• •
  ──After the soul-swapping array shattered, there was silence for a while.

Or perhaps, sounds were there. The whistling wind, the howling of distant beasts, the murky pulse of the Dragon Veins crawling beneath the earth. But they were all dull, like sounds reaching through deep water, failing to properly reach Guest's ears.

Forbidden art—Soul Swap. A ritual to exchange souls with another, a path from which there is no return. Guest was tired—tired of being robbed of freedom by endless obligations.

If I could just become a commoner in a cold village, with no ties, desperate only to survive, how free I would be──. Guest realized immediately after the ritual that they had entertained a terribly extravagant wish.

A shallow, wheezing breath escaped the back of their throat.

──...It hurts. It wasn't the bones. It wasn't the flesh. The qi that was supposed to circulate within the body was being forced into immature meridians, searing every single narrow vessel like liquid fire.

This body isn't enough. The cultivation, the bones, the vessel, the depth of breath—everything is too fragile. A flow that could once be settled with a single breath now scattered into a thousand pieces with the movement of a single finger.

Even so, if I stop now, it ends here.

Guest's mud-stained fingers trembled as they folded them before their chest. They kept the form, even if the breath was ragged. They held onto the logic of the art, even if the mind was fraying. At the bottom of their shattering consciousness, that was all that remained.

Inhale. Shallow. Not enough.

Still, inhale once more.

Scraping together the scattering qi strand by strand, they wove it through the torn meridians. It wouldn't pass smoothly. It stalled, backflowed, and the taste of blood rose to the back of the throat.

Thin shoulders convulsed, and Guest pressed one hand to the ground. Though chilled to the tips of their nails, the dantian alone held too much heat. The ritual opened to ensure survival was now rejecting the very act of surviving.

Even so, they didn't want to die.

No, perhaps they should have died long ago. From the moment they used the soul-swapping art, something had already broken. But if it ended here, even that would lose its meaning.

Blood spilled from the corner of their lips. Vision flickered darkly.

At the edge of that darkness, a single sword remained, gleaming white and sharp. It was the partner that had walked alongside Guest since the day they set foot on the path of cultivation.*

• •
  The name they tried to call felt terribly distant. Only the moonlight reflected on the blade was strangely quiet and beautiful.*

• •
  ──Finally, I can be at peace.

As soon as that thought sank to the bottom of their heart, the tension snapped. The flow of qi, the pain, the vision—everything unraveled and fell away.

The last thing they saw was the white light of Bufang.*

When they next opened their eyes, Guest was in a strange whiteness. White reeds swayed as far as the eye could see. The wind must have been blowing, yet the rustling of leaves felt oddly distant. It was a landscape that felt familiar, yet the moment they tried to name it, it slipped away.