My Beloved

“Yaoxin, you have to fail once before you can truly understand what it means to help others cross over, before you can understand what it means to ferry all living beings.”

Yaoxin abruptly raised his head, eyes full of shock. Suddenly, he remembered the call that had come from the depths of the Abyssal Tail in his dream: “Return. Even the ferryman must be ferried.”

“You are an almost perfect immortal. The Abyssal Tail has passed on many tales of your good deeds, but in thousands of years of helping others cross over, you have never experienced loss.”

The words were spoken lightly, but with a carefree feint of the sword. Yaoxin had no answer; he simply collapsed to the ground, feeling his heart tighten.

Loss…

Was it the sight of Suo Songze falling in a pool of blood that night?

Was it Xian Lin kneeling on the ground, clutching his chest and crying out in silence?

Was it He Chengjing, nearly voiceless in the torrential rain, asking Zhu Xuanyi again and again, “Why would he do this?”

Loss?

What was loss?

The moment these memories surfaced, Yaoxin felt a stabbing pain, gathered from somewhere far away and reaching back through the distant past. Even the pain of the flesh could eventually be soothed, but how could the pain of an immortal’s consciousness, torn apart, ever heal?

He had thought that “ferrying” meant giving, meant salvation.

He never knew that “ferrying” first meant bearing the burden, first meant enduring, first meant allowing yourself to be unable to let go, allowing yourself to be wounded, yet still pressing on without hesitation, still following the direction of your heart.

Yaoxin’s voice trembled. He bowed his head and could not bring himself to look up again. “This disciple… what, exactly, did I do wrong?”