The uproar at the communal hall finally came to a close, capped with a decisive full stop.
Soon after, the villagers of the village of Sickos each returned to their homes.
Tonight, the village chief, rarely enough, didn't nod off.
The barrier surrounding the village showed no cracks this time. The rolling darkness of the dry sea pressed from outside but was blocked cleanly - unable to seep even a finger's breadth within.
Lạc Trần, Lam Tường Vi, and Tô Mạc Tà returned to their rooms.
The house assigned to Lạc Trần by the village was relatively spacious, with courtyards in both front and back. A garden grew in the rear; a well was dug in the front. If not for Lạc Trần's frail condition, a few vegetable plots and a handful of chickens would've sufficed for a self-sustaining life.
The main structure had three chambers.
The central room had once held an ancestral altar, but the villagers had removed it, saying both the altar and spirit tablets were too old. A bamboo table set from Phù Trúc now stood in its place - for receiving guests.
The right-hand chamber had become a storage room - Lam Tường Vi volunteered to sleep there.
That left the bedroom on the left.
Lạc Trần gave up his own room for Tô Mạc Tà to stay the night, promising that by morning, the cripple would go buy a new bamboo bed in Phù Trúc.
Tô Mạc Tà examined the modest chamber.
A bamboo bed. A pillow. A thin blanket. A small desk for reading.
She hadn't expected that a genius born with the heart of Saint, who once seized the celestial meridians, would live so plainly now.
Lying on the bed, Tô Mạc Tà's thoughts wandered.
Ever since celestial meridians manifested at Godfell ridge, Aparagodānī had become like a simmering underground spring - quiet, yet always on the verge of eruption. All it needed was a single spark to drag the eight sects and four great clans into its wake. And at the center of it all - was Lạc Trần's disappearance.
That revelation alone had been enough for Tô Mạc Tà to take a gamble, chasing after a dream to arrive at the village of Sickos.
She had a feeling: Lạc Trần couldn't hide in the dry sea forever. If he did, the sky over Aparagodānī would surely collapse.
Yes, she had feelings for him. And yes, she knew what she was doing was deeply unfair to him.
But Tô Mạc Tà was also the saintess of Floral Valley.
On her shoulders were thousands of lives - from disciples to elders.
"Forgive me," she whispered. "At worst... if you die, I'll follow."
That thought gnawed at her. Sleep would not come. Guilt and growing affection tore at her heart like two silkworms fighting over the same mulberry leaf.
Sitting up, she glanced outside.
She saw Lạc Trần seated at the table, staring fixedly at his own palm.
The dry sea at night had neither moon nor stars.
But cultivators had sharper senses. Her sight was clear in the gloom, and so, she saw him - clear as day.
Sweat drenched his brow. His face twisted with pain. His chest pulsed occasionally, flickering between gold and black - like two lights wrestling beneath the skin.
Suddenly, he vomited blood. His body folded like a shrimp, trembling as he collapsed to the floor.
Tô Mạc Tà leapt to her feet, ready to rush out - but then she heard him mutter:
"Still no good. It's still not working."
She saw his jaw clenched tight, hands curled into fists. Finally, as if reaching the end of his endurance, he gave in and closed his eyes - reluctantly.
She stepped outside.
Creeping close, she knelt beside him. When she heard his breathing settle, she knew the worst had passed. Letting out a long breath, she reached out with her chi to examine him.
And recoiled in horror.
His inner furnace had been pierced. The meridians throughout his body were shattered like broken branches. Nestled in his left chest sat a metallic heart, inside which two flames burned - one golden, one gray. The gold flame wrapped tightly around the gray, keeping it away from the iron heart.
She checked the meridians in his arm and found, on top of old injuries, countless fresh burns. Paired with what she'd just witnessed, she immediately understood what he had tried to do.
"You..." she whispered. "Your meridians are already ruined. Yet you're still trying to force that celestial fire into your arm? Do you not care about your life?"
Her voice softened. She reached out, brushing a hand gently through his hair.
---the separator line got anxiety from all the caffeine it consume---
Lạc Trần awoke.
He hadn't been asleep - just passed out from pain. Dawn had yet to break.
