Even though Wei Ji had already opened his eyes, the gentle calm from the dream clung to him like a warm blanket. He lay there in silence, staring at the wooden ceiling, listening to Lu Shaohua's soft breaths beside him. The world around him felt softer than usual, as if the dream had followed him back into reality.

He closed his eyes again.

And just like slipping into water, he sank back into the dream… but this time, he was fully aware. He knew this was not real. He knew the sect was gone. He knew his master was long since buried. He knew the disciples laughing in the courtyard were memories and nothing more.

But knowing it was a dream only made him want to stay longer.

He stood once again at the sect's central courtyard, watching the disciples move through their morning exercises. Their footsteps landed in a steady rhythm. Their breaths came out in soft unison. The air was warm, as if the sun rose only for this little world.

Wei Ji let the wind brush across his face.

"So this is a dream," he whispered. "But… it is still good."

A voice behind him chuckled.

"You always had trouble accepting simple peace," his master said, stepping out from the pavilion with the same patient eyes.

Wei Ji turned. "Master… I know this is not real."

His master raised a brow. "And? Does knowing make it less comforting?"

Wei Ji hesitated before slowly shaking his head. "No. It actually makes me want to enjoy it more."

His master gave a light laugh. "Then do so. Dreams are also part of the heart. If your heart wants rest, let it rest."

Wei Ji looked around again.

He saw the herbal garden where he used to train at dawn. He saw the stone path he walked on every morning to fetch water. He saw the distant training fields where he sparred with his senior brothers until their arms shook. He saw everything he once lost and everything he once wanted to protect.

He took a slow breath.

The warmth here was different. It felt like standing in sunlight after months of rain.

A disciple ran past him again, nearly bumping into his side.

"Senior brother Wei Ji," the boy shouted with bright eyes, "when will you teach the next sword form?"

Wei Ji blinked.

"In a moment," he said softly. "I… have time."

The boy grinned and rushed back to the other disciples.

Wei Ji smiled faintly as he walked along the paved stone path. His steps were slow, unhurried. The breeze carried the scent of bamboo leaves. Birds chirped on the rooftops. Everything seemed alive in a way it had not been for years.

His master walked beside him. "You are calmer now."

Wei Ji nodded. "I did not know I missed this place this much."

"You miss safety," his master said. "You miss ease. You miss the simple days where your heart did not carry the weight of the world."

Wei Ji closed his eyes briefly. "Yes."

"Then enjoy this, even if only for a little while."

Wei Ji looked around again and let the dream sink deeper into him. Every smile he saw, every footstep, every voice made him want to stay longer. He walked toward the training field, and the disciples greeted him with bows and cheerful calls.

One asked, "Senior brother, can you check my stance?"

Another said, "I think I finally understand the step you taught yesterday."

Another came running with a wooden sword and said, "Try sparring with me today."

Wei Ji laughed softly. "So many requests at once."

His master spoke behind him. "They trust you. They respect you. In this place, you never failed them."

Wei Ji paused at those words.

In reality, he had failed many people. He carried those failures like shadows that clung to him. The dream felt like a cruel kindness, showing him a version of a world where he managed to protect everything.

But right now… that cruelty also felt gentle.

He stepped forward and raised a wooden sword he found leaning against a rack.

"All right," he said, voice stronger now. "Let's spar."

The disciples whooped with excitement and rushed into position. Wei Ji moved among them, correcting their steps, guiding their arms, adjusting their shoulders. He told one to lower his stance. He told another to breathe slower. He told another to shift her weight.

And all the while, they smiled at him with absolute trust.

No fear.

No death.

No war.

Only warmth.

He let himself enjoy it. He let himself forget the heavy years that followed. He let his heart rest.

For the first time in a long time, he laughed.

His master sat on the steps of the pavilion, watching him with a calm smile.

"You needed this," the old man murmured.

Wei Ji sparred gently with the disciples one by one. He dodged their clumsy strikes, tapped their wrists when their guard was too open, flicked their wooden swords aside with ease. He praised them when they improved and teased them when they got too confident.

He felt alive.

He felt whole.

He felt safe.

Hours seemed to pass, but in dreams time did not obey rules. The sun stayed warm. The disciples stayed cheerful. The world stayed whole.

He knew this was not real.

But he still whispered to himself, "Just a little longer."

His master walked toward him again. "You have found what your heart wanted."

Wei Ji lowered his wooden sword. "I know I cannot stay."

"No," his master agreed. "But staying was never the point. You only needed to remember something."

Wei Ji looked at him. "What?"

"That the world you want is not impossible," his master said softly. "The peace you dream of may not exist now. But someday, if you keep walking, keep fighting, keep protecting… you may build a world like this again."

Wei Ji felt his breath catch.

His master placed a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Solid. Familiar.

"Do not give up on peace," he said. "Do not let the darkness swallow what you still hope for."

Wei Ji looked at the disciples one last time.

He whispered, "I understand."

The dream began to soften.

The sunlight dimmed. The figures blurred. The courtyard rippled like water touched by wind.

Wei Ji closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered to the fading world.

When he opened them again, he was back in his room. The ceiling was wooden. The moonlight slipped through the window. And Lu Shaohua, warm and quiet, lay beside him still asleep.

He turned his head toward her.

Even if the dream was not real, this moment was.

And he let himself enjoy it.

Wei Ji's eyes snapped open.

The dream dissolved like mist—warm sunlight replaced the glowing halls of his sect—yet his heart still beat fast in his chest. Thump… thump… thump… Sweat clung to his back.

Beside him, Lu Shaohua lay curled slightly toward him, one hand resting lightly on his sleeve as if she had reached for him in her sleep. Her breathing was slow and steady, lips faintly parted, hair scattering across the pillow like black silk.

Wei Ji froze.

"…She's still asleep," he whispered under his breath.

Even after everything—his nightmares, the pressure of his past, the phantom face of the Celestial Demon Empress—seeing Shaohua sleeping so peacefully made his chest tighten.

He gently lifted her hand and placed it back on the blanket.

He didn't want to disturb her. She rarely slept deeply, and lately she'd seemed tied. This peaceful moment was precious.

Wei Ji pushed himself up quietly, careful not to creak the bed.

Rustle—

Shaohua shifted but didn't wake. She was trying to mumble something but it was an innocent mumble.

Wei Ji still couldn't believe that she'd become the Celestial Demon Empress in the future.

"Good…" he exhaled softly.

He stepped off the bed, stretched his stiff shoulders, and let out a slow breath. Sleep wasn't coming back anytime soon—not with his mind still shaking from the previous nightmare and the bittersweet sanctuary-dream after it.

A glance out the window showed early morning light, still pale and gentle.

"I might as well get something done," he murmured. "No use lying here, staring at the ceiling."

He thought for a moment.

Meditate?

Prepare tea?

Check the courtyard?

Take a walk and clear his head?

All tempting.

But what he really needed was to center himself. That lingering unease from the dream of the Demon Empress still clung to him. And the peaceful dream of his sect… it left a hollow ache that he wanted to soothe.

He straightened his robe, exhaled, and stepped away from the bedside.

First, though, he cast one more quiet look at Lu Shaohua—her calm expression, the faint rise and fall of her chest.

"…Sleep well," he whispered gently.

Then he quietly walked out of the room to begin his morning alone, letting her rest undisturbed to keep the peace.

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