In the hidden valley north of Tuhe City, Siu Chen lived in quiet seclusion.

  Hong Cu had brought ample provisions before vanishing—no word, no return.

  The days of intimate companionship with Emperor Suzong—once constant—were gone.

  She wished them gone forever.

  Sought to banish every memory.

  Yet the body keeps its own counsel.

  Some nights, desire rose unbidden—a fleeting solace, hollow and brief.

  A slow torment.

  A gradual erosion of the spirit.

  In this torment, questions stirred—questions about all she had once held sacred.

  The teachings were passed from her mother, Lie Kim.

  The foundations of her being.

  What meaning remained in Ren, Yi, Li?

  Ren—the wellspring of compassion, benevolence toward all.

  Did the Emperor, Son of Heaven, understand Ren?

  He who should embody it for the realm knew only self-love.

  His heart turned cold to the people’s suffering—famine, war, grief.

  He felt no echo of their pain.

  Li—propriety, the rites that order heaven and earth.

  All must bow before the Emperor.

  Yet Siu Chen knew what the Emperor demanded: her body exposed, offered for his pleasure.

  Where was propriety in that?

  Where respect?

  Where the harmony of roles—ruler and subject, man and woman—when power twisted all into submission?

  And Yi—righteousness, justice.

  In the palace, Yi was defined by victory.

  The strong were righteous.

  The weak wrong.

  The defeated deserved subjugation.

  Power alone declared truth.

  Today ascendant, tomorrow fallen—dust upon the wind.

  Was that righteousness?

  Siu Chen heard whispers from villagers who came to the old inn—heads bowed, eyes lowered, voices soft.

  That was Li for them.

  She longed for Baihe Plain—when women greeted her as an equal, shared laughter, and celebrated her marriage to Han Lei with open hearts.

  Moved by true Ren.

  Those days shone like gold.

  Now she was consort to the Emperor.

  A woman who had lain with the Son of Heaven.

  No longer ordinary.

  No longer one of the people.

  Separated by invisible walls.

  To what end?

  The teachings of Confucius—once recited with reverence, seeming perfect in their harmony—now rang hollow against life’s harsh reality.

  If Xin demanded truth, trustworthiness, word as bond—did palace lords uphold it?

  Promises broken like dry twigs.

  Oaths twisted to ambition.

  Siu Chen felt no wish to memorize the Classics.

  Nor the subtle mysteries of Dao.

  What meaning held the Dao when power corrupted all flow?

  Her only longing now burned clear.

  To see her son again.

  Han Sen.

  How she yearned for him.

  The boy was left behind on Baihe Plain.

  The child was carried away by fate.

  On quiet nights, she whispered his name to the stars.

  At the edge of Tuhe City, Han Sen and Fei Fei paused beneath the vast shadow of the Phoenix Mountains.

  Endless peaks rose like ancient guardians, cloaked in verdant green and mist.

  “Beyond those ridges lies Tongzhou,” Han Sen said quietly. “I came from there to Chang'an.”

  Fei Fei turned to him, eyes wide.

  “So close? Just on the other side?”

  “Two days’ walk, no more.”

  “Heavens!” She laughed softly. “All this time, brother lived near his mother… yet worlds apart.”

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  Han Sen’s smile was faint, tinged with old sorrow.

  “Life draws us near, then blinds us. Through ignorance, we wander—never meeting.”

  Fei Fei’s expression softened.

  “Hey… no sorrow now. Look—that must be the cart track.”

  She pointed to the winding path between Ling and Wen hills.

  Han Sen nodded.

  “Let us go.”

  He could have invoked Five Winds—body light as mist, crossing the distance in hours.

  Yet he walked.

  Slow steps upon the earth.

  A shadow lingered in his heart.

  The demon heart—conquered, subdued.

  No longer ruling.

  Yet not forgotten.

  Not erased.

  Not easily accepted.

  He had lived five years with his mother—sharing mourning, tending father’s tablet, guarding the ashes.

  Then she had urged him to the Pagoda of Nine Awareness.

  With Master Lou Siat, he departed.

  And never saw her again.

  She vanished into palace shadows.

  Became the favored consort of the Emperor.

  What trials had she borne?

