*Chapter 9: Petals in the Mist**

The days grew longer as spring deepened, the world around Lushan coming alive with color and sound. Mei found herself spending more and more time with little Jun. He was like a whirlwind of light, pulling her into his world of simple joys—catching fish with his bare hands, chasing fireflies at dusk, building tiny dams in the river with smooth stones.

But beneath the laughter, a quiet unease had begun to bloom.

Jun seemed to know things he shouldn't. He would finish her sentences, mimic the little phrases only Jun—the Jun of her past—used to say. When they wandered through the town, he would point to old buildings, saying, "It used to be red!" or "The old lady who sold sweets lived here," details that Mei knew to be true.

And then there were the drawings.

Mei had given him a sketchbook, and he filled it with pictures of cherry blossoms, Moon Bridge, and the river. But one page stopped her cold: it was a picture of her, standing beneath the ancient cherry tree, her face turned up to the petals. Next to her, he had drawn himself—not as a boy, but as the teenage Jun she had known.

Her hands had trembled as she asked him about it. "Who is this?"

He had only shrugged, his small brow furrowing. "Just a dream I had."

That night, sleep did not come easily. She lay awake, listening to the rustle of the cherry blossoms against the window, the breeze carrying whispers she couldn't quite catch.

One evening, just as the sun was dipping below the mountains, Mei found Jun at Moon Bridge. He stood at the center of the arch, staring down into the river, his small figure bathed in the golden light.

"Jun?" she called, her voice soft.

He didn't turn. "The water looks different now." His tone was distant, the cheerful lilt gone. "It used to be clearer."

She moved closer, the stones of the bridge cool beneath her feet. "When did you see it before?"

He hesitated, his shoulders tense. "I don't know." He looked up at her, his dark eyes shadowed. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm in two places at once. Like I'm here, but also… somewhere else."

A chill slipped down her spine. "What do you mean?"

Jun bit his lip, his small fingers gripping the stone railing. "I keep dreaming about the river. About falling." His voice grew softer. "And you're always there. Crying."

Mei's breath caught. She reached out, her hand brushing his shoulder. "Jun, I—"

But he pulled away, stepping back, his expression twisting with sudden fear. "No! I don't want to remember!"

The wind picked up, whipping through the trees, petals swirling around them. The sky darkened, clouds rolling in, and the river below seemed to deepen, its surface churning.

Jun stumbled, his foot slipping on the stone. Mei lunged forward, catching him just as he fell to his knees. His small body shook, his eyes wide and glassy, as if seeing something she couldn't.

"He told me to stay," he whispered. "He said I had to wait."

Her fingers tightened around him. "Who, Jun? Who told you?"

He shivered, his lips paling. "A man… in my dreams. He stands by the river, in the mist. His face… I can't see it, but he's always there. He whispers to me, tells me not to leave."

The river roared beneath them, the sound growing louder, the mist rising from the water in ghostly tendrils. Mei looked around, her skin prickling. The world felt strange, the colors duller, the air heavy.

And then, from the mist, a shadow moved.

It was a figure, barely visible through the haze, its outline shifting as if made of smoke. Mei's heart pounded, her instincts screaming to run, but she held Jun close, her body a shield.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice breaking. "What do you want?"

The shadow paused at the edge of the bridge, the mist curling around it. There was no face, only darkness, but she felt its gaze, cold and unblinking.

Jun whimpered, his fingers digging into her arm. "He's the one. The one who won't let me go."

Mei stood, pulling Jun to his feet, her mind racing. "You can't have him!" she shouted into the mist. "He's not yours!"

The shadow did not move. Instead, the mist thickened, closing in around them. The world narrowed, the edges of reality fraying as if they were slipping into a dream.

And then, the shadow spoke.

Its voice was not a sound but a presence, filling the air, vibrating through her bones. *"A promise was made. A promise must be kept."*

Mei's knees buckled, the weight of its words pressing down on her. "What promise?"

The figure shifted, the mist parting around it. She saw flashes of faces—old, young, twisted with fear and sorrow. Shadows of those who had wandered too close to the river, who had slipped into its depths and never returned.

"The river keeps what it takes," the voice murmured, echoing around them. "He was meant to stay."

Mei clung to Jun, her mind spinning. "But he's here. He was reborn. You can't take him back."

The shadow drew closer, its form stretching, reaching. "The river remembers. It does not forgive."

Jun cried out, his body going limp in her arms. The mist swirled around his feet, pulling, tugging. Mei screamed, her nails biting into his skin, refusing to let go.

*"I promised him,"* she sobbed, *"that I would never leave him."*

The world trembled, the bridge creaking beneath them. The shadow paused, its edges wavering.

"A promise…" the voice drifted, softer now, almost… curious.

The mist withdrew, just a fraction. The river's roar faded, the air easing.

Mei felt Jun stir, his small hand clutching hers, his voice weak. "Don't let go."

"I won't," she whispered, her voice filled with every promise she had ever made. "I swear."

And as the mist slowly pulled away, the shadow melted into the river, its voice fading on the breeze. *"A promise kept… a debt repaid."*

The sun pierced the clouds, light spilling over the bridge, chasing away the cold. Mei sank to her knees, holding Jun close, her tears falling onto his hair.

The river was quiet now, its surface smooth, the mist gone.

But Mei knew that shadows lingered beneath, and promises held power over life and death.

And in the quiet of the river, the story was not yet done.