Petals in the Wind

Here is Chapter 21: Petals in the Wind, a roman

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Chapter 21: Petals in the Wind

The mountainside had never looked so peaceful.

Late spring scattered delicate plum blossoms across the courtyard like confetti. The ancient stone tiles that led from the training hall to the cliffside balcony were swept daily by wind and laughter alike—something that had become strangely common over the last few days.

Mei Lian was the first to stir. She rose from meditation, her hair in a half-braided state of surrender, eyes still heavy with morning sleep and the weight of half-processed dreams. She stretched in the light, arching her back like a satisfied cat, then rolled her shoulders and peered across the open space.

Jin and Yue were not meditating.

They were having… a flower fight.

Not with technique or spiritual force, but with actual plum blossoms—handfuls gathered and thrown with reckless precision. Jin ducked behind the trunk of a tree, only to pop out dramatically and fling a barrage toward Yue, who laughed like she hadn't in years.

"Hit me again and I swear I'll compose a ballad called 'Jin the Petal Fool'!" Yue warned, her voice melodic with mischief.

"You already wrote that one," Jin called back, grinning. "It was your first diss track!"

"That's slander."

"It's true art."

He spun and caught a blossom in his mouth.

"Ugh, even the wind hates your arrogance," Yue said, tossing a handful at his face.

Mei stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, unable to hide the upward twitch of her lips. For a moment, she said nothing. Just watched.

This—whatever this was—was dangerous. Not because of cultivation secrets or hidden factions, but because it was beginning to feel… real.

Warm. Soft. Like a home she hadn't realized she missed.

"You're both ridiculous," she said, finally breaking the moment.

"You're just jealous I have better blossom aim," Jin teased.

"I trained in wind step for seven years."

"And yet," Yue added, smugly brushing petals off her shoulder, "you have zero floral flair."

Mei narrowed her eyes. "I'll show you flair."

She blurred forward, and before either of them could react, she had scooped up an armful of petals with precise, fluid grace—and unloaded them in a twisting arc that rained like divine punishment.

Yue shrieked, Jin flailed, and both of them went down under the flowery onslaught.

Mei stood triumphant, one eyebrow arched like a queen surveying her chaotic court.

"That," she said coolly, "is called elegance."

Jin, blinking blossoms from his hair, muttered, "You're terrifying."

Yue laughed so hard she actually snorted, which only made her laugh more.

And for that entire morning, time itself seemed to forget the burdens they bore.

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Later, they gathered on the cliffside for breakfast—salted rice, grilled greens, and a rare treat from Yue's stash: plum wine from the eastern provinces.

"You stole this, didn't you?" Mei asked, examining the seal.

"Stole is such a harsh word," Yue replied with mock offense. "I liberated it from an ungrateful noble who thought musical cultivators were glorified bards."

Jin raised his cup. "To liberators."

They all drank.

It hit hard but smooth, and Jin coughed a little, cheeks pinking fast. Mei laughed quietly, and Yue leaned on her elbow with an exaggerated sigh.

"Remind me again how he is the center of our dual-harmonic resonance?" Yue asked, voice light but eyes glittering with heat.

"Because the universe enjoys irony," Mei said dryly.

Jin grinned. "I'm emotionally available and modest. A rare combo."

"You're lucky you're cute when you're smug," Yue replied, reaching out to flick a petal from his hair.

Mei's eyes lingered on the gesture—not with jealousy, but with something else. Something quieter. A flicker of acceptance that she hadn't known she was capable of.

The strange thing was, she didn't feel like she was losing him.

She felt… expanded. Like something in her soul had made space without tearing.

Yue caught the look and hesitated, pulling her hand back. "Too much?"

Mei shook her head. "No. Just… new."

Jin, ever attuned to shifts now, put a hand on Mei's and squeezed gently. Then reached with his other to brush against Yue's fingers.

The contact was soft, almost reverent.

"You two are more alike than you think," he murmured.

Yue scoffed. "Please. Mei is a cold-blooded swordswoman with zero tolerance for nonsense."

"And you're a high-strung musician with a past as shadowy as a cultivation manual written in blood."

Mei raised a brow. "Not inaccurate."

"And you're both healing," Jin said, voice quiet. "In your own ways."

They didn't answer.

But neither pulled away.

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That evening, the three of them lay on the open roof, wrapped in thick robes and warmed by enchanted stones. Above, the stars bloomed in silence.

Yue played a soft melody on her flute, drifting between notes like wind through grass.

Mei stared at the sky, arms folded beneath her head.

Jin, between them, let his fingers idly move along invisible strings in the air, practicing resonance without sound.

"Do you think," Yue asked suddenly, "there's a realm where the three of us aren't fighting? Where we just… exist? Together?"

Mei turned her head. "Wouldn't that be boring?"

"I said exist," Yue clarified. "Not rot."

Jin chuckled. "Maybe. Maybe in that realm, I'm still bad at cooking, and you still steal wine, and Mei still pretends she doesn't like flowers."

"I don't."

"She does," Yue and Jin said at the same time.

Mei huffed and looked away, but the corners of her lips betrayed her.

For a moment, no words passed between them.

Just the music. Just the wind.

Just the space between heartbeats where everything felt… right.

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