The path ahead was flat and raw, cutting through an open field draped in a heavy shroud of white. Snow fell relentlessly, and Su Nian couldn't help but notice that winter had descended far earlier and more fiercely than in previous years. The wind howled a piercing, icy gale that threatened to freeze the very soul. Yet, mounted on their steeds, Mo Yan and his disciples rode as if conversing with the wind itself, seemingly untouched by the bitter cold.

  Twenty-two horses thundered across the frozen earth, kicking up clouds of powdery snow. Among the twenty-one riders sat Mo Yan and his disciples, but in their midst, right beside Mo Yan’s stallion, one horse galloped empty. It ran in perfect rhythm, hoofbeat for hoofbeat, with Mo Yan’s mount. Just once only for a fleeting second Mo Yan glanced at the empty saddle, and in that moment, his eyes overflowed. His tears were snatched away by the wind, yet his gaze remained fixed forward, toward the start of his pilgrimage to the Temple of Qasiong. They rode with such velocity that the clouds seemed to fall behind, and the horses looked as if they might take flight into the heavens at any moment.

  Meanwhile, in a different world of desolate silence, Duie stood beneath the cold shadow of a tree, as motionless as a statue. His eyes were fixed in a quiet, stoic stare, while inside the sect, the other disciples busied themselves with their chores.

  The first day passed. Mo Yan and his disciples crossed the Southern Valley, a place renowned for its dense forests and monsoon mists. Back at the Xuemo Sect, Duie wandered the outer perimeters, leaving a solitary trail of footprints in the deep snow.

  The second day followed. Mo Yan crossed a freezing river with a torrential current. That night, Duie sat atop the highest snow-laden roof of the Tao Hua Chuan Academy. He sat in the darkness, staring straight ahead, forcing gulps of wine down his throat. Each swallow felt like a struggle. He let out a long, heavy breath and whispered a single name: "Su Nian." He uttered it as if carving a sacred mantra into the air.

  He lay back on the roof, watching the falling snow. Beside him lay a fresh lotus flower, its delicate petals being slowly buried by the white flakes. Duie felt only the warmth of his own tears against the freezing air. He stood up and scanned the horizon, but there was nothing to see except the endless descent of snow.

  Finally, after three days of travel, Mo Yan and his disciples arrived at a secret, ancient pavilion. As Mo Yan dismounted, a sudden, sharp tug pulled at his heart. His ears turned a bright crimson a sign of spiritual agitation. Seeing this, Su Nian rushed forward to support him, but he found himself in the same state. His own ears were flushed red, and a restless anxiety swirled in his chest.

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  As the other disciples looked around, their eyes lit up with wonder. Though it was not the season for blossoms, thousands of peach trees stood there, laden with flowers. Pale pink petals drifted down alongside the white snow, clinging to their hair and robes. Before them stood the temple a beautiful yet desolate black structure.

  But as Mo Yan stepped inside, the light in his eyes vanished. The interior was hauntingly empty just a vast, hollow hall filled with nothing but drifting peach petals. Bao Fang frowned, turning to Su Nian.

  "Senior Disciple, Master Shiyan Lee said we were to enter a temple found deep within the earth. But this... this ends almost as soon as it begins."

  Su Nian composed himself and replied, "Perhaps what we see is merely an illusion. Master said the temple is hidden; there must be a secret portal somewhere."

  Before Mo Yan could react, a sudden, violent gust of wind swept through the hall, carrying a whirlwind of peach petals. The petals swirled around everyone, but several flew straight into Bao Fang’s mouth, sending him into a fit of coughing. The other disciples suppressed their laughter. Mo Yan calmly reached up to remove a petal from his head, but the moment his fingers touched it, a glowing, pale pink array manifested beneath their feet. In an instant, they were pulled downward.

  They materialized inside a magnificent white cavern. Their eyes widened as they saw millions of peach petals dancing in the air. These petals seemed sentient some brushed against their cheeks, others teased their eyelashes, moving as if they were alive. They played with Mo Yan’s silken hair and danced over his light blue robes. The cave felt like a fairy-tale realm.

  While the petals played gently with the others, they unleashed a whimsical chaos upon Su Nian. He found himself running back and forth, trying to escape the fluttering "assault," much to the amusement of the other disciples. The mischievous petals showed him no mercy some stuffed themselves into his nose, others tugged at his hair, and some tried to crawl into his robes.

  "Stay away, you naughty leaves! I am not a toy!"

  Su Nian cried out, but he couldn't finish his sentence as more petals flew into his mouth. He was caught in a fit of half-laughing, half-crying a victim of this enchanting, playful curse.

  At that very moment, miles away, Duie suddenly slipped from his perch on the roof. He fell from the height, bringing a small avalanche of snow down with him. He landed hard on his back. As he stared up at the snow falling over him, his eyes stretched wide in shock. Nestled among the white snowflakes were several pale pink peach petals. He caught one in his palm, staring at it in utter bewilderment.

  "Peach blossoms?" he whispered, looking around. There wasn't a single peach tree in sight.