tight, like a bowstring that had been drawn too far and then forgotten. My breath came easier, though; no longer shallow, no longer labored. Tianyi moved behind me silently. Windy slithered just beneath my robe’s hem, careful not to jostle me.

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We reached the base of the stairs, the inn’s wooden floors creaking underfoot. The sounds came sharper now. Clearer. And then I heard a cry.

Lan-Yin’s voice. It was raw, wet with anguish. A cry that came from the depths of her soul.

My chest tightened.

She shouldn’t be enduring this now. Not like this.

We turned a corner, nearing the corridor where the birthing room had been set up. The woman guiding me slowed.

And then she stopped.

She didn’t look at me. Her hands clenched the edge of her robes. I could see her shoulders tense, caught on something unsaid.

I blinked. Then I understood.

Of course.

Even the fathers didn’t usually remain present. A woman in labor wasn’t supposed to be seen by a man not tending to her directly. Not even by a friend. A man’s presence could be seen as disruptive. And according to myth, it invited misfortune. That yang energy could interfere with the birth. That it might taint the process or even burden the child’s first breath.

I stepped back, just short of the corridor. My instincts screamed to push forward, to help, to do something—anything—but I forced myself still. Then I pivoted toward the kitchen.

It had been months since I last stepped foot in here and gave it a proper glance.

I pulled ingredients from jars by scent and memory. Dried licorice root, soaked fig shavings, a sliver of ginseng. I crushed and layered them, activating Essence Extraction instinctively. My Alchemical Nexus shimmered into existence with a pulse, its rings duller than usual, but functional.

The air shimmered faintly with qi. I funneled it in, guiding the reaction. I pulled out a few more ingredients from my storage ring to enhance it's effects. The aroma deepened; earthy and warm with a touch of cool mint. A grounding tonic. One that would soothe pain and regulate internal flow without dulling the senses.

In moments, it was done.

I poured it into a shallow dish and wiped the rim with my sleeve.

I found the girl again near the door, watching with worry. I handed the tonic to her carefully. “For her. It’ll ease the strain and help her push. Slowly, not all at once.”

She took it with wide eyes and fled down the hall.

I lingered in the empty space for a moment, letting my breath settle. Windy nestled at my shoulder. Tianyi hovered close, her wings twitching.

“I don’t see him,” I murmured.

Tianyi tilted her head.

“Wang Jun,” I said. “Where is he?”

Neither spirit beast answered.

I stepped out into the morning light. The sky was pale, clouds hanging low on the horizon. The village smelled of ash and salt.

And then I saw him. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Elder Ming.

He was standing beneath the awning near the outer courtyard, coordinating something with a few older villagers. His posture sagged. His shoulders looked smaller somehow, as if the burden of years had caught up to him all at once.

When he turned and saw me, he froze.

“Kai…”

The way he said my name—shocked, disbelieving—it drew the attention of others. Gasps rippled through the yard. A few stopped in their tracks. Someone dropped a basket of herbal cloth.

I offered a shallow bow, wincing as my ribs protested. “I’m alright.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said quietly. “We thought…”

His words died as he stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. His fingers trembled slightly, like a man too tired to hold up even relief.

“I’m still here,” I said. “How… are the others?”

Elder Ming glanced away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he looked back at me, his eyes seemed older.

He shook himself and swallowed.

“Jian Feng and Yu Long are heavily injured, but they’ll recover with time,” he said. “Han Chen fell unconscious after the battle, but his condition is stable. Xu Ziqing’s taken over coordinating the Verdant Lotus disciples.”

A pause.

“Ren Zhi has entered seclusion. His wounds were deep. He says he'll need time.”

I listened quietly as he continued. The list of names went on; disciples from the Verdant Lotus Sect, some from Gentle Wind or Pingyao.

I memorized each name, carving them into my mind.

But the silence between each name felt heavier than the names themselves.

He never said Wang Jun.

I blinked and forced a smile.

“Hah… Wang Jun must be panicking right now,” I said lightly. “Probably tearing apart his shop looking for cloth to make a matching apron and hammer for the baby.”

No one laughed.