  What judgments did she hold?

  Han Sen feared the answers.

  Feared her gaze upon an unfilial son.

  A child who left.

  Who wandered.

  Who returned too late.

  The pagoda’s endless steps had tested flesh—tens of thousands, breeding despair.

  Infinite trial of the body.

  This journey tested spirit.

  Three lie along the carriage road.

  Not long.

  Yet each step weighed heavily.

  Fei Fei walked beside him—light-hearted, savoring the mountain beauty bathed in afternoon gold.

  Birdsong.

  Wind through pines.

  Her laughter when a butterfly danced near.

  Han Sen watched her—grateful for the lightness she carried.

  Several hours passed.

  The sun began its descent toward the west.

  The old roadside inn appeared—large, timber strong, roof tiled deep green.

  Smoke rose gently from the chimney.

  A peculiar longing stirred within Siu Chen that day—a quiet yearning to prepare sweet glutinous rice cakes.

  Those cakes had been Han Sen’s delight since his earliest years.

  Whenever the boy recited the teachings of the Confucian masters, she rewarded him with one—warm, fragrant, wrapped in a banana leaf.

  He would leap with unrestrained joy, eyes shining brighter than any lantern.

  Sweet memories.

  They lingered still.

  She began at dawn—glutinous rice fermented slowly through the hours, drawing forth its gentle sweetness.

  Only as the afternoon deepened did she add coconut milk, palm sugar stirred until it melted like honey.

  Wrapped carefully in fresh banana leaves.

  Steamed.

  The aroma rose—rich, comforting, carrying echoes of childhood.

  The sun dipped toward the horizon as the cakes neared readiness within the bamboo steamer.

  Siu Chen turned—alerted by the creak of the gate, measured footsteps upon the wooden floor.

  She left the cakes.

  Moved to the entrance.

  Opened the door.

  Fading sunlight bathed the courtyard.

  She stood within shadow.

  Beheld the figure who haunted her dreams.

  Yet he lingered in light—gazing upward, striving to recognize the woman veiled in twilight upon the veranda.

  “Sen-er…?”

  The name escaped her lips—soft, trembling.

  She surged forward.

  Shadow gave way to clarity.

  Han Sen’s eyes widened.

  Tears welled, unshed no longer.

  He yearned to kneel.

  But his mother reached him first—arms fierce, tender, wrapping him as though he were still the small boy left behind.

  “Sen-er! Sen-er! You have returned… my Sen-er!”

  “Mother… Mother…”

  Time paused.

  Formal bows, prescribed rites—all meaningless.

  When longing grips the heart, the truest act is embrace.

  Like a mother’s first—offering life itself.

  Han Sen—man of strength, scholar of learning—wept freely.

  All suppressed sorrow poured forth.

  Two years of absence.

  Guilt.

  Fear.

  Love.

  Siu Chen wept too—for her own heart’s sake.

  She had questioned her worthiness.

  Wondered if her son would accept the woman who returned from palace shadows.

  All doubt dissolved.

  Tears washed away the grime clinging to her soul.

  Cleansed her heart.

  Time lingered.

  Suspended.

  Mother and son wished it would stand still.

  Fei Fei remained at the gate—motionless, eyes glistening.

  Silence reigned.

  Unbroken.

  For a long while.

  The courtyard held only the sound of healing tears.

  And the faint, sweet aroma of glutinous rice cakes cooling upon the stove.

  Forgotten.

  Yet perfect.

  “Han Sen…”

  “Mother…”

  “Quickly! Quickly! The cakes must be lifted!” Siu Chen exclaimed, her face radiant with joy.

  “What…”

  “Come, come inside!” She darted forward, steps light as a girl’s, toward the kitchen.

  In that instant, she felt nineteen again—back on Baihe Plain, heart unburdened, surrounded only by those she cherished most.

  Han Sen and Fei Fei followed.

  Siu Chen emerged bearing a plate of steaming cakes.

  The beauty of glutinous rice cakes lies in their patience—they could linger in the steamer without harm.

  “Eat! Eat! Let us celebrate with your favorite treat!”

  “Mother…” Han Sen’s eyes misted once more.

  “Haiyaaah… Han Sen, you found me! This is your reward!”

