Night fell. Xiao Mu sat beneath the bodhi tree outside the temple, holding the feather shard. Since the lotus offering, it felt heavier, a faint crack now visible. Alone, he listened to the rustling leaves—like whispers from ancient times.
As he grew drowsy, strange things began to happen. Fallen leaves slowly formed a circle around him. Symbols emerged on the tree bark—like ancient pictographs. The feather shard began to glow.
Suddenly, his vision blurred. He was elsewhere. An elderly woman knelt beneath the tree, holding a similar feather shard, murmuring:
"May he be free from sorrow, and return to the world once more."
Xiao Mu wanted to speak, but the scene vanished. He awoke beneath the tree, a new mark etched into his palm—a tree-shaped imprint.
Back in the temple, he found the feather shard split in two. One half had vanished. The other remained, as if awaiting its next purpose.