Not Elder Ming. Not the nearby villagers who had overheard. Their silence wasn’t awkward. It was too sharp. Too brittle.

I looked up.

Elder Ming’s face had gone slack—mouth slightly open, as if the words had frozen before they reached his lips. His throat bobbed.

The world tilted slightly.

“…Elder Ming?” I asked, quieter now.

Still no answer. A whisper of wind passed us, but it didn’t clear the weight in my chest.

I took a step back. “He’s—he’s fine. Right? Just… helping somewhere else. Maybe watching over Lan-Yin from—”

The words crumbled.

Because I knew.

The look in Elder Ming’s eyes told me. The tremble in Tianyi’s hands when she walked me here. The way no one had met my gaze when I first stepped outside.

“No,” I said quietly. “No, he can’t be—”

"Kai, I..."

I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and ran.

My body hadn’t fully healed, and every stride sent fire licking through my joints, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I needed space, somewhere Elder Ming’s expression wouldn’t follow me.

He was wrong.

He had to be wrong.

Maybe Wang Jun had been hurt. Badly. Maybe that's why Lan-Yin's cries seemed beyond just physical pain. That made more sense. Didn’t it?

I tried to recall the last moment I saw him.

The Scarred Envoy… I’d been thrown. No, he had. I remembered it now. Wang Jun stepping forward, hammer raised. Then the Envoy sending him across the field.

But after that?

Nothing.

My memory was a blur of blood and vines and fire and screaming wind. A thousand choices I barely remembered making.

But Wang Jun wasn’t dead.

He couldn’t be.

I passed the longhouse. The door was open. Inside, the Verdant Lotus disciples knelt in a circle around a large incense mound. A memorial.

I shut my eyes. Kept running.

The wind was louder now. Colder.

“Kai!” someone called behind me. Another voice followed, but I couldn’t hear what they said. I didn’t look back.

My feet found the coast before I did.

The sea opened wide and grey before me. Gentle Wind’s shoreline, where I once trained with trembling limbs and burning lungs.

Now, the scent of smoke and salt lingered.

There were boats. Lined up on the sand, simple wooden rafts carefully bound with twine and flowers. Each bore offerings: dried herbs, small tokens, robes folded with reverence. Some had weapons laid upon them. Others had nothing at all.

Funerary rafts. Set to drift into the sea as our village's tradition demanded, carrying the fallen on their final journey.

Li Wei was there. With his father.

The young carpenter knelt over a half-finished raft, his movements steady and practiced. His sleeve was bandaged. His face drawn. But he worked with care.

He looked up, and his eyes widened.

“Kai…?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The sound caught in my throat.

Because I saw it.

Near the water’s edge.

A raft already finished. Perfectly bound. Lovingly prepared.

Laid atop it was a familiar robe. Maroon and black. His forge apron had been folded over his chest, hands clasped as if he were merely sleeping.

Wang Jun.

I dropped to my knees.

He was gone.

I didn’t feel the sand beneath me.

Barely felt Tianyi’s hand as it closed around mine, trembling, or Windy’s snout as it pressed softly into the small of my back.

The only thing I felt was the empty space where Wang Jun should’ve been. The shape of a friend carved out of the world and violently removed.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear apart that raft and shake him awake and ask why he wasn’t joking. Why he wasn’t snapping his fingers and declaring it all part of some elaborate prank.

But I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I watched as Elder Ming approached from the dunes behind me. His steps were heavy, his breathing strained. He stood behind me for a long time, not saying anything.

Then, in a voice smaller than I’d ever heard from him, he said—

“I’m sorry.”

It broke something.

A thread, somewhere deep, came undone.

Because I hadn’t given up the Phoenix Tears. Because I thought we could win. Because I thought I could win.

I pressed my palms to the sand, knuckles white, head bowed low.

He died because of me. So did the others. Refugees whose names I hadn’t learned. The disciples who were stationed here to protect the village at my request. People who had stood behind me when I made the choice to stand my ground.

I chose to fight. I chose this path.

But I didn’t choose this outcome. I wasn’t strong enough to change it.

And now the Interface was silent.

As if ashamed of me.

As if it had given up.