The night wind brushed past, lifting a strand of An Yao’s black hair, swaying gently under the moonlight.
The words, “I don’t want to become strangers with you, Daoist friend…”
Seemed to drain all her strength.
As her voice faded, silence fell over the courtyard.
Only the soft rustling remained in the air, like the wind whispering mockingly at her clumsiness.
Ye Chen looked at her.
This was the first time he felt such straightforward and fragile emotion from this mysterious woman.
It was no longer the lofty Lun Dao, nor the calm probing, but a kind of… honesty.
He thought this was already the limit of her emotion.
But he was wrong.
After a brief silence, An Yao raised her head again.
Those clear, calm eyes now rippled with waves called panic.
She looked at him.
“So, I want to ask you, Daoist friend.”
Her voice was still soft, but carried a resolute determination that could not be ignored.
“Since my ‘Dao’ seems biased in your eyes, and our ‘Daos’ are not completely the same… then, how should I change?”
Ye Chen’s brows furrowed.
Change?
Before he could speak, An Yao hurriedly, almost incoherently, poured out her deepest fears and contradictions in a clumsy rush.
“How can I correct my understanding so that… you’ll acknowledge me, so that you won’t see me as someone on a different path?”
Her voice trembled, a reaction born of fear.
“So that our ‘Daos’ can walk the same road again?”
She laid everything bare.
To her, this was the only way to solve the problem.
Just like practicing a sword technique—if one move was wrong, she would abandon it and start over; if a path led to a dead end, she’d choose another.
If her thoughts were not recognized by him, then she would change them, accommodate him, and become the Tongdao Zhongren he acknowledged.
It was simple logic, wasn’t it?
She was afraid.
She feared that this rare warmth, which allowed her to feel the peace of time under the cold moonlight, would vanish because of their differences in Lun Dao.
In her long and lonely life, Ye Chen was like a light piercing eternal darkness.
She could lose her cultivation, her status, everything she once cherished.
But she didn’t want to… didn’t want to return to that pitch-black darkness where not even a hand could be seen.
She didn’t want to lose this light.
There was another voice in her mind, representing a completely different approach, but she didn’t want to take that route right now.
“……”
Ye Chen was utterly stunned.
He stared at the woman before him, at the unhidden stubbornness and panic in her eyes, a wave of shock rising in his heart.
What’s going on?
Why would she think this way?
To avoid becoming ‘strangers’, she was willing to change the convictions she had held for years, to twist her already established path—just to accommodate his view?
This…
This was even more obsessive and extreme than her previous aloofness of “independent of the world, I alone remain.”
The former merely kept the world at bay, but the latter would topple her entire world and rebuild it according to another’s design.
This was no longer cultivation.
This was… heart demon.
He finally realized the problem was far graver than he’d thought.
Between them, it was never a debate about ‘Dao’ at all.
From beginning to end, it seemed they were never even discussing the same thing.
He spoke of philosophy, while she… seemed to care about the relationship itself.
A sense of helplessness and absurdity welled up.
He looked at her, seeing that she might abandon everything at his slightest nod, and suddenly, all his grand words about Rushi Chushi seemed so hollow.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his tone calm and gentle, hoping to pull her out of this dangerous dead end.
“Daoist friend, you might… have misunderstood.”
He chose his words carefully.
“Everything earlier was just a dialectic between our minds. The path of cultivation is a process of constant self-denial and self-affirmation. Every person’s thoughts move forward in a spiral through collision and exchange.”
He tried to deconstruct this storm with rational words.
“This is just a simple exchange of ideas. I never said your Dao was wrong. I merely offered another possibility. Why… why did it sound to you as if we could no longer have any connection due to a difference in opinion?”
Ye Chen saw the tension in her profile and slowed his speech, speaking each word clearly.
“Our differing views don’t affect our relationship. Truly.”
His voice spread out in the cool night.
An Yao listened quietly.
‘Dialectic of thought’, ‘spiral progress’, ‘exchange of ideas’… These rational, calm words blew past her ears like the wind, leaving no trace.
Her mind remained trapped in the terror of impending loss.
Until…
Until that sentence landed clearly in her ears.
——“Our differing views don’t affect our relationship.”
Then, Ye Chen’s gentle voice continued.
“We are still Daoist friends, aren’t we? Every month, if you wish, we can still practice swordsmanship at the Stargazing Platform. If we’re free, we can sit here, brew tea, and share… insights and doubts on the path of cultivation.”
“I…”
Ye Chen wanted to say more, to completely dispel her worries.
However, all his words gradually turned into a vague background.
An Yao’s world, at that moment, seemed to be pressed mute.
She heard nothing else.
Only those few sentences echoed in her mind, over and over.
…Do not affect our relationship.
…Can still go to the Stargazing Platform to practice swordsmanship.
…Can still sit here.
So… is that how it is?
So ‘different Dao’ can still ‘seek together’?
So… the light that was about to leave her never intended to go?
Was it her own misunderstanding?
An overwhelming, indescribable joy mixed with the relief of surviving a disaster, burst through her heart like a flood, sweeping away all her anxiety and fear.
The heart-lake frozen by ice and snow melted in an instant, and even… blossomed with spring.
She never thought her emotions could, because of a single person’s words, undergo such a dramatic change from winter to spring in a fleeting moment.
But…
This feeling… isn’t so bad.
Her tense shoulders unconsciously relaxed.
The hands gripping her skirt loosened.
Ye Chen was still earnestly explaining about the independence of thought and the importance of agreeing to disagree.
The more he spoke, the more warmth filled An Yao’s eyes.
She watched his serious face, the slight furrow between his brows out of worry for her, and felt… it was a little cute.
“Pfft.”
A very soft laugh escaped her lips, clear and melodious.
Ye Chen’s ‘long speech’ came to an abrupt halt.
He looked at her in astonishment.
An Yao raised her hand, picked up the cup of tea he had brewed for her, still warm.
Under the moonlight, her eyes curved, starlight seemed to flicker in her gaze, and there was no trace of the earlier despair.
“It’s all right.”
She spoke softly, her tone light with relief.
“Mm, since Daoist friend also doesn’t want to part from me…”
She naturally interpreted his reassurance as sharing her own wishes.
“…then it’s decided.”
She raised her head and drained the tea in one swift, graceful motion.
“From now on, let’s meet often.”
As her words fell, she put down the cup and stood up.
Before Ye Chen could react, her figure shimmered under the moonlight, turning into a flow of light that disappeared from the courtyard, leaving only a gentle whisper lingering on the wind.
“…The tea was delicious.”
The courtyard returned to silence.
Only Ye Chen stood alone, frozen, hand still raised as if to keep explaining.
He looked at the empty teacup, recalling her words before she left.
“…Since Daoist friend also doesn’t want to part from me…”
Ye Chen’s expression grew confused.
Wait.
When did I ever say… I didn’t want to part with her?