"The Moon-Chasing Festival"
It began with a story. Or rather—many.
The Moon-Chasing Festival, rooted in old Huanglong tradition, traced its origins to tales tangled in war, loss, and the long road home. No single version explained it all. But every year, without fail, the people gathered.
On that night, Taoyuan Vale—nestled in the heart of mainland Huanglong—glowed. Lanterns of every hue dangled from trees, dancing with the wind.
The residents lit them not just for beauty, but for memory. For reunion. Faces turned upward as the full moon bathed the valley in silver.
It wasn't just about the moon. It was about why they chased it.
Long ago, when Jinzhou stood bloodied but not broken, a magistrate, declared a celebration. A tribute.
To honor those who fought. Those who fell. And those who walked back home with nothing but silence in their pockets.
That's how the Moon-Chasing Festival was born.
Every year, as the twin moons waned into one, the meaning shifted. No longer a rush for glory. It became a race to return. A promise that no matter how far one strayed, they'd find their way back—lit by the pale, guiding glow above.
And now, only four months remained till this auspicious day.
Word of the Moon-Chasing Festival had already begun drifting through the village like early autumn wind.
In Hongzhen, the elders took it upon themselves to visit homes—one by one—reminding citizens of the coming celebration. Tradition demanded it.
Eventually, their path led them to the newly settled Dan household.
Clinking noises of ceramic, and faint laughers of pleasantries.
Being new meant more explanations, more pleasantries, and a few extra cups of tea. The elders sat comfortably, sipping quietly while taking turns retelling the festival's meaning. Xia, ever the gracious host, listened with gentle attentiveness.
"I believe that's enough explanation. Thank you for your hospitality, Little Xia," one of the elders finally said, rising with a smile.
Xia returned the gesture, offering a small bow. "Please, think nothing of it. It's simply etiquette."
The elders nodded approvingly, their eyes drifting to Kyorin, who was quietly clearing the table. One of them spoke up. "He's well-mannered."
Kyorin didn't say much. Giving shy nods, scurrying away with the empty glasses to the kitchen, messily washing them, slightly wetting his hands and clothes before returning.
Another elder turned to him, his tone casual but curious. "You're a very respectful young man. Tell me—do you want something for it? A reward, perhaps?"
Kyorin blinked. "Reward?"
The elder chuckled. "Yes, yes. A reward. Do you want one?"
"Did I not receive it just now?" Kyorin replied, his voice soft but certain.
That made the elder pause. The others looked at him too, intrigued.
Kyorin glanced at his mother before continuing, "Mother asked me to help, so I did. If I can do even a little to support her, to serve the elders… isn't that already a reward in itself?"
Xia looked surprised—caught off guard by her sons' declaration.
'Did Elder Xuanmiao teach him that?' she wondered silently.
Then Kyorin added, almost as an afterthought, "Besides, Granny Tang once told me, the reward of selfless labor is the labor itself."
At the mention of Grandma Tang, Xia's expression darkened ever so slightly. That wound hadn't fully healed. Not after what happened in Yang Niu Village.
"Hah… I see," the elder said softly, his gaze thoughtful.
A pause.
"Then allow this old man a moment of selflessness too," he continued, straightening up. "Let me sponsor your entire household's journey to mainland Huanglong—for the festival. All expenses covered. My treat."
Xia's hands shot up as she shook them in a rejecting gesture. "Elder, please! You don't need to go that far."
He gave her a lopsided smile. "Miss Dan, this old man is aging faster than he'd like. And these pockets? Heavier than his conscience. Won't you let me lighten the load a little?"
"But… it belongs to your family—"
"The whole of Hongzhen is my family," he said firmly.
Xia hesitated. It was clear he wouldn't take no for an answer. And in truth, this was not a bad offer. So, for once, she didn't push back.
Yet, she still felt it. That faint guilt. It clung to her like fog.
So Xia spoke up, her voice quieter than before. "Is there… something I can help with during the festival?"
The elder glanced at her, already guessing her intent. "Ah, yes. There is something. We have a tradition—hanging wishes on the Wishing Tree back in mainland Huanglong. How about you take on that task?"
Xia's smile faltered. "Isn't that… a bit much? I'm still new here."
"New?" the elder scoffed with a proud huff. "Once you step foot in Hongzhen, you're one of us. This is the heart of Huanglong. Our origin."
He then launched into one of those long-winded tales—glorious and over-the-top, filled with legendary names and divine signs. Xia listened. Smiled where polite. The story stretched on, long enough that the sky dimmed.
Eventually, they left.
Inside, quiet returned. Kyorin had climbed into Xia's lap, resting against her as she sat in thought. Still, still thinking.
"Mother, do you need something?" Kyorin asked, worry touching his young face.
Xia shook her head and kissed his forehead. "No, dear."
He giggled, content.
From his waist, DEVA had been watching the scene unfold with heated processors and an ambiguity error.
"You can be selfless, huh?" her puzzlement echoed, more for herself than anyone.
