087. Miss Yan

I stood in a pine forest.

I could not tell how long I had been there. The ground beneath me was a cushion of needles, the air heavy with the scent of resin. Around me, the forest rose in quiet ranks, and somewhere far off a stream murmured through the dark. Following the stream’s course, I came at last to a broad, open valley.

There was no one else there. A lone figure stood within the valley, robed in pale garments, too distant to see clearly, but the outline was unmistakably that of a woman. I glanced toward her, then away, and in that instant the shadow of a fish leapt across the ground.

Startled, I looked up.

Above me, an enormous black eagle was circling low through the sky. One sweep of its wings and the whole valley seemed to tremble. Before I could make sense of it, the bird folded its wings and dropped like a stone.

Just as I was about to step back, I found myself standing before a temple door.

Two weathered stone lions guarded the entrance, their faces worn smooth by wind and rain. The temple itself was ancient and silent. At the threshold stood a young woman in a robe of plain white, her expression calm and still. She turned to me with a faint, almost kindly smile and said, “Please come in.”

I followed her inside. For a moment, there was only the hush of the hall.

The woman wore a long white dress, her features fine and luminous as snow. She moved with a grace so refined it seemed to scatter the surrounding light. The hem of her robe was embroidered with white plum blossoms, delicate enough to catch the eye without ever asking for it.

She was beautiful beyond words.

Yet there was something strange in her bearing, something infinitely familiar, as though I had known her in another life.

She smiled. “Our young temple master has endured much to come here. Why so guarded, when you have already made the journey?”

I looked at her, but she only smiled again.

“Do you know me as well?” she asked.

“No.”

“That is a pity.”

The single word seemed to carry a faint sting. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and though she was smiling, there was a glimmer of sorrow in it.

Then she sighed. “The path to this place is not one that any ordinary mortal can find. To reach it, one must first pass through trials most cannot endure.”

I said nothing.

She turned away, her voice soft as falling water. “Some say that in the world beyond, the mountain of immortals and the mortal realm are divided by a gulf that cannot be crossed. Yet fate is a strange thing. It brings people together where none expect it.”

I still could not speak.

She regarded me for a long moment, then gave a light, clear laugh. “I spoke too soon. Since you do not remember me, there is no need for such words.”

She raised a hand, and in that instant the hall shifted.

When I looked again, the pale-robed woman was gone. In her place stood a man in dark ceremonial dress, his face sharp and elegant, his gaze as cold and distant as moonlit steel. There was a gravitas about him that made the whole room seem to bow.

He opened his eyes and said with a faint smile, “You have arrived. I have waited a long time.”

Then he looked at me, and at once I knew what he was.

A ghostly pale complexion, a face carved as if from frost, and a presence so still it was almost oppressive. He wore white plum blossoms upon his robe, the embroidery so fine it seemed to float like mist. His eyes, however, were bright and black as obsidian.

The woman had not lied.

He smiled, and the smile was both tender and distant. “Since you have come this far, it is already enough. There is no need to be afraid.”

Afraid?

I did not answer.

The hall sank into silence.

At last he spoke again. “Before this day, someone entrusted you with a message. He said you were to travel to the mortal world, and that I was not to go with you.”

“So that’s it.”

He seemed to find that amusing. “If I go, I may never return. Yet if I do not go, I may regret it for the rest of my life. Since the temple master is willing to let me go, will you not allow it as well?”

“Why would I have any reason to stop you?”

“Because the journey you are about to take is not one any of us can predict.”

The words were spoken so lightly, yet they carried a weight that made my heart tighten.

He was not wrong. I had only to hear his explanation to understand what he feared.

No matter how he looked at it, there was no certainty in this matter at all.

The smile at the corner of his mouth deepened. “If you say no, then I can only accept it. But if you look at it from my point of view, perhaps I am merely delaying because I am thinking of you. Who knows who will have to travel this road in the end? If your spirit is determined to scatter, if you are willing to wager everything, would you not at least want a pair of eyes to witness the truth?”

“A witness?”

His lashes lowered slightly. “Yes, a witness.”

The hall was quiet enough that even our breathing seemed to echo.

I could not quite tell what had shifted, only that the weight in the air had grown heavier. Then he said, almost casually, “My young temple master, since you have come all this way, you should not leave empty-handed.”

“What are you planning?”

His tone remained gentle. “I am only taking you to see something.”

I frowned. “See what?”

He answered without hesitation. “To see whether the fate I have spoken of is real.”

The words were simple, but they struck me like a blade.

I stood still, and for a moment I could only think of the road ahead.

Even now, I did not know whether this was another dream.

Yet the woman’s smile, the man’s calm certainty, and the deep, unspoken sorrow beneath them all seemed to point toward the same impossible destination.

I took a breath.

“Then let us go.”