( Farewell)
For a long time—
Zhang Wei simply stood there.
Breathing.
Alive.
The cave behind him quiet… the world before him still.
—
Then slowly—
He turned.
—
The wind greeted him again.
Cold.
Sharp.
But no longer unfamiliar.
His robe fluttered lightly around him, the soft gray fabric brushing against his legs as he stepped out once more into the snow-covered land.
Only this time—
He did not freeze.
He did not look away.
—
His gaze moved across the battlefield.
Bodies.
Still.
Silent.
Frozen in time.
But now—
He didn't see horror.
He saw something else.
—
"…they're cold…"
His voice was soft.
Almost gentle.
—
He stood there for a moment longer before turning back into the cave.
The scroll.
He walked toward it quietly, knelt, and placed it down with both hands.
Carefully.
Respectfully.
As if returning something that was never truly his to keep.
—
Then he rose again.
And walked back out.
—
The first body was closest.
A man.
Half-buried in snow.
One hand still gripping the broken hilt of a sword.
Wei knelt beside him.
His fingers—slender, still bearing faint cuts from training—brushed away the snow from the man's face.
"…rest now…"
He whispered.
—
He began.
—
It was slow.
Awkward.
Unrefined.
—
Wei had never buried anyone before.
He had never even held a shovel.
So he used his hands.
And broken pieces of armor.
And fragments of weapons.
—
The snow was cold.
But beneath it—
The earth was harder.
Frozen.
Reluctant to open.
—
His fingers turned red.
Then numb.
Small cuts split open again, staining the snow faintly as he dug.
But he didn't stop.
—
One.
Then two.
Then three.
—
Each body—
He placed carefully.
Each sword—
He stood upright at the head.
Not perfectly straight.
Not perfectly aligned.
But steady enough.
—
His movements were clumsy.
Sometimes he stumbled.
Sometimes he had to redo what he had done.
Sometimes he simply sat there for a moment, catching his breath, staring at the still faces before continuing.
—
Time passed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
—
The sky shifted.
The wind softened… then rose again.
Snow fell lightly at some point, dusting over what he had already finished.
—
Still—
He continued.
—
Until—
He stopped.
—
Two figures.
Different from the rest.
—
They were close.
Lying side by side.
—
Wei's breath caught slightly.
—
One was older.
Faint.
Flickering—
Even in death.
—
"…Master…"
His voice lowered instinctively.
—
Pi Lang.
—
Beside him—
A younger man.
His face calm.
Peaceful.
A faint smile still resting on his lips as if he had fallen asleep mid-thought.
—
Wei knelt.
Slowly.
Carefully.
—
Tears slipped down his face before he could stop them.
But this time—
He didn't wipe them away.
—
"You found your son…"
He whispered softly.
"…that's good…"
—
For a moment—
He simply stayed there.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Just… being.
—
Then—
"…let's send you both off properly…"
—
He began again.
But this time—
His movements were slower.
More careful.
More deliberate.
—
The ground resisted him.
His hands trembled.
His body screamed in exhaustion.
—
But he did not rush.
—
He placed them side by side.
Closer.
As they should be.
—
Two swords.
Planted at their heads.
Crossed slightly.
Not perfect.
But meaningful.
—
Wei sat back slightly, wiping his face with the back of his wrist.
"…I have no wine…"
A faint, embarrassed smile touched his lips.
"…I'm not a good drinker…"
—
The wind passed through quietly.
As if listening.
—
"…but…"
He inhaled softly.
—
"I will send you off… with the honor you deserve."
—
He stood.
—
His body moved.
—
Step one.
—
The swordplay.
—
Not perfect.
Not refined.
Not powerful.
—
But sincere.
—
His sleeves moved like drifting water.
His feet pressed gently into the snow.
Each motion soft.
Each turn careful.
—
There was no enemy.
No pressure.
No fear.
—
Only farewell.
—
Step by step—
He danced.
—
The snow caught his movement.
The wind carried it.
The silent battlefield watched.
—
Until—
He stopped.
—
Wei lifted his head slowly.
—
And froze.
—
Before him—
Figures.
—
Not bodies.
Not memories.
—
Men.
Standing.
—
Armor intact.
Eyes clear.
—
Silent.
Watching him.
—
The hundred soldiers.
—
No wounds.
No blood.
No pain.
—
Just… presence.
—
Among them—
A young man.
Standing at the front.
—
The same face.
The same smile.
—
Pi Lang's son.
—
Wei's breath caught.
—
The young man bowed.
Deeply.
Respectfully.
—
One by one—
The others followed.
A silent wave of acknowledgment.
Gratitude.
—
Wei stood still.
Then—
Slowly—
He bowed back.
