Ashes. A promise beyond death

Chapter 13 - Wings of Silence

Some days are too full to carry. And some hearts—too quiet to ask for help.

The palace gardens glowed beneath the melting sun, its last light gilding the stone paths with hues of amber and rose. Long shadows stretched like reaching fingers, swaying gently beneath the jasmine and cherry blossom trees. The air was soft—sweetened by the scent of flowers and the lingering breeze stirred by dragon wings.

Yu Bin still felt the wind in her hair, still heard her laughter echoing from earlier when she’d soared through the clouds with Longwei and Xian Chen. It had felt like flying through a dream. The kind of memory you hoped would never fade.

It should have been a perfect day. But even beauty, she was learning, came with a cost.

From the heights of heaven, she had fallen into exhaustion—mentally frayed from battle, training, and the raw truth of her weakness. Fighting corpses in the forest, enduring Bao Fang’s ruthless teaching, and now—this: bound by a glowing rope to the one person who could unravel her patience with nothing more than a look.

"Yu Bin?!" Ming Fang’s gasp rang out the moment she saw the two of them.

Her eyes went wide as she pointed to their bound hands. "Woooaaahhh, you’re tied up with a handsome guy—you’re so lucky!"

“Crazy,” Yu Bin muttered, dragging Xian Chen toward her room like a prisoner she didn’t ask for.

“Where are we going?”

“To my room.”

“No,” Xian Chen replied sharply, yanking her back. “The living room.”

“I’m sleepy, Mr. Right. Truly, I am.” She gave a theatrical bow and tried tugging again.

But without warning, Xian Chen scooped her up into his arms and unceremoniously dropped her onto the sofa.

For a while, silence filled the room like a thick blanket. Neither of them spoke. The palace lights flickered softly in the corners, and somewhere in the distance, windchimes sang a gentle lullaby.

Then, thirty minutes later, Xian Chen stood. “Don’t you have a garden or something? Let’s go.”

“I’m tired,” Yu Bin groaned, not lifting her head.

“I’ll carry you. Just tell me where. I need to train. I can’t waste time.”

She opened one eye. “You’re unbelievable.”

From across the hall, the Queen, the King, and Ming Fang were watching. Their faces frozen in a mix of amusement and confusion. It was hard to tell whether they were witnessing the beginnings of a war or something softer beneath the surface.

Yu Bin didn’t get to decide. Xian Chen picked her up again—despite her groaning protests—and followed Ming Fang through the winding corridors to the garden.

When they stepped outside, even Xian Chen paused.

Just for a second.

The lanterns flickered beneath the cherry blossoms, petals drifting like snow in a windless sky. The grass shimmered under moonlight. Jasmine vines wrapped around marble pillars, glowing faintly in the dark.

Though he quickly masked it, Yu Bin saw it—the glint of awe in his eyes.

“I felt that,” she said smugly. “Mr. Right, I felt your emotions. Just for a second—but I felt it.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” he muttered. “I need to train.”

Yu Bin chuckled and settled on the grass.

This day had unraveled her. From laughter in the sky to death in the forest. From a lesson in pain to a magical rope that punished her with the feelings of a stranger. It was all too much. She just wanted rest. And yet here she was—dragged along into someone else's schedule, again.

“You’re making me sad…” she whispered.

“I’m not trying to be,” she added, quieter this time. “It just keeps happening.”

Maybe it was the weight of expectations. Maybe it was knowing she still wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe… maybe it was loneliness, clawing quietly beneath all the noise.

Then Xian Chen reached for his spellbook.

Without a word, he murmured a few lines under his breath.

A glow sparked in the air—and with a rush of wind, Longwei appeared, coiling into view.

Yu Bin’s eyes lit up. “Wow!”

“Master…” Longwei said, blinking at Xian Chen. Then he turned. “And… Princess? What are you doing here? Where is this place?”

“First of all,” Yu Bin said, holding up their bound hands, “we’re magically tied together.”

“Second, this is the royal garden.”

Longwei blinked. “So beautiful…”

It wasn’t just beautiful—it was enchanted. Every blossom hummed with life. Even the wind seemed to whisper in welcome.

“Master, isn’t this amazing?” Longwei asked.

“Boring,” Xian Chen said flatly.

Longwei looked betrayed.

“Don’t believe him,” Yu Bin chimed in. “He was impressed. I felt it.”

“You did? But… why are you tied together?”

“My master did it,” she replied, voice thick with exasperation.

“Bao Fang?” Longwei asked, glancing at Xian Chen with something between amusement and pity.

“Yes,” Yu Bin groaned. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Longwei tilted his head. “What a shame. I was going to take you flying…”

“Please take me!” she blurted, spinning to Xian Chen. “Please, Mr. Right, let’s go!”

“Please stop calling me that…”

“I’m sorry! Just one flight. I need it.”

After a moment of silence, he nodded.

Longwei lowered himself, and together, they climbed on.

The night wind kissed their faces as they rose through the air. The garden faded beneath them, shrinking until it was no more than a glowing circle of gold in the trees.

Yu Bin leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Wow… there’s the castle! There’s Master’s house! Bao Fang—look, we’re up here!”

“Stop moving or we’ll fall,” Xian Chen muttered. “And stop yelling. She can’t hear you.”

“Ugh. You don’t even know how to have fun,” she snapped. “You have a dragon—and yet…”

Her voice trailed off.

Because something in him shifted.

And Yu Bin felt it immediately—like a jolt of winter through the rope.

Sadness.

Heavy. Crushing. Ancient.

Her smile faded.

The joy of the flight was suddenly gone, replaced with a sorrow that wasn’t her own. And she knew—it was him.

Xian Chen’s memories surfaced like shadows: a mother’s laughter, a father’s warm stories, a tiny dragon curled at his feet. Then—darkness. A scream. A loss so deep it shattered the air.

She said nothing for a moment.

Then slowly, gently, she wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please… don’t be sad. It’s breaking my heart. I didn’t mean to remind you. I didn’t know. Please forgive me.”

He didn’t move.

So she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered again, “It’s okay. You can cry. I’m here. Just this once… let it go. I’ll hold your sorrow if it’s too heavy. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Something inside him cracked.

And he did.

Tears—silent, hot, and long overdue—spilled from his eyes. Yu Bin held him tighter.

“I’m here,” she whispered again. “I’ll be here. Cry until it fades. I’ll stay.”

Xian Chen’s voice was small, cracked. “Why are you crying?”

“Because…” She choked. “Because your pain hurts more than mine. And I think I’ve been lucky in this life. And I think… I never knew how much I took for granted.”

She looked up at him through blurred eyes.

“I don’t know what happened to you. But if I ever find the ones who caused it—I swear I’ll—”

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I am—”

“You are—”

“Annoying.”

“Crazy.”

“Shut up or I’ll throw you down.”

“You’ll fall too.”

A beat.

Then she grinned. “Worth it.”

Xian Chen sighed, the faintest curl of a smile playing on his lips. “Boring.”

But the wind carried his heartbeat softly through the rope.

And tonight… it was just a little lighter.