A candle flickered on the table. Tô Mạc Tà sat, chin propped on both hands, smiling:
"You're awake?"
"I am now. You couldn't sleep?"
Lạc Trần dragged a chair toward him. The pain in his arm had dulled noticeably - someone had used chi to soothe his broken meridians.
But she hadn't said anything, so he didn't bring it up.
Tô Mạc Tà grinned.
"Lovesick."
"Oh, saintess, if the young lords of Aparagodānī heard you say that, I'd be pounded to dust by morning."
She studied him.
The candlelight threw his thin, sallow face into relief, casting shadows into his clear, lucid eyes.
She bit her lip. "Hey... maybe... maybe you shouldn't leave the Dry Sea after three months."
Her heart was torn.
Just earlier, she'd reminded herself of her responsibilities as a saintess. That she couldn't let her feelings put Lạc Trần in danger.
But seeing him struggle like this... she couldn't bring herself to push him toward the fire again.
He chuckled.
"What, changed your mind? Think having a cripple for a friend would ruin your image? Want your invitation back?"
"Why do you have to push yourself like this?"
"Don't feel guilty. One way or another, I have to go back to the Cloudspike sect and demand an answer."
"You'll die."
He tapped his chest. A metallic clang rang out. "Too late. I made a pact with this thing. If I don't go back and fight, it'll burn me alive."
He paused, scratching his nose.
"I don't know how you found me, but I'm guessing it cost you. And you wouldn't have come to the dry sea on a whim - something must've happened. But even if you hadn't come, I would've left eventually. So don't feel you owe me. I'm not risking my life for your sake."
Tô Mạc Tà burst out laughing - like pearls falling on a silver tray.
She knew he lied.
As long as he stayed here, even Duskhollow couldn't go rampage on a whim. The villagers, especially that village chief, wouldn't allow it.
"You know... every time you lie, you scratch your nose."
"R–really?"
"No."
"You're really a saintess? More like a female devil. Dammit, beauty with a mean streak."
"Fine. I'll be a devil to you. To the rest, I'll stay a saintess."
She shrugged, feet swinging beneath her chair.
Lạc Trần gave her a look.
"Isn't it exhausting - pretending to be this dignified, noble saintess all the time?"
"What can I say. You made a deal with your fire. I made mine too."
"You carry a celestial fire?"
"Not exactly."
Slowly, she removed the two bells from her wrists and set them on the table.
"These... mark my status as saintess of Floral Valley. The resources I get monthly, most rogue cultivators couldn't earn in a lifetime. My cultivation conditions would seem like fantasy to smaller sects. I've taken so much from Floral Valley. Like it or not, I have obligations. I'm not just Tô Mạc Tà. I'm the saintess. Every word, every gesture, every step reflects on the sect. That's the price I pay."
Lạc Trần was stunned.
Back at the cloudspike sect, he had never shouldered such burdens. He'd been left to drift, maybe because to them, from the start, he'd only been a container for the Heart of Saint. But Floral Valley was different. They clearly saw her as the sect's future.
Her words hit him harder than he expected.
He reached for one of the bells. Its soft chime rang in the quiet.
"This bell... it's like golden shackles."
"More or less. But at least they're gold. So? Thinking about joining my retinue? Rich lady's here need a retainer."
They laughed.
A moment passed, and then Tô Mạc Tà said quietly:
"I want to ask for a favor."
"You really need to be so polite?"
"I do. The crown prince of the sacred kingdom of Crimson Tide wants me to be his concubine. Keeps bothering me. The elders don't want to offend him, so I can't outright reject him."
"You want me to pretend to be your lover?"
"Smart man. So? Will brother Lạc help a poor friend out?"
Lạc Trần smiled, fists tightening beneath the table.
Tonight, he had made up his mind. No more drifting. No more passive survival.
Tô Mạc Tà smiled too.
Like him, she'd also decided something. Not as the saintess of Floral Valley - but simply as Tô Mạc Tà.
At dawn...
As the darkness of the dry sea retreated, Lạc Trần burst excitedly into the deaf man's forge.
"Hey, old deaf! Come quick - I've got something I need you to make for me!"