Beneath the abyss, the sea of clouds boiled, yet utterly silent.
Hua Yin stood on the cliff edge, the wind surging from all directions, whipping her sleeves and long hair like countless invisible hands, trying to pull her higher or lower into the unknown. She remained motionless, only looking down at the small white flower in her palm.
Six petals, almost transparently thin, the pale golden light at the center no longer a faint point, but flowing slowly, like a drop of melting starlight, wandering between the veins. The fragrance was extremely faint, yet possessed a strange penetrating power, piercing straight into the deepest, most hidden corner of her heart, stirring up some extremely vague, extremely distant fragments—
In the rain of peach blossoms, someone stood with hands behind their back, a tall, slender figure, a low, warm voice.
"Yin, do you still remember, when this flower bloomed, what did I promise you?"
She tried to grasp that voice, but only grasped the wind.
The white flower suddenly trembled slightly, and fine silver threads sprouted from the edges of its petals, like spiderwebs or veins woven by moonlight, silently climbing up her fingertips, disappearing into her skin, and vanishing in an instant.
The burn mark on her chest intensified abruptly, as if something was knocking at the door.
She took a deep breath. The pebbles on the cliff edge, whipped up by the wind, cascaded down into the abyss, transforming in mid-air into specks of white light, then coalescing back into tiny flowers, slowly swirling around her like a flock of silent butterflies, or countless fragmented old dreams.
Behind her, deep in the mist, the howling of the demon wolf had faded into the distance.
Replaced by heavier footsteps—two rough maids had finally mustered the courage to catch up, but stopped ten paces away, their faces pale, not daring to approach.
"Ninth... Ninth Miss…" one of their voices trembled, "It's getting late, we… we've come to gather herbs for you."
Hua Yin did not turn around.
She merely raised her hand, brushing it aside with utmost gentleness.
The wind ceased.
The swirling white specks of light scattered abruptly, like snow falling into the sea of clouds, or stars returning to their places. The thorns along the cliff edge moved swiftly without wind, their thorns all curving inwards, creating a hidden path leading downwards to a cliff platform deep within the sea of mist.
On the platform, a clump of half-withered spiritual herbs was faintly visible, its leaves long and narrow, their edges frosted with silver—the very "Frost-Condensing Grass" that the Lin Clan desperately needed—rumored to survive only in desolate places where spiritual energy remained. The slightest carelessness in harvesting it would trigger a backlash from the earth's veins, causing anything from a reversal of spiritual energy to the complete destruction of one's meridians.
This was Lin Huayan's true purpose in bringing her here.
The two maids' eyes lit up when they saw the clump of spiritual herbs, but their expressions immediately turned to fear. They knew the danger of this herb; a disciple in their clan had once tried to pick it, only to have his fingertips cut by its leaves, his spiritual energy depleted overnight, and he rendered useless.
They exchanged a glance, pushing and shoving each other, unwilling to go forward, placing their hopes solely on Hua Yin—after all, she was already crippled, so it wouldn't matter if she were broken.
Hua Yin, however, had already taken a step.
She descended along the narrow path cleared by thorns, her steps incredibly steady, as if treading on invisible stairs. Her hem brushed against the thorns, which didn't harm her in the slightest, but instead trembled slightly, as if making way for her.
The platform was extremely small, barely enough for one person.
Frost-Condensed Grass grew quietly in the center, its roots embedded in the cracks of the rocks, its leaves shimmering faintly in the mist, like a cluster of cold flames.
She crouched down, her fingertips hovering three inches above the blades of grass, without touching them.
The blades of grass, however, sensed her presence; the silver frost instantly melted, turning into tiny droplets that rolled down, revealing extremely faint, flowing golden veins between the veins—exactly the same as the veins of the white flower on her palm.
At that moment, the entire Frost-Condensed Grass trembled slightly, as if seeing a long-lost friend. Hua Yin chuckled softly.
Her voice was as light as a sigh, yet carried the joy of finally confirming some hidden secret.
She finally reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing against the central leaf.
There was no backlash.
No reversal of spiritual energy.
The Frost-Condensing Grass merely bowed its leaves slightly, as if bowing to her. Then, the entire plant rose from its roots, the roots automatically detaching from the cracks in the stone, curling into a loose bundle, lying quietly in her palm.
The withered peach pit in the bamboo basket suddenly jumped.
She carefully placed the Frost-Condensing Grass into the basket, then casually picked a few common auxiliary herbs, concealing their sharpness.
When she stood up, the fog had mostly dissipated.
The setting sun shone through the sea of clouds, its rays slanting and golden, like a giant sword traversing heaven and earth.
She stood at the edge of the platform; the wind blew again, this time with warmth.
Her long hair flew, her sleeves fluttered.
In that instant, she was like a white flower finally taking root in a desolate place, quiet yet radiating an undeniable light.
In the distance, the two maids stared in disbelief.
They had never seen anyone so easily pluck the Frost-Condensing Grass, nor had they ever seen that dangerous spiritual herb so readily offer its roots like a tamed cat.
Their legs went weak, and they nearly knelt.
But Hua Yin had already turned and continued upwards along the path she had come from.
The thorns once again parted to make way for her.
The light from the white flower gathered again behind her, this time not scattering, but quietly disappearing into her hair, like a delicate crown of stars, invisible to anyone.
When she returned to the cliff top, dusk had fallen.
In the distance, the lights of the Lin Clan's mountain gate twinkled, like those of the mortal world.
She looked down and saw that the white flower in her palm had closed its petals, but the pale golden light at its center had brightened, like a tiny, heartbeat-like thing.
She pressed her hand to her heart.
The burn mark trembled slightly in response.
The concluding poem:
Frost clings to the cliff, grass bends,
Thorns bow their heads to yield to the flowers.
A perilous plant willingly curls,
A white flower quietly crowns itself in the desolate land.
The setting sun, like a sword, traverses the sea of clouds,
Golden eyes reflect old wishes.
The wind rises, the fog dissipates, the lights fade,
In my mortal dreams, I find peace first.