  Just as in childhood—cakes were bestowed for triumphs won.

  For Han Sen, this reward surpassed all golds and jewels of the empire.

  He took one, blowing gently upon its warmth.

  Unwrapped the banana leaf.

  Inhaled the sweet fragrance of glutinous rice—comfort deep as memory.

  Elation surged.

  He wished to leap, to shout for joy.

  Yet he restrained himself.

  Beside him stood Fei Fei—silent witness to this sacred reunion.

  “Mother,” Han Sen said softly, “this is my friend, Fei Fei.”

  Siu Chen’s eyes sparkled as she beheld the girl.

  She had long imagined her son’s future wife—fair? Kind?

  Now she saw Fei Fei—youthful, vibrant, black hair cascading to her waist like a silk waterfall.

  Grace exquisite.

  “Han Sen,” Siu Chen declared candidly, “your friend is remarkably beautiful.”

  “Madam, please don’t tease,” Fei Fei replied, cheeks blooming pink. “Madam is beautiful too. And because of that, Brother Han is exceptionally handsome,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

  Han Sen felt warmth rise to his own face.

  Yet deeper warmth bloomed within his heart.

  In that instant, he knew—soul-deep—that he had found his life’s companion.

  Captivated by Fei Fei.

  Yet the young man remained silent.

  Too timid to voice the truth burning within.

  Instead, he settled back—content to savor his beloved cakes.

  Fei Fei took one too, acknowledging its exquisite flavor with shining eyes.

  Siu Chen poured rice wine—clear, fragrant.

  A toast to joyous reunion.

  Then stories flowed.

  Han Sen spoke of his journey—the trials of the Pagoda.

  “Mother, I endured the Pagoda only because of lessons you taught me.”

  She smiled, eyes distant yet warm.

  “Still waters reflect the sky. Turmoil within is the dark cloud that obscures the stars.

  The Dao teaches alignment with the Way of the universe.

  The Dao takes no sides.

  Judges not.

  Avenges not.

  It simply is.

  Suffering exists.

  Wickedness exists.

  They are part of the cycle—like winter before spring.

  To seek simple answers—certainty—is to reject reality.”

  She also spoke of Sun Wukong, the Monkey King.

  Han Sen’s mind drifted.

  Memory stirred—of a time he had held the Ruyi Jingu Bang in his own hands.

  For a fleeting moment, laughter, astonishment, and wonder filled the small chamber.

  Han Sen’s tale of the Pagoda—of endless steps, thunderous trials, and the quiet voice within—drew gasps and shining eyes.

  Yet when he finished, Siu Chen’s smile carried a bitter edge.

  “But now…” she murmured, voice soft yet heavy, “I am no longer certain if all that transpired was truly as it seemed.”

  Han Sen’s expression faltered.

  “Is it truly man’s way to merely drift with the currents?

  If the Dao possesses no bias, offers no retribution, does it not discern between righteousness and wickedness?

  The universe turns ceaselessly, yes—a grand cycle.

  But must man exist only in harmony with it, blind to the truth that even the natural order bends beneath power and dominion?

  Is it the powerful who dictate truth, goodness, justice?”

  Her voice resonated with quiet intensity.

  “Han Sen, I cannot fully speak of what I endured.

  But those years have shaken all I once believed.

  Merely because an Emperor proclaims something true does not make it so.

  It only means the one who holds power is deemed to possess truth.”

  Han Sen fell silent.

  The words struck deep.

  He had seen corruption with his own eyes.

  Understood how the strong shaped truth to their will.

  He knew it to be reality.

  And knew, in his heart, that it was a falsehood.

  The meeting of mother and son stretched late into the night.

  They spoke freely—openly, unrestrained.

  Every word laid bare.

  Years of separation poured forth in quiet voices.

  Pain shared.

  Joy rediscovered.

  As night deepened, a yearning bloomed within their hearts—for the true essence of truth.

  Beyond power.

  Beyond palace shadows.

  Beyond easy cycles.

  The dragon sat with his mother.

  And the light beside him—Fei Fei—listened in silence.

  While stars wheeled overhead.

  And the world—vast, troubled—waited.

  For what these three would choose.

  In days to come.

  When greater darkness rose.