After countless attempts, Vera still found herself falling from the steel planks, time and again. But within these repeated leaps and stumbles, she had begun to gain something far more precious than success—experience.
With a graceful flick of her wrist, golden magical lines spiraled into the air, forming an elegant arc. From the light emerged a small, exquisitely crafted notebook. Its cover shimmered with faint ethereal glow, carved with the image of a soaring Crane Immortal. The delicate detailing suggested not only craftsmanship, but a sense of sacred reverence—like the pages themselves were steeped in magic and memory.
Vera opened the notebook gently. At that very moment, a feather-light quill descended from above, landing perfectly between her fingers as if summoned by her will.
Taking a deep breath, she wrote her first line with unwavering determination:
"Master, I will come to see you. I'll perform your favorite spell, just for you."
The ink flowed like an oath, elegant and firm.
As the words settled on the page, Vera paused. Then, with delicate strokes, she began sketching a portrait—her master's face. He had a strong, upright figure, and his expression was always so warm, as if his smile could melt away every storm cloud in the world.
Though the version of him she drew now was different from the one she had met long ago, Vera couldn't help but smile gently.
Back then, her master had been intimidating—stern and silent, with an air so imposing she constantly felt she had done something wrong in his presence. She hadn't even dared to meet his gaze for more than three seconds.
But over time, she discovered a different truth.
Her master wasn't cold—he simply didn't know how to smile. Beneath that rigid exterior was a heart both sensitive and kind, a soul full of warmth he didn't know how to show.
When the final stroke of her drawing was done, Vera gazed at the face she had rendered on paper. Her lips curved upward with quiet affection. Then she turned the page and began doodling in the margins, jotting down thoughts, notes, and all the little realizations she had about the treacherous, shifting steel planks within the Void Realm.
She recalled, vividly, the wisdom her master had always shared with her:
"There's no such thing as an impossible task—only a lack of will. If you find something difficult, write it down. Study it. Every failure is just another form of experience."
Every time he said those words, Vera couldn't help but burst into applause.
"Master is so wise! Truly, the most learned of all!"
Her master would just smile softly, turning to look back at her with calm eyes:
"Even the greatest of people have their own challenges—barriers they cannot cross."
At that time, Vera had timidly asked:
"Master… do you have such a barrier, too?"
Her master lifted his gaze toward the iridescent clouds above. His expression turned pensive, almost melancholic, as if staring into the depths of the realm itself. After a long pause, he finally spoke:
"Perhaps… the barrier I cannot cross is the emotional bond I hold for a certain disciple."
That single sentence caused ripples across Vera's heart, so sudden and gentle it almost hurt.
She lowered her eyes, staring down at the red notebook in her hands—the one her master had gifted her, with the Crane Immortal carefully etched onto the cover. Its presence now felt unusually heavy.
"Could it be… Master has someone he loves?"
She bit her lip and felt a subtle sting behind her eyes. Her expression faltered ever so slightly.
It didn't go unnoticed.
As if sensing her shift in emotion, her master stepped forward, his eyes filled with warmth, his voice soft and comforting:
"You're worrying for me? There's no need. I know how to carry my burdens. I always have."
Vera quickly bowed, lowering herself with respectful elegance. She brought her hands together in the traditional gesture of reverence—left palm over right fist—and spoke earnestly:
"If there's anything this disciple can do to help, please tell me. Your burdens are mine to share. I hope you can live your days in peace, with nothing but happiness and laughter."
Her master chuckled faintly, raising a hand to gently brush back her flowing hair. His eyes glowed with tender pride:
"With you by my side, how could I not be happy? You've always been my greatest pride, Vera."
In that moment, her heart thudded so loud she feared he might hear it.
She wanted to ask—to finally give voice to the question that had been clawing at her heart:
"Then… who is your beloved?"
But she stopped herself. She knew the lines that separated a disciple from a master. She couldn't cross them… could she?
Instead, she smiled lightly and tucked all her tangled emotions into a single harmless question:
"What kind of person is your ideal type, Master?"
There was a pause. Time seemed to slow as her master stared at her, gaze deep and unfathomable. After a long silence, he finally replied:
"Someone who can make me smile. Someone who brings me joy… effortlessly."
Those words landed on Vera's heart like a feather—soft, but crushing in their weight.
Why did she feel so bitter, so… unwilling?
Was it because she wasn't that kind of person for him?
Or had her feelings for her master quietly transformed, far beyond the lines of master and disciple?
She shook her head, forcing herself back into the present. The trials weren't over yet. She still had the Void to conquer.
"If Master truly has someone he loves, then perhaps that's a good thing."
"If the day comes when I can no longer stay by his side… at least there'll be someone left to take care of him."
She closed her eyes, recalling the rhythm of the jumping patterns. A thought flickered in her mind, sharper now—more focused.
A pattern was forming.
The planks labeled 135—those ones were volatile. They shifted in color and position, causing most of her failures.
But the 246 planks remained steady, like anchors in the storm.
She opened her notebook once more and wrote down this observation with her feather quill. As the ink flowed, her thoughts once again drifted to her master.
To those warm eyes that always seemed to be watching her from afar. To the silent bond between them—unspoken, yet never denied.
And in the stillness of the Void, she whispered to herself:
"I'll keep moving forward, no matter how many times I fall. Because I know—he's waiting."