The knock came again, gentle but persistent.

  Li Wei hesitated only a moment longer before pushing the door open. The moonlight poured in, and with it, a familiar face.

  “Xiao Lan…”

  The boy stood there swaying slightly, his right arm wrapped in thick bandages, his cheek bruised, but his grin was as bright as ever.

  “Were you expecting a ghost?” he joked weakly. “You look like you’ve seen one.”

  Li Wei blinked, then let out a breath that trembled faintly at the edges. “You… you’re supposed to be resting.”

  “Resting is boring,” Xiao Lan said, waving off the concern with his good hand. “Besides, I heard a rumor that my dearest brother was sulking alone again. I thought I’d come make sure you hadn’t drowned yourself in tea.”

  Li Wei chuckled, the sound filling the little room. “Come in before someone sees you limping around.”

  Xiao Lan obeyed, stepping inside and lowering himself gingerly onto the floor. Li Wei closed the door behind him and lit the small oil lamp on the table. The faint light spread across the room, painting the cracked walls and worn floorboards in shades of amber and shadow.

  For a long moment, neither spoke. The fire flickered softly between them.

  Then Xiao Lan broke the silence.

  “Today,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the flames, “when I was fighting… I also didn’t think he meant to spar with me.”

  Li Wei looked up, expression calm.

  Xiao Lan’s jaw tightened. “When I went down, I could feel it—his intent. It wasn’t a mistake. He meant to cripple me.”

  Li Wei’s gaze softened, but he pretended to be ignorant. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Xiao Lan said, smiling faintly, though there was no humor in it. “The Buddha Mask Disciple saved me at the last moment. This makes the second time.”

  Li Wei looked down, smiling faintly. “I saw the whole thing from the guest pavilion. I was relieved.”

  They sat quietly for a while, the firelight dancing on their faces. Outside, the crickets sang, and the wind whispered through the eaves. After a moment, Xiao Lan leaned back against the wall and sighed. “Do you remember when we used to sneak into Old Man Yu’s orchard back in the village?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Li Wei’s lips curved. “How could I forget? You said you could ‘fly’ over the fence.”

  “I almost did!” Xiao Lan protested, though his grin betrayed him. “If that stupid chicken hadn’t attacked me—”

  “You screamed like you’d been stabbed,” Li Wei said, laughing now. “Then you tripped, fell into the pig trough, and the old man chased us halfway across the village with a broom.”

  “We were heroes that day,” Xiao Lan said solemnly. “Warriors of freedom. Defenders of stolen fruit.”

  “Thieves, you mean.”

  “Details.”

  The laughter faded slowly into a comfortable silence, the kind that stretched across years and memories without needing words.

  After a moment, Xiao Lan’s gaze softened, his voice dropping low. “Do you ever think about those days—about what we used to dream about?”

  Li Wei looked at the fire. “Every day.”

  Xiao Lan smiled wistfully. “Back then, we thought we’d come to the sect, learn a few fancy techniques, and—bam—become immortals overnight. I remember saying I’d fly over mountains and see the ocean.”

  “You said you’d find the Celestial Palace,” Li Wei said quietly. “And make them give you the secret of alchemy.”

  “And you,” Xiao Lan chuckled, “said you’d wage war with gods and turn the mortal realm into an immortal paradise.”

  Li Wei’s eyes softened. “We were thirteen then… idiots with big dreams.”

  “Idiots, yes,” Xiao Lan said with a faint smile. “But… happy ones.”

  The fire crackled softly between them.

  “We’re seventeen now,” Xiao Lan murmured. “Four years. And we’re still outer disciples. Still nobodies. Based on how my match went, I don’t know if I’ll get to become an inner sect disciple. I might have to wait another three years to get the next trial.” His voice wavered, the smile fading. “Sometimes I wonder whether this dream is too big…”

  Li Wei said nothing. He only stared into the flames, his eyes unreadable.

  The silence stretched.

  Xiao Lan’s voice trembled slightly as he went on. “When that blade came at me today—just before Buddha Mask showed up—I thought—it’s over. All of it. All those dreams we had. I thought… I’ll never stand beside you again, never—” His breath hitched and he rubbed at his eyes, but the tears came anyway. “I was so scared, Li Wei…”

  Li Wei reached out quietly and set a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  Xiao Lan looked up through blurry eyes.

  Li Wei’s voice was steady, calm, but his gaze glimmered faintly with emotion. “The martial way was never your forte to begin with, and yet, despite that, you fought bravely. You’ve got nothing to regret.”

  “I do,” Xiao Lan whispered. “You’re the one who lost everything. Your cultivation… your future…”

  Li Wei froze for just an instant, but forced a faint smile. “I made peace with that long ago.”

  “I haven’t,” Xiao Lan said fiercely. “I had sworn to myself that when I got stronger, when I reached Foundation Establishment or higher, I’d find a way to fix it. There must be a remedy. Some herb, some ancient art, something! I had sworn to myself that I’d make you whole again.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Then we’d go together, just like we said we would—across the continent, to the Celestial Palace, to war with gods and make an immortal paradise of the mortal realm.”

  Li Wei’s chest tightened painfully. He looked down, his hand still resting on Xiao Lan’s shoulder, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes.

  “You idiot,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “You’re crying over nothing.”

  Xiao Lan sat there, wiping his tears with his sleeve, explaining to Li Wei about cultivation methods and miracle pills and divine treasures that could possibly cure a crippled cultivation.

  Li Wei silently absorbs his friend’s words, touched and guilty, knowing he was already walking the path Xiao Lan wished for him.

  After an hour of reminiscing, laughter, and conversation, Xian Lan left.