The ledge overlooked the valley like the edge of the world.
Below: mist thick as milk, swallowing the base of the academy peaks.
Above: stars fading into pale gray dawn.
Between: three girls who had just broken every rule the Celestial Sword Academy ever wrote.
Mei sat with her back against cool stone, legs dangling over the drop.
Sùyīn knelt beside her, wooden box open, already grinding fresh herbs into a paste for the cuts and bruises they'd collected during the escape.
Xīuyīng stood a few paces away—sword sheathed now, white training silks torn at the shoulder, silver hair tangled and wild from the wind and the fight. She looked smaller without the weight of judgment on her shoulders.
None of them spoke at first.
The two Heart-Blossom tokens rested between Mei and Sùyīn on a flat rock—petals still glowing softly pink, threads of qi linking them in a gentle triangle that stretched toward Xīuyīng's wrist. The third thread had found her the moment she reached the ledge. It pulsed now—steady, warm, waiting.
Sùyīn finished the paste. She dabbed it on Mei's forearm without asking. Mei winced once—then relaxed under the cool touch.
"You're both idiots," Sùyīn muttered. "Stealing sacred flowers. Fighting elders. Running off a cliff. Romantic, sure. But mostly idiotic."
Xīuyīng let out a small, surprised laugh—sound so soft it almost got lost in the wind.
Mei looked up at her.
"You came."
Xīuyīng met her gaze.
"I said I would."
Another silence—comfortable this time.
Cherry petals drifted past them—impossibly late, impossibly many. They must have followed from the ritual plaza, carried by whatever qi still lingered in the blossoms. Petals landed in Sùyīn's hair, on Xīuyīng's torn sleeve, on Mei's upturned palms. Soft. Persistent. Like the world itself was trying to say something.
Mei caught one between her fingers. Held it up to the light.
"It's blooming out of season," she said quietly. "Like us."
Sùyīn snorted. "Poetic."
Xīuyīng stepped closer—slow, deliberate—until she stood directly in front of Mei.
She knelt—graceful even with dirt on her knees and blood drying at her temple.
The pink thread between them brightened—almost luminous.
Xīuyīng reached out—hesitant—and took Mei's hand. The petal rested between their palms.
"I have spent six lifetimes sentencing you," she said. Voice low. Steady. "In every one I told myself it was justice. Duty. The natural order. In every one I watched you walk away bleeding and told myself I felt nothing."
She turned Mei's hand over—exposed the thin scar from their duel on Moonshadow Pavilion.
"But I felt everything."
Mei's breath caught.
Xīuyīng lifted her other hand—cupped Mei's cheek.
"I looked away because looking meant admitting I wanted to reach for you instead of the scroll. Admitting I wanted to break the verdict instead of reading it. Admitting I wanted… this."
She leaned in.
Slow.
Giving Mei every chance to pull away.
Mei didn't.
Their lips met—soft at first, tentative, tasting of salt and iron and cherry.
Then deeper—Xīuyīng's fingers sliding into Mei's hair, Mei's hand fisting in torn white silk, pulling her closer until there was no space left for doubt or duty or seven cursed cycles.
Petals rained harder—swirling around them like a storm made of spring.
Sùyīn watched—quiet, eyes shining—then reached out and gently touched both their shoulders.
The pink threads flared—bright, blinding—then settled into a steady glow that wrapped all three of them.
Not possession.
Not ownership.
Choice.
Sùyīn's voice came soft against their ears.
"I'm not letting either of you do this alone."
Xīuyīng pulled back just enough to look at Sùyīn—then at Mei.
"Then we don't."
Mei laughed—shaky, tear-streaked, happy.
She pressed her forehead to Xīuyīng's—then reached for Sùyīn, drawing her in until all three leaned together—cheek to cheek to cheek—petals sticking to damp skin and tangled hair.
The blossoms on the rock bloomed wider—petals unfurling completely, releasing a scent like snowdrops and steel and home.
The threads pulsed once—final, certain.
Somewhere far above, deep in the academy's core array, a long-held formation cracked.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Just… quietly.
Like a lock finally giving way after centuries of rust.
The loop didn't shatter in fire and thunder.
It dissolved—like frost under the first real warmth of spring.
Mei whispered against Xīuyīng's lips:
"I love you."
Xīuyīng answered—voice cracking, perfect:
"I love you too."
Sùyīn pressed a kiss to Mei's temple—then Xīuyīng's.
"And I'm keeping both of you. Forever."
Cherry rain continued to fall—gentle, endless, theirs.
Three souls bound not by curse or artifact, but by choice.
By confession.
By spring.