The rain had reached its crescendo. A thunderous roar of falling water filled the valley, every leaf and every grain of earth dancing under the relentless assault of the droplets. In this watery darkness, the fading beauty of the setting sun was utterly washed away.

  Inside the familiar dwelling, Yu Sui rose from beside Mo Yan and walked to the doorway, gazing out at the storm. Even through the cacophony of the rain, a strange, hollow silence permeated the air a heavy, faded atmosphere that clung to everything.

  Both their hearts were churning like seas caught in a gale. The air held a peculiar restlessness, as if invisible smoke were swirling around wood that had not yet caught fire. Outside, the rain showed no signs of relenting.

  Suddenly, Mo Yan stood up. He walked over and positioned himself beside Yu Sui, still clutching the deep red flute. With a steady hand, he extended the instrument back to its owner. Yu Sui smiled as he took the flute, his gaze meeting Mo Yan’s.

  But then, Mo Yan broke the silence with a question that pierced through the rain.

  "This...! Why is my name written upon it?"

  Yu Sui’s composure crumbled in an instant. Looking down at the flute where Mo Yan’s name was clearly etched, he quickly hid it behind his back. He offered a mischievous, forced smile, his heart racing he had never imagined that Mo Yan could actually read the Chwen script.

  Before he could recover, Mo Yan asked another question, his calm eyes fixed intently on Yu Sui.

  "And why is it written in the ancient Chwen tongue?"

  Yu Sui’s eyes widened further. His smile was now a transparent mask for his embarrassment. He looked exactly like a thief caught red-handed in the middle of a heist. His voice stammered as he scrambled for an excuse.

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  "I... I was the one who wrote it."

  But Mo Yan was no fool. He stepped closer, his gaze silently scolding Yu Sui for such a blatant lie. In a soft, low voice, he whispered:

  "You wrote it? But only Duie is capable of writing the Chwen script in such a manner. Only he possesses the spiritual mastery to craft a flute using such ancient talismans. So... how exactly did you write it?"

  Yu Sui’s mouth hung open. His last line of defense had been shattered. His lie was laid bare, and a flush of genuine shame crept up his neck. He turned to flee the awkward confrontation, but Mo Yan’s hand shot out, firmly catching his wrist. Yu Sui froze, his body forgetting how to react, while his mind was suddenly pulled back into the swirling mists of the past.

  FLASHBACK

  Years Ago...

  Yu Sui and Duie had been sentenced to punishment by the Tao Hua Chuan Academy. They had been cast out of the classrooms, and Yu Sui stood there with a puffed-out face, shouting at the sky as if scolding the gods themselves.

  "What kind of nonsense is this? You call this a punishment? Huh?!"

  Yu Sui’s crime was quite unique: he had been caught talking to his pillow. As a penalty, they were forced into the fields to pick peas. Standing amidst the rows of green vines, Yu Sui continued his tirade against the heavens. He wept like a frustrated child, picking up a pea pod and speaking to it.

  "What kind of rule is this?" he wailed. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs, "Who makes such idiotic rules? The world has gone mad!"

  Duie, who had been watching this theatrical performance for quite some time, walked over. He placed a hand on Yu Sui’s shoulder, offering a kind, amused smile.

  "Huh! Don't worry, brother. My punishment is just as ridiculous. I only gave my pillow a name; it’s not like I married the thing. Nonsense!"

  Suddenly, curiosity got the better of Duie. He turned to Yu Sui and asked eagerly:

  "My case is one thing, but brother... why were you talking to your pillow?"

  Yu Sui fell silent, his eyes darting around. A secret smile played on his lips one he couldn't hide even if he tried. He thought to himself, 'Because I named it "Dry Leaf"...'

  But then Duie burst into laughter. Seeing his friend’s amusement, Yu Sui’s face fell. Duie didn't stop, chuckling as he teased, "You’re crazy, brother! Who on earth talks to a pillow?"

  This touched a nerve. Yu Sui snapped back, "You gave your pillow a name too, didn't you? What about that, huh? Tell me, what did you name yours? And anyway, who makes these stupid rules?!"

  He hesitated then, calming down as he looked at the pea crop swaying in the gentle breeze. Finally, he asked the question he had been wanting to ask Duie for a long time.

  "Can you teach me... how to craft a flute using spiritual mantras?"