Ashes. A promise beyond death

Chapter 16 - The weight of what isn't said

The sky was painted in soft hues of twilight as Bao Fang studied her two disciples from across the clouds.

Xian Chen’s face was pale—too pale—and though he stood upright, silent and poised, Bao Fang could see through the illusion. His breath came too shallow, his shoulders too tense. He was in pain. And yet, like always, he said nothing.

With a quiet sigh, she gathered Yu Bin gently into her arms. Neither spoke as they ascended into the sky. Even the wind seemed subdued, as if mourning something left unsaid. The flight was wordless, solemn, with only the rustling air and a faint ache between them.

They landed outside Bao Fang’s residence. A few parting words were exchanged, but none of them held weight. Yu Bin and Xian Chen turned toward the palace, steps slow, like their souls were still trailing behind them.

“Should we call Longwei to fly us back faster?” Yu Bin asked softly, barely lifting her voice. “Please.”

Xian Chen nodded. He summoned his red book and called forth Longwei. But instead of the proud, majestic dragon they were used to, a small, almost ridiculous baby dragon fluttered out—its wings too small, its scales dim, its eyes wide with confusion.

“Master?” the tiny creature chirped. “Why are you both so tall? Wait… something’s wrong.”

Yu Bin gasped. “You’re tiny! What happened to you?”

“We’re not tall. You’re too small,” she muttered, then turned sharply to Xian Chen. “What’s going on?”

He said nothing.

The baby dragon flitted nervously in the air. “Master… you’re injured, aren’t you? When your power weakens, so do I.”

Yu Bin’s heart dropped. She turned to Xian Chen again, her voice trembling. “Is it true? You’re hurt… and you didn’t tell me?”

“We need to go,” he said, avoiding her gaze. He didn’t answer her question—he didn’t have to. It was already written in the lines of his body.

Without warning, he lifted her into his arms and soared into the sky. The baby dragon followed behind, flapping frantically.

“Put me down!” she yelled, squirming in his grip. “I don’t need to be carried!”

“Be quiet,” he replied, his voice low and sharp. “Or I’ll drop you.”

But even that was empty. There was no bite behind the words—only weariness.

Yu Bin stilled, looking down at the world far below. One wrong move and they’d fall. And yet… she didn’t feel afraid. Not of the height, not of him. Just of the silence between them.

They landed in the palace gardens, where moonlight streamed through the trees. Xian Chen set her down gently—then collapsed against a tree, breath ragged, body trembling from the strain.

“Xian Chen?” she whispered. But he didn’t answer.

Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the castle. He didn’t resist. Somehow, that terrified her more than if he had.

They reached her chambers, and just as Yu Bin opened the door, a sudden, sharp pain stabbed through her chest. She gasped and stumbled.

And then—Xian Chen collapsed.

“Xian Chen?!” she cried, falling beside him. “No—no, please—wake up! Wake up!”

His body was limp. His skin was too cold. And her hand, clutched around his, trembled violently.

Ming Fang rushed in, alarmed by the commotion. “What happened?! Yu Bin—are you alright?”

“It hurts…” Yu Bin gasped. “I think—I think it’s his pain. I can feel it. It’s his…”

Ming Fang’s eyes widened. “Then he’s seriously hurt. We have to move him—quickly!”

They dragged his unconscious form onto the bed. Yu Bin’s hands brushed his chest—and came away bloody.

There was no wound on her. But the pain hadn’t stopped.

Master warned us, she realized, the truth blooming cold in her chest. If one hurts, the other feels it. How did I not see it before? He was hiding it from me this whole time… holding it in… until he collapsed.

Tears blurred her vision.

I promised to understand him. To see him. But I failed.

She began undoing his outer robes with trembling fingers, revealing soaked bandages and a wound so deep it turned her stomach.

“Yu Bin, what are you doing?!” Ming Fang exclaimed, scandalized.

“Saving him,” Yu Bin snapped. “Please. Help me.”

Ming Fang blinked, then nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

They worked in silence. Ming Fang brought herbs and clean bandages. Yu Bin cleaned the wound as gently as she could, but her hands shook with guilt. The bleeding slowed… but he was still unconscious.

“I think we should call Master Bao Fang,” Ming Fang whispered.

“No,” Yu Bin said. “I can do this. He’ll be okay… he has to be okay.”

Once Ming Fang left, Yu Bin was alone with him. The room was dim, moonlight washing over his still face. She looked at the medicine and then at his unconscious lips.

He can’t swallow it on his own…

A memory came—faint and buried deep. Her father, long ago, giving her mother medicine when she had fallen ill. A kiss, not out of romance, but survival. A life given mouth-to-mouth.

Her heart thundered. But she didn’t hesitate.

She crushed the herbs, lifted his chin gently, and pressed her lips to his. Slowly, carefully, she transferred the medicine into his mouth.

He didn’t move. But the medicine was delivered.

Yu Bin sat beside him on the bed, still holding his hand.

Will there ever come a day when you tell me you’re hurting? When you let yourself be seen?

“I’m here,” she whispered, brushing sweat-damp hair from his brow. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Then, a faint whisper broke the silence:

“…Mother… stay…”

His hand tightened around hers.

Yu Bin’s breath caught in her throat.

“I’m here,” she said again, voice trembling. “I’ll stay, Xian Chen. For as long as you need me.”

She laid down beside him, not caring if it was proper, not caring if anyone saw. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest mattered.

And eventually, under the soft moonlight, her eyes closed.

In that quiet room, two hearts—wounded, tangled, and quietly healing—found rest in each other’s presence.