Chapter 117: Rebecca’s Departure

Shangping, China 1895

The next morning Rebecca leaves Shangping early, with mist rising from the terraced fields and the camphor tree dripping from the night’s rain. The temple courtyard is still, save for the soft rustle of bamboo and the distant clatter of villagers beginning their day. Rebecca stands beneath the eaves, her satchel packed, her notebooks wrapped carefully in cloth, her coat buttoned against the early spring chill.

She looks older than she did when she arrived ... not in her face, which still carries the same determined calm, but in her posture. She stands with the weight of knowledge, of choices made, of a path completed. She has done what she came to do. She knows it. And she knows she must leave now, before she begins to linger.

I drift beside her, sensing the Solar fragment’s faint hum from Zhao Lian’s wrist. The resonance has shifted ... not severed, but redirected. I still have a lingering connection to Rebecca, but the bond is no longer anchored in her pulse. It is anchored in Lian’s.

Rebecca feels the difference too. She touches her wrist absently, as though expecting the familiar warmth of the fragment, then smiles softly when she remembers it is no longer there.

“It’s strange,” she murmurs. “I feel lighter. And heavier.”

I hover close. “You have done the right thing.”

She nods. “I hope so.”

Zhao Wen arrives first, carrying a small parcel wrapped in cloth. He bows deeply, more formally than he ever has.

“Miss Rebecca,” he says softly. “This is for you.”

Rebecca accepts the parcel, unwrapping it carefully. Inside is a small inkstone ... smooth, dark, carved with a crescent and encircled-star. The carving is simple, but precise. Zhao Wen’s work.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

Zhao Wen bows again. “It is a token of gratitude. You taught us much.”

Rebecca smiles. “You taught me much too.”

Zhao Wen hesitates, then speaks more quietly. “I wish I could continue your work.”

Rebecca shakes her head gently. “Your work is here. Your scholarship is needed here. And your sister ... she is the one who feels the fragment’s resonance.”

Zhao Wen looks toward the courtyard, where Zhao Lian stands beneath the camphor tree, her hands folded, her expression calm. “She is brave,” he says softly.