Volume 1

It was when dawn's first dew drizzled upon the lotus leaves, and frogs sang once
more, that the young man began to wake. The morning sun cast shards of light
through the bamboo wood, ever so slightly evaporating the previous night's dew
still sticking on his linen clothes, while pearly glistening were the white
mane-strands that yet lingered on his shoulder. As the sun shone upon his face,
the young man stood up in his lethargy, half-opening his eyes. Only then did he
discover that which had disturbed his slumber- a pair of eyes. sparkling like
amber gold. "It's getting late, lazybones." The slender, golden-eyed woman
leaned over slightly, her long platinum hair flowing over her shoulder. Her
words bore annoyance, but her eyes hid a smile. The young man had come to this
valley of hidden jade to cultivate his arts, only to unexpectedly encounter an
adeptus on night as she, too, passed through these same woods. She wore a long
white cotton robe, and a pearly raincoat and hat were about her. Her eyes were
dazzling and gentle, yet indifferent, and her voice was elegant and tranquil,
like jade that falls into a clear spring. She spoke of tales ancient and
absorbing, so much so that he forgot the moon's rise and fall, the cycle of and
orbit of the stars... Even the first croaks of frogs and cries of the cicadas at
dawn slipped away from him. After that, she took him on a tour of secluded
abodes where adepti dwelled, and there had him watch a unfinished game of chess;
to the bottom of a clear river, exploring the court of deceased deities; up
steep cliffs that overlooked the desolated cities left behind by the mountain
tribes... And still after, when silver butterflies glittered in the moonlight,
they would explore the dreams of the fish that played beneath the springs, and
they danced together like the ancestral mages who revered the serpent,
accompanying the demons and gods of the mountain in falling into deep slumber
only when the cicadas had fallen silent. Recalling all this, the young man gazed
at her back and sighed. "What's wrong? You were fine just now, why are you
zoning out of a sudden?" Sensing his companion's curiosity, the young man, who
had thus far simply gazed at her in silence spoke of the misgiving he held in
his heart. "Mortal are but transient guests between heaven and earth, and thus
are inclined to momentary joy and sadness, binding ourselves to individual
points in the past and forever seeking their echoes..." "But what would an
adeptus think of such a lovely night?" "You do think highly of yourself. Alas, I
may forget you in but a moment... We adepti really are heartless like that."
Then, she gave him a sly smile, and her eyes squinted to slits. "But since you'd
like to know, I'll tell you."

Volume 2

The adepti have a long lifespan, and thus they naturally perceive time
differently from short-lived mortals. A mortal's eyes are fixed upon a narrow,
limited future, but in her eyes, time unfurls like a vast painted screen. A
mortal views time as an eternal river of blood. No matter how the crimson
torrent rushes along its fixed paths, no matter how it branches and diverges, it
surges inexorably toward a horizon so red it appears black— toward distant,
silent death. But in her eyes, time is a barren wasteland with neither beginning
nor end, blanketed in spider-silk threads that stretch to unknowable distances.
Here, all things walk or run — even the mighty mountains, so fixed in mortal
sight, may dissipate like rolling clouds in hers. Even mercury, which mortals
hold to be enduring, through her amber-gold eyes can be seen to wear, tear, and
collapse — to say nothing of such fleeting troubles or love. In the endless
journey of life, mortals often miss their homeland, and thus wander amidst
time's boundless flow, entertaining fantasies that a lost image could be
recreated in the future. Though they are driven and pushed by the torrent of the
passing years, and when forced to make devastating decision, they will often
look back at the past, perplexed, as though light long-faded might yet return.
But not so her. She sprinted forever alongside all movements, her flying hair
ever white-gold as she shattered every wave and dispersed all sediment, caring
only to run from this moment into the future. The mountain people once viewed
her as time's daughter, like a white horse leaping from a pure spring, one whom
no shackles could bind. Just as it was with her proud mother, so it was with her
— no wall or eggshell could bar her path. The shepherds of the plains once
pursued her steps, freeing themselves from the fetters of the wilderness,
embarking on a migratory search for the waterweeds, and thus did the
golden-white foal blaze the trail for all herds in the land. The kingdom of the
ocean depths once saw her as an emissary, and based on their imagination, they
granted her scales and tail plumage, falling down in worship of the light
brought by one who was both mother and daughter. In the days when mortals
received the blessings of the heavens, great heroes and wandering champions
would visit the clear springs for her blessing, fighting over the tenderness she
left in her hurried wake. But when the moon palace collapsed, the chariot fell,
and the three sisters were slain, these legends became lost alongside disaster's
descent and the downfall of bygone peoples. The heavens rained down cruel order,
and from that day, the stars stilled their orbits, and the earth ceased to turn.
As for her, she had no choice but to be trapped within the shell of the starry
sky, forced to tarry within this stagnant, foreign land, awaiting her mother's
thousand threads, awaiting the erosion of hardy stone, awaiting the next
encounter from beyond...

"Now then, I've answered your question. And as for the story that follows, I
told you much of it last night." He knew not when, but she had already wrapped
herself in a white shirt. She turned her back to the scattered sunlight, and her
amber-gold eyes glittered in the darkness. "I know it seems rude to mention this
now... But I know you only as a transcendent adeptus, but not where you come
from, or even your name. Might I have it?" Once again, just as she had once
faced another child she knew not amidst the bamboo forest, she only laughed,
saying nothing more. Sighing, the young man nodded to her, bidding her farewell.
Many years later, the young man, now old and grey, recalled this moment by
chance. By then, he had honed his swordplay to flow like water, founded his own
sect, and became a teacher — and still, he never could comprehend the final
story she told him. And as for her, she sprints still along the threads of fate,
concealing her trail beneath the forests and springs, far from the gaze of the
gods, guarding the ancient stories that slip away from even her.