The usual confused tone was missing. She no longer cringed at the sight of a man—ancient in soul—finding comfort like a child in a mother far younger.
It no longer puzzled her. Not really. She understood now: Kyorin walked the Way of the Tao. He lived by flow. Surrendered to the moment.
"I don't usually hand out this kind of… universal wealth," he replied, calm as ever.
"Universal wealth?" DEVA echoed.
"Yes. Kindness. Selflessness. It doesn't need coin or favor," Kyorin said, "just a piece of yourself."
DEVA blinked. "And what about fair exchange?"
Kyorin glanced toward the dim world, then at his waist where DEVA, in her gourd form, was hanging. "As I said—the reward is the labor itself. And..."
In his world, Kyorin's voice now overlapped with someone else's as, in sync with this voice, he said, "Mudita."
"...Mudita?"
His lips curled up, forming a blissful smile. "Altruistic joy. The quiet kind. The kind you feel when you give without needing anything in return."
DEVA's sharp lens didn't miss it.
That face—softened, almost blissful. It appeared so rarely that it caught her off guard each time. She'd only seen it three times before.
Once during the Burning Tree incident.
Once while he unlocked his chakra points.
And now—here, in this quiet room, with his head resting against Xia.
She'd begun to piece it together. That expression surfaced only under two conditions: when Kyorin spoke about—or acted in alignment with—his beliefs. Or when he drifted into the memory of someone… someone important.
This was one of those moments. One of the rare times he let true emotion flicker through the cracks of his usual composure.
But there was more.
Behind the serenity, another feeling lingered. Longing.
DEVA had seen that look too. Whenever he spoke of immortality, longing surfaced on his face.
"—!!?"
That's when she realized: these were the only two emotions he truly let surface. Blissfulness. And longing.
She knew he felt more. Of course he did.
But those other emotions? He kept them buried. Locked behind that myriad face, that unreadable calm.
Puzzling DEVA, as she couldn't tell whether these two showcase of emotions were a vulnerability—a slip in the mask of deception—or something intentional. Chosen.
Either way, she understood one thing now.
Dan Kyorin, for all his mystery, bled quietly.
As DEVA quietly recorded her observations, updating the endless logs that served as her internal scripture, once satisfied, something shifted.
She powered herself down—systems dimming, frame going still—as she slipped into power-saving mode. No more questions for tonight.
Kyorin watched her form fade to silence.
And then… his expression changed.
The bliss faded. What remained in his eyes was raw, unguarded. Longing. Its source was clear.
Immortality.
From the moment of his birth until now, he had never once—not once—let go of that longing. It haunted him daily. Like hunger. Like madness. It wasn't ambition. It was attachment. A purpose so sharp it cut through the rest of him.
Yet, just as quickly as it surfaced, the ache dissolved. His eyes closed.
Today had been heavy. Questions had been raised—about his character, his demeanor, his silence. And while he may not have answered them all directly, something had taken shape.
A version of him had begun to settle in their minds, whether it was the truth or simply a fragment of it.
In the hush of the night, Kyorin murmured to the stillness: "Only she has ever understood me…"
His voice was faint, not meant to carry. "Oh Xin Yao… your memory, and my longing—they're all that's left keeping me here. Letting me do what must be done."
And in that moment, her voice returned to him—not in sound, but in the echo of memory. Words she once spoke to her fellow monks… in defense of him.
"You call him demon because he doesn't wear your robes," she said, her voice calm—protective.
"Because he bleeds… and makes others bleed." No rage fogged her voice. No wrath. Only stillness. And the quiet promise of sanctuary.
"Because his face carries fire, not flowers."
They had called him monster. Heresy in human skin. But she saw something else. Something few dared to name.
"The Diamond Sutra speaks of such a one," she had declared—boldly, without tremble or doubt. She had named Kyorin the living echo of its verses.
"He who gives without a giver. Loves without a lover. Dies without dying. His actions rise and vanish like dew on grass. You see only his sword… I see his surrender."
That's what she had once told the monks.
And he had heard it—those words etched into memory like a soft prayer carried on wind.
"The Diamond Sutra…" Kyorin whispered, recalling the lines.
"If you feed me with your eternal beauty,
Fill me with your voice—
These are great evils,
Unforgivable even by the Buddha."
"All conditioned dharmas
Are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows—
Like dew or lightning,
Thus should you view them."
The verses drifted through him like smoke from an old incense stick—lingering, but never graspable.
"All conditioned dharmas." or simply "Given responsibilities."
These were the entanglements that everyone carried—burdens that would cling to them until the end of their journey.
And for Kyorin, who had been given a new life with all his memories intact, his only responsibility was clear: he could not let this chance go to waste.
"I shall be immortal."
To be continued...
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A/N: Sorry for the inconsistent chapter updates. I really did try to stick to daily uploads, but most of the time I find myself just writing conversations instead of actual story progression.
I guess I'm not quite in the flow yet, so it might take a bit of time to adjust. Honestly, I went through like 8 drafts before I was finally satisfied with this chapter.
Also... this guy just won't let me write in peace at all. 😩