No one objected to his speech. The silence that followed was not one of hesitation, but of profound relief. For most, the “Sui” name was a shame. Turning a once protective village into a hidden slaughter house; with the last true heir dead, the village felt more like a home again. They were ready for a new era.

  Yet, a name is only as strong as the power behind it. The proof of Yue Fei’s legitimacy rested entirely on the Core in Ren Lin’s hand. By handing it to her, Yue Fei wasn't just giving her a tool; he was placing his life and his new title in her hands. If the Core failed, the “Yue” era would end before it began.

  It was an act of gratitude and honor.

  Ren Lin waited for the cheers to die down. She didn't need to ponder on which memory to sacrifice—she had chosen it the moment the plan was formed. Truthfully, Ren Lin found her memories of this world sparse and gray, but there was one she held with a flicker of genuine pride: the first time she had sold her poems.

  It wasn't about the money. It was the memory of her creativity finally reaching the world, of gaining a reputation that was actually hers, rather than one forced upon her by an editor's pen.

  “Are you ready?” Feiyun Xing leaned in, whispering near her ear.

  With a nod, she stepped forward. With Xing acting as the conduit for the necessary essence, Ren Lin began the infusion. The process was as smooth as silk; her desired memory left into the swirl of ice.

  After this, all that remained was to wait for the Leviathan to wake—and sing its eerie lullaby.

  That being said, a few more days passed. Days filled with anticipation not only for the Leviathan, but also for how the new leader is going to behave. Until one evening a huge body rose to the sky. Even from this distance one could make out its head. Gills spread like fans across the dazzling aurora sky as the singing started.

  While the Phoenix Tree protected them, Ren Lin stepped out of its barrier. Holding the memory stored in the Core, she offered it.

  As she stood alone in the biting cold, the Wang Bing Core began to glow. The memory of that small market stall, the scent of ink on parchment, and the first time a stranger had looked at her words and seen her—it all surged forward.

  Then, the Core shattered.

  A wisp of crystalline light, blue as a winter's dawn, spiraled upward. It defied the wind, streaking toward the colossal silhouette of the Leviathan. For a moment, Ren Lin felt a hollow ache in her chest, a phantom limb where that moment of pride once lived.

  A searing heat erupted on the back of her right hand. She gasped, clutching her wrist as the skin puckered and glowed. When the light faded, a delicate, white feather was etched into her skin, its tip pointing toward her fingers. It was identical to the one on Feiyun Xing’s chest, yet its placement felt different—not a mark over the heart, but a mark on the hand that held the pen and the spear.

  She stepped back into the warmth of the village, her breath hitching. Feiyun Xing was there instantly, his eyes wide as he grabbed her hand.

  “You got it,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over the mark. “Seems like this time you didn’t use the wrong memory, eh?~”

  “Oh you…” she gave him a little push.

  The levity faded quickly.

  Morning came wrapped in pale mist, the kind that clung to rooftops and hems alike, as if the village itself were reluctant to let go. Word had already spread. There were no bells, no formal announcement, just doors opening earlier than usual and people lingering in the streets with no real purpose other than to be there.

  Ren Lin noticed everything, catalogued it with the same distant clarity she always did. The crooked fence someone had never gotten around to fixing. The way the old woman by the well pretended not to watch them pack. The children who hovered just outside arm’s reach, bold enough to stare but not to speak.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  She told herself it was familiarity, nothing more. Habit masquerading as attachment.

  Feiyun Xing did not pretend.

  “Take care of it,” he said to the new leader quietly. “Take care of them.”

  Yue Fei bowed respectfully. “You gave us a future,” he replied. “That debt will not be forgotten.”

  The villagers walked them to the edge of the Phoenix Tree’s reach. No one tried to stop them. No one asked them to stay. That, somehow, made it worse.

  A small bundle was pressed into Ren Lin’s hands at the last moment. Dried ink sticks, wrapped carefully in cloth. She blinked, surprised.

  “For the road,” said the woman who ran the market stall. “You always looked like you were thinking of words.”