—
Not as a warrior.
Not as someone worthy.
—
Just… as himself.
—
"…go in peace…"
He whispered.
—
The wind passed through again.
Stronger this time.
—
And when it settled—
They were gone.
—
Completely.
—
The battlefield returned to silence.
—
But it felt…
Lighter.
—
Wei stood there for a long moment.
Then turned.
—
Back into the cave.
—
The scroll.
Still where he left it.
—
He picked it up.
Held it gently.
Then sat down.
—
A small smile rested on his lips.
Quiet.
Soft.
Real.
—
"They finally found peace…"
He murmured.
His gaze lowered slightly.
"…in a world far crueler than mine…"
—
He closed his eyes briefly.
—
"…I'm happy…"
A pause.
"…truly… I am."
—
Outside—
Snow continued to fall.
—
Covering the battlefield.
Softly.
Gently.
—
Like the world itself…
Was finally letting them rest.
The cave grew quieter after that.
Not empty.
Not lonely.
Just… still.
—
Zhang Wei remained seated for a while, the scroll resting lightly across his lap. His fingers traced its edges absentmindedly, not reading—just feeling.
As if confirming it was real.
As if confirming he was still here.
—
Outside, the wind softened.
The snow fell in slower, gentler patterns now, no longer harsh and biting, but almost… careful.
Like it, too, understood.
—
Wei exhaled slowly.
His breath no longer trembled.
His heart—no longer racing.
—
"…Master Pi Lang…"
He murmured one last time.
No sadness this time.
Only quiet respect.
—
He stood.
—
His robe shifted softly with the motion, the pale gray fabric catching faint light from the cave entrance. It looked worn now—creased, stained, marked by effort.
But somehow…
It suited him more than anything he had worn before.
—
Step.
—
He walked out again.
—
The battlefield—
Was different.
—
The bodies were gone.
—
Or rather—
They were no longer bodies.
—
Snow had covered everything.
Smooth.
Endless.
White.
—
The swords he planted remained.
Standing like silent guardians beneath the falling snow.
Each one marking a life.
Each one… remembered.
—
Wei's eyes softened.
—
"…so this is what peace looks like…"
He whispered.
—
He stepped forward slightly, his boots pressing into the fresh snow. It gave way beneath him with a soft crunch, leaving behind shallow prints.
Not many.
Just enough to show—
He had been here.
—
The wind brushed past him again.
But this time—
It wasn't cold.
—
It passed through his sleeves, lifted the strands of his white hair, and moved on—gentle, almost like a quiet farewell.
—
Wei stood there a moment longer.
Then slowly—
He raised his hand.
—
And performed a single movement.
—
Step one.
—
Not training.
Not practice.
—
Just… remembrance.
—
The motion was soft.
Incomplete.
But full of meaning.
—
He lowered his hand.
And turned.
—
"…it's time to go back…"
—
The words felt strange.
Because for a moment—
This place had felt like somewhere he belonged.
—
But he knew better.
—
This world outside—
Cruel.
Unforgiving.
Waiting.
—
Was still there.
—
And he—
Still wanted to live in it.
—
Wei walked back into the cave.
—
He didn't hesitate this time.
—
He took the scroll.
Folded it carefully.
Then tucked it inside his robe, close to his chest.
—
A quiet promise.
—
He looked around one last time.
The cold stone walls.
The faint traces of where he had trained.
The empty space where Pi Lang once stood.
—
"…I'll come back…"
He said softly.
"…not to learn…"
A small pause.
"…but to remember."
—
Then—
He stepped out.
—
The moment his foot crossed the cave's threshold—
The world shifted.
—
The cold air vanished.
The snow disappeared.
—
And the weight—
Lifted.
—
Wei staggered slightly as warmth rushed back into his body.
—
The forest.
—
Green.
Alive.
Familiar.
—
The sound of leaves.
The distant call of birds.
The faint rustle of wind through branches.
—
For a moment—
He just stood there.
Blinking.
—
"…I'm back…"
—
But something—
Was different.
—
His breathing.
His posture.
His gaze.
—
Still soft.
Still uncertain.
—
But no longer lost.
—
Wei took a step forward.
—
Then another.
—
The scroll rested against his chest.
Warm.
Steady.
—
His fingers brushed against it lightly.
—
"…I'll live…"
He whispered.
Not as a plea.
Not as fear.
—
But as a quiet vow.
—
Far away—
Beyond the trees—
Beyond the mountains—
—
His world waited.
His family waited.
His trials—
Were only beginning.
—
And somewhere deep within him—
That soft, fragile power—
That refused to harm—
That chose to endure—
—
Began to grow.
Silently.
Gently.
—
Like the first ripple—
On still water.