Ao Bing, his powers now unsealed, left Erlang Shen’s office and teleported to Ao Qin’s residence. As soon as he appeared at the entryway of his uncle’s home, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down and saw Ao Jia’s name flashing across the screen. With a sigh, he accepted the FaceTime call, the face of the Crown Prince filling the screen.

“Jianyu,” Ao Jia began without preamble. “You unsealed your powers. What happened?”

Among siblings, especially those with powerful spiritual lineages like the Ao family, there was an invisible thread that bound them together. Spiritual energy was not just a force they wielded—it was an extension of their essence, woven into their very being. Over time, these energies became familiar, recognizable, almost like a signature. When one of them experienced a significant shift in their power, like unlocking long-sealed abilities, the ripple of energy spread through that bond. Ao Jia had sensed the unsealing of Ao Bing’s powers the moment it happened, just as one might feel the sudden pull of a current in still waters. 

Ao Bing leaned against the side of the entryway, running a hand through his silver-white hair. “I’m not entirely sure,” he started, then briefly explained the situation. “It may be connected to the growing disturbances in the mortal realm. Erlang Shen is investigating it.” Ao Bing paused before adding, “I also happened to run into Sun Wukong tonight.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Ao Jia’s reaction was subtle--the slightest tension in his jaw, the brief flicker of recognition at the mention of Sun Wukong’s name. Ao Bing, of course, noticed the shift but wasn’t in the mood to push it. 

“I’m at Second Uncle’s house now,” Ao Bing said finally. “But I’ll let you know if I hear anything else from Erlang Shen.”

Ao Jia nodded slowly, returning to his usual composed tone. “Tell him I’ll be there tomorrow,” he said gently.

WIth that, the call ended.

Ao Bing walked slowly through the quiet hallways of Ao Qin’s ancestral home, his footsteps barely making a sound on the polished wooden floors. The house, usually filled with the gentle hum of life, felt eerily silent. As he approached Ao Qin’s room, a familiar wave of worry washed over him. Ao Qin’s condition had worsened. His health, already frail, had taken a sharp decline over the past few days.

He paused at the doorway, taking a deep breath before entering. Inside, the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a few lanterns, their light casting long shadows on the walls. Ao Qin lay on a low bed, surrounded by blankets and cushions. Despite his frailty, there was a serenity in his expression, a quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“Jianyu,” Ao Qin greeted him with a weak smile, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

Ao Bing forced a smile, pushing aside the lump in his throat. ”How are you feeling, Uncle?”

Ao Qin chuckled softly, a sound that was more a breath than a laugh. “I’m ready to go to a night club, isn’t it obvious?”

Ao Bing moved closer, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “Uncle, I was thinking… I could move in, at least for a while. Just to keep you company.”

Ao Qin’s smile faded, replaced by a stubborn look that Ao Bing knew all too well.  “I don’t need anyone fussing over me in my own home. I’m not some frail old man who needs to be coddled.”

Ao Bing reached out, taking his uncle’s frail hand in his own. “You’re not frail, Uncle,” he said softly, “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Ao Qin’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the old man’s eyes held a glimmer of the fierce spirit that had always defined him. “Bing’er,” he said, switching to calling his nephew the name he’d call him as a young child. Ao Qin’s  voice now took on a more serious tone, “I’ve lived a long life. Longer than most. I’ve seen things, done things… I’ve made my peace with what’s coming. But I don’t need you hovering over me like a worried hen.”

(In Chinese culture, adding the diminutive suffix "er" (儿) to a name or a single character, as in "Bing'er" (冰儿), is often a way to express affection, endearment, or familiarity, especially when addressing children or younger loved ones.)

“But—”

“No buts!” Ao Qin interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “I won’t have you wasting your time on an old man who’s ready to meet his end.”

Ao Bing looked down, feeling a wave of frustration mixed with affection. His uncle had always been like this—proud, independent, refusing to be a burden to anyone. “Uncle, it’s not a waste. I want to be here for you.”

Ao Qin reached out, cupping his nephew’s cheek with a shaky hand. “Fine, I know what you can do for me.”

Ao Bing met his uncle’s gaze. “Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll live your life,” Ao Qin said softly. “Don’t let this old dragon’s final days weigh you down. You left because the pressure from the kingdom and your father became too much. I don’t want you to fall into that cycle again. Remember, you are your own man.”

Ao Bing swallowed hard, the words striking a chord deep within him. He left the Crystal Palace over a century ago, overwhelmed by the weight of expectations and the constant scrutiny of being a member of the royal family. By the time Ao Bing made the decision to leave, the pressure had become unbearable.

“I promise, Uncle,” he said quietly. 

Ao Qin smiled, a look of relief washing over his features. “Good. Now, go on. Get out of here before the prostitutes I paid for arrive.”

Ao Bing laughed and shook his head, squeezing his uncle’s hand one last time before standing up and heading back home. 

***

That night, Ao Bing slipped into a restless sleep, his mind spiraling into a fragmented kaleidoscope of blurred memories. 

As he dreamt, he saw a young boy darting through a dense forest, his laughter echoing among the tall, ancient trees. The sunrise rose through the canopy, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. The boy moved with the boundless energy of youth, his small feet barely making a sound as he ran. There was an infectious joy in his laughter, a pure, unbridled happiness that seemed to light up the entire forest.

The scene shifted, blurred around the edges, and suddenly Ao Bing found himself, also as a young boy, at the edge of a steep cliff, overlooking a vast, shimmering ocean far below. The clear waves crashed against the rocks with a rhythmic roar, sending up plumes of white foam. The air was salty and fresh, carrying with it the scent of the sea. He could feel the warmth of the rising sun on his skin, the wind tugging at his hair, and for a moment, there was a deep sense of peace, as if the world had paused to bask in the beauty of this hidden place. 

The other boy from earlier appeared in front of him, and together they overlooked the scenery beyond the cliff, laughing and teasing one another. 

The dream shifted again, and Ao Bing saw flashes of magnolia blossoms, their petals falling softly to the ground. The image of the two boys seemed to evaporate into the air, and in their place stood a figure clad in red with their back towards Ao Bing, hand outstretched catching the falling magnolia blossoms. 

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the dream slipped away, dissolving into the darkness of the night. The scent of magnolias, the sound of laughter and the smell of the cool ocean breeze lingered around him, the dream leaving behind a trace of its reality in the waking world.

Ao Bing rolled onto his side, focusing on the sound of his own breathing, willing himself to go back to sleep. He counted each inhale and exhale, until eventually he found himself sinking back into the quiet void of sleep, burying the images of that dream deep within himself.

Just as he had done countless times over the past few centuries, every time he would have this same dream.

As he drifted back to sleep, an echo from the dream softly called to him.

I promise…I will find you…