  Ren Lin opened her mouth. Closed it. Then she bowed, deeper than etiquette demanded. “Thank you,” she said.

  Someone laughed softly. Someone else wiped their eyes.

  Feiyun Xing waved with both hands, smiling too wide, calling promises he fully intended to keep. “We’ll visit,” he said. “When things calm down. When we’re less… in a hurry.”

  That earned a few chuckles, thin but genuine.

  Ren Lin lingered half a step behind him.

  She turned, once, and let her gaze sweep over the village. The roofs. The tree. The people who had never truly been hers and yet had carved out space all the same. She pressed her fingers together, schooling her expression into something appropriately tight, appropriately heavy.

  This was how one was supposed to look when leaving a place that mattered.

  Her chest felt… quiet.

  No ache. No pull. Just a faint pressure, like a place she knew she ought to be missing.

  Still, when she spoke, her voice softened. “Take care,” she said, as if it cost her something to say it.

  The villagers wished them best of luck for their journey ahead. Watching until the snowfall swallowed them.

  Why did Ren Lin feel bad? They weren’t even real humans to her. They shouldn’t be. No one here is a person. These thoughts comforted her heart. Her goal was more important, everyone else was just a tool to reach it.

  Pat, pat.

  The prince’s hand lightly touched her shoulder.

  “I know you feel bad, you don’t need to pretend. We spent a lot of time here, honestly, this felt more like a home to me than the palace. I understand you.”

  “Even with the women-eating leader?”

  Feiyun Xing was speechless for a moment.

  “He doesn’t count, okay? Everyone else was nice.”

  She chuckled. “Your face was priceless.”

  “That’s not funny. He was a real monster.” He crossed his arms.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry, let’s continue on to the next gate.”

  The path to the next gate, opposite of the one they entered through would be filled with monsters. To avoid as many as possible they found a sweet-spot between the Sea of Memory and the normal plains. A place where even if the Leviathan sang, they wouldn’t be in too much danger and a place most beasts avoid.

  During their stay in the village, the prince had studied the Phoenix Tree his grandfather had created. Drawing on what he learned, he crafted two necklaces from branches of the tree’s Core. These would offer temporary protection against the Leviathan’s song, their effect lasting only until the stored essence was depleted.

  Because the branches were severed from the Phoenix Tree’s main body, the necklaces required regular recharging. Without it, their protective power would gradually vanish.

  The journey across the white expanse was no longer the desperate crawl it had been when they first arrived.

  The predators of the plains were skittish now. Rank One beasts, sensing the protective aura, as well as Feiyun Xing’s rank radiating from the pair, chose the wisdom of retreat over the hunger of the hunt. Except for a few others. Once a furred serpent dared to slither across their path, Feiyun Xing didn’t even break his stride; a casual flick of his sword sent a spark of lightning through the air, reducing the beast to a charred noodle in an instant.

  When a pair of frost-rotted wraiths moaned from a nearby crevasse, drawn by the bloom of living heat, Ren Lin met them with a cold, practiced focus. She leveled her spear and drove the first back with a thrust so solid it felt like slamming a door. Before the second could lunge, Feiyun Xing’s blade hissed through the air, severing every limb.

  There was no glory in these clashes. Ren Lin’s movements had somewhat shed their clumsiness. The spear felt no longer an alien weight, it finally felt like a useful tool.

  After two days of traveling, they arrived. The gate wasn’t activated, making it look like a normal archway of stones covered in snow. Wind howled through the empty hole.

  Feiyun Xing stopped a few paces from the threshold. He turned to Ren Lin, his expression sober.

  “This is it,” he said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The final, final chance to retreat. Once we step through, we won't be able to return to Bingmeng. Until we receive the next mark.”

  Ren Lin didn’t hesitate. “After everything we’ve done?” she said. “After all these efforts? Turning back now would be the real mistake. We started this. We’re finishing it.”

  A slow smile curved across his face. “I knew you would say that.”

  He stepped forward. His hand stretched toward the gate’s rough stone, fingers trembling not with fear, but with resonance. The white feather branded over his chest flared, burning with a sense of belonging.