The Girl Who Waits With Golden Eyes
The Willow Peak Sect was not strong.
Not in comparison to the majestic sects of the Central Domain, nor the seclusionist immortal cliques that drifted in sky cities. It stood quietly on a minor ridge, between gentle waterfalls and soft, flowering trees.
Its disciples trained earnestly. They mastered low-level sword arts, trained in spiritual control, and learned herbalism under the elders' guidance.
The sect did not pursue legacy.
It taught her nothing but peace.
But in the outer disciple courtyard, a peculiar presence had descended.
Her name was Bai Qing'er.
She did not speak much.
She trained every morning, sooner than necessary. She collected scattered leaves on the path. She listened more than she spoke. And above all—she waited.
When questioned why she was at a small sect with such mediocre prospects, she only provided the same soft reply.
"To wait for someone who has already come back."
The elders took it for granted. Or heartbreak. Or a madness that masqueraded itself.
But she never presented herself as a mind-wounded person.
Her cultivation went on too smoothly.
Too softly.
Her spirit root had been middle-grade. Her skills were unremarkable. But somehow, her sword never missed the mark. Her qi never faltered. Her footing was always light… but never cast a shadow.
As if the world would not hold her back.
She had gold eyes.
The kind of gold that wouldn't glitter—but smolder softly, like the tip of an unlit candle.
Today, she sat under a plum tree with a plate of plain rice and some wild berries.
Another disciple walked by and grumbled, "Still waiting, Bai Qing'er?"
She smiled.
"Yes."
"For what? The Sect Head's son to fall in love with you?"
She remained silent.
The disciple jeered and turned away.
She held a berry in the palm of her hand.
Then, gently, she spoke to it.
"Have you experienced the mountain wind yet?"
The berry shook in her hand.
At that instant, deep in the Tianhuan Mountains, Hun Ye's eyes had opened.
He did not know her name.
But he sensed her presence.
A presence that did not push toward the heavens by power, but nestled into the interstices.
He did not smile, but his eyes grew deeper.
"Ah…"
He filled a second cup with tea.
And set it down beside him.
There was no one to claim it.
And still, he set it down.
Far away, in the Hall of Celestial Records, a flame went dark.
The Archivist gasped.
This had occurred but two times before in recorded history.
The first, when the Azure Dragon had been killed.
The second, when the Five Immortal Realms had fallen into destruction.
Now, it smoldered black once more.
And no name was written next to it.
But only a sentence, burned onto the crystal wall with unseen flames:
"He who drinks tea under the sky will not be troubled."
At Willow Peak, Bai Qing'er stood up and washed her bowl.
She gazed toward the west.
To where clouds built too frequently.
Where the wind came back in curves, not strokes.
Where birds would not fly low.
She didn't need to know where.
She didn't need to pursue it.
She just had to wait.
Because sooner or later…
The quiet would stir.
And when it did, she would get up and walk towards it.
Not to find a myth.
But to sit with it.
And offer a cup of tea in return.