Wen Wuque was roused by the low murmur of sutras. Pain surged from her internal organs before the fragments of…
Wen Wuque was roused by the low murmur of sutras. Pain surged from her internal organs before the fragments of memory could surface. She gritted her teeth, knowing the agony of recollection would be harder to bear.
The betrayal in Weiyang City, Wen Wuhen's mocking laughter, the searing pain of shattered meridians, the blood spraying from her mother's body as she shielded her daughter from attackers...She could barely recall how she'd escaped Weiyang City. Her mind was blank, save for one clear command: Survive. Do not fail your mother.
She forced her eyes open. A crumbling hut. A white-haired old woman on her knees, begging every god she knew to save her daughter.
The words were humble, desperate, and for a moment, Wuque could almost pretend they came from her own mother, speaking all the love she'd never had time to say. Tears soaked the thin pillow.
Hearing her stir, the old woman lunged toward the bed, her knees too numb from kneeling to support her weight. She collapsed to the floor, crawling the rest of the way to Wen Wuque's side.
"Yingying, my Yingying! The Buddha has answered, they've returned you to me!"
Wen Wuque knew the finality of death: what is lost is lost forever. No one is "returned".
But in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be Yingying. So she sank into the woman's embrace, two broken pieces of jade fitting perfectly together in the dim light.