The garden of the soul was a hidden corner in the back grounds of the Jinhai Mansion.
Few knew of it, and fewer still had permission to tread upon its stone paths.
There grew moon flowers, crimson lotus leaves, and willows that wept without wind.
It was the place where the Jinhai bid farewell to those who departed without promise of return.
Suwei walked barefoot, dressed in white. The air smelled of dew and incense ash.
In the center of the garden, Mistress Wuyin awaited him, with a gaze as serene as it was firm.
Behind her, an ancient stone altar, covered in forgotten symbols, and upon it...
A dark wooden box with engravings of dragon and cloud.
—This object was delivered by your father before he disappeared into exile —said the old woman—.
No one managed to open it. But the ancients said it would only react when a worthy descendant set foot in the Dragon Palace.
Suwei took it with both hands. The touch was warm. The wood seemed to vibrate.
—What if I am not the worthy one? —he asked, more to himself than to her.
Wuyin smiled with the sadness of one who has lived too long.
—Then, the fire will decide.
Beside the altar, kneeling on the garden stones, Suwei burned a white silk ribbon.
On it he had written the names of his ancestors, and those who were no longer present.
The breeze carried the ashes toward the sky.
—I swear not to forget where I come from. Nor whom I represent.
Whatever my destiny may be... my soul remains Jinhai.
His eyes shone, but he did not let a tear fall.
Mistress Wuyin extended her hand. In it, a jade hairpin shaped like a crane.
—Your mother wore it when facing the court —she whispered—.
It is not for your hair. It is so you remember that even the most fragile... can fly above the fire.
Hours later, the entourage was ready.
Five horses, three escorts, and the already worn banner of House Jinhai waving like a sigh.
The servants came out to say goodbye. Some with tears. Others in silence.
Suwei climbed into the carriage without looking back.
Only upon reaching the stone gate did he slightly turn his head...
And his eyes sought one last time the garden where his soul had grown.
A voice, deep within him, whispered again:
—Nothing will be the same. And neither will you.
The carriage began its journey.
The mountain mist enveloped everything, carrying Suwei toward the palace...
...and toward a destiny that had already begun to write his name.