The instant the wind brushed his lashes, YiChen knew—

  he had truly come back.

  Sunlight spilled across his face, warm yet gentle, not the harsh blaze of battlefields.

  Beneath his feet stretched a neatly trimmed lawn, dew-beads glistening like glass pearls.

  Every breath carried the fragrance of wet grass and morning steam—

  ordinary, unthreatening, achingly real.

  He stood on a familiar driveway.

  Ahead, a white house rested beneath its black roof, quiet in the morning glow.

  A ginger cat padded over, mewed once, and rubbed against his shin.

  From inside drifted the aroma of cooking—soy and ginger, a hint of broth—

  woven with the clean scent of laundered clothes still warm from the line.

  The melody of an ordinary day.

  YiChen did not move.

  He only stood there, as if caught inside a dream too solid to deny.

  His hands trembled. Knuckles white.

  He knew this place.

  It was no illusion.

  This was home.

  A world untouched by the Spirit Realm.

  Unbroken. Whole.

  Then—he heard it.

  That laugh.

  A boy’s voice carried from behind the house, bright and impatient:

  “Bro—hurry up! I’m about to melt waiting out here!”

  YiChen froze.

  That voice—

  too familiar, carved into the marrow of his soul,

  a sound he had sworn never to forget.

  Slowly, stiff as rusted gears, he turned.

  And saw him.

  ChengYu. Fourteen.

  A loose T-shirt clung to his frame, basketball tucked in the crook of his arm.

  Wind tousled his hair, sweat glinting across his brow.

  He ran toward YiChen, eyes bright as fallen stars.

  YiChen’s lips trembled. His face drained pale.

  ChengYu slowed, confusion flickering.

  “Bro? What’s wrong?”

  YiChen opened his mouth—

  but no sound came.

  Because what rose before his eyes was not only his brother’s face—

  but that broken body pinned beneath the Sovereign’s claw,

  soul ripped free, light scattering into the dark.

  The two images overlapped.

  And at last—he broke.

  No tears. No cries.

  Only his knees collapsing as he lurched forward, crushing ChengYu into his arms.

  “Hey—what are you doing, bro?” ChengYu jolted, startled.

  “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen me…”

  YiChen buried his face in his brother’s shoulder, body trembling like a snapped bowstring.

  Skin clammy with sweat, yet his grip locked tight—

  like a man dragged from the abyss, clutching fire with both hands.

  “You… you’re still here…” His voice rasped, hoarse, shredded by storm.

  ChengYu blinked, stunned.

  Awkwardly, he lifted a hand, patting his brother’s back.

  “Did you… have a nightmare or something?”

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  YiChen only nodded. Desperate. Again and again.

  As if staking his whole being on confirming reality.

  ChengYu’s warmth was real. His skin alive. His heartbeat steady.

  He was here.

  Even if only for a fleeting moment—

  even if this world must end again—

  right now, he was here.

  And YiChen would live for him once more.

  ?

  Zhang Han was worried. Deeply worried.

  Yesterday, her elder son had returned from university break.

  Today, after nothing more than stepping out to take the trash and coming back—

  he seemed… different.

  The look in his eyes carried a weight she could not dissolve.

  When he hugged her, his body trembled. He had even cried.

  She could hardly remember the last time she had seen him cry.

  ChengYu told her his brother had a nightmare.

  But hadn’t he laughed fine at breakfast?

  Ask him again, and he said nothing.

  He skipped lunch. Locked his door.

  Was it school?

  A friend’s accident? Heaven forbid—she wasn’t cursing anyone!

  Or heartbreak? But no… he wasn’t the type to collapse over love.

  Why did this child always bottle everything inside?

  Did he not know a mother would worry herself sick?

  She made up her mind—

  today, she would call his father.

  Tell him to come home early.

  ?

  YiChen stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the hot water pour across his face.

  The heat climbed. He never turned it down.

  He let the scalding sting bite into his skin, mind replaying the Sovereign’s claw—

  that flash of agony driving through ChengYu’s chest.

  How much must it have hurt him…

  By the time he came back to himself, his skin was flushed raw.

  He shut off the water and stepped out—yet the tears kept falling.

  A cool touch brushed his cheek. The sting vanished.

  He looked into the mirror.

  Skin smooth. Unmarked.

  The little fox’s gift.

  The wounds outside were gone.

  The ones inside—untouched.

  This home, both familiar and foreign—

  how was he supposed to face it?

  ?

  By dinnertime, the sky had darkened.

  Light glowed downstairs, fragrance rising with the steam, tugging softly at his chest.

  He descended in silence, each step soundless.

  From the living room came the chatter of the TV—

  a host’s excited voice:

  “This is footage from six hours ago—the Seven Stars in alignment!”

  A woman chimed in brightly:

  “Yes, and all five moons lined up as well! Truly a blessing for those in Crimson Sands and the Scorched Flame Continent—”

  The flicker lit the room. Yet on the sofa, Mark only lowered his eyes to the financial paper, muttering with irritation:

  “Blessing? Nonsense. Wars every day—who cares about moons…”

  Hearing movement, he glanced up. Worry flickered in his gaze, but he said nothing.

  He only turned the volume down and moved toward the table.

  Zhang Han emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands.

  “Perfect timing—the food’s ready.”

  The table was already full: braised ribs, garlic broccoli, steamed egg, sweet-and-sour bass, tomato beef soup—

  all his childhood favorites.

  YiChen stood there, gaze sweeping across the dishes.

  His nose burned.

  He forced it down.

  “Your dad came home early today,” Zhang Han said as she set the last plate.

  “Not too busy,” Mark replied, tone softer. “School keeping you busy?”

  “It’s fine,” YiChen murmured, voice rough.

  He lifted his bowl—then saw his younger brother already seated.

  For once quiet, not teasing, not stealing bites.

  Only sneaking glances at him.

  Clearly Mom had told him to behave. That guilty face was impossible to hide.

  YiChen wanted to smile—

  but couldn’t.

  The table fell into silence. Only the clink of bowls and chopsticks remained.

  Zhang Han ladled soup, added rice.

  “Eat more. You’ve lost weight.”

  YiChen picked up a piece of fish, chewing without taste.

  He wanted to say thank you.

  Wanted to say I’m fine.

  Wanted to hug his mother and whisper—I only came back a little late.

  But no words came.

  He feared if he spoke, the tears would never stop.

  Dinner was slow. And quiet.

  ?

  Night deepened. Still YiChen sat on the edge of his bed, sleepless.

  Close his eyes—and the images returned.

  The door creaked.

  ChengYu peeked in, padded over.

  “Bro, why aren’t you asleep?”

  What he really wanted to ask: What happened to you today?

  But Mom had warned him again and again.

  So he could only sneak in.

  YiChen looked at him.

  “You’re not sleeping either.”

  ChengYu scratched his head.

  “Hehe, I just can’t. Bro, can I sleep with you? It’s been so long…”

  When they were little, he’d always crawl into his brother’s bed.

  Mom used to say he was a shadow that never left YiChen’s side.

  YiChen was silent, then nodded.

  ChengYu grinned, leapt into bed, and curled close.

  With his brother beside him, YiChen finally drifted into shallow sleep.

  Outside, wind moved over the eaves, stirring the leaves into a rustling song.

  He closed his eyes, breath steadying at last. Beside him, ChengYu’s gentle breathing.

  Listening to it was like listening to peace he thought he’d lost forever.

  Losing something and regaining it did not mean it was whole again.

  But here, now—he could hear it.

  Touch it.

  Hold it.

  Even if tomorrow meant walking back into the storm—

  Tonight, he had returned.

  To guard this one shard of light.