It is true that the melody carries a heavy weight, that it isn't lively and joyful as it could perhaps be, if it were played by a different instrument, by a different hand. But the weight has been a constant companion to him for years now, when even the name attached to it couldn't be spoken in polite company, when the cultivation world has done its very best to erase any trace of its true memory. When all that's left is this song, the oath he holds his every action to, and a young boy. What better, more comfortable weight to hold him down while he feels so adrift, than the weight of his own heart?

But even his heart should not be able to conjure the sound of that voice saying his name, a sound he knew he would never hear again. His fingers freeze in their positions, unable to move on, and now his heart feels like it's missed a step, two steps, feels like it's falling. No, not falling.

Rising.

For a breathless moment, his eyes refuse to follow suit and he stares unseeing at his guqin, held in place by the hollow fear of what he might not see if he looked up. But then the spell is broken and he raises his gaze and there he is. Like much of their shared past, it seems both impossible and utterly inevitable that they would see each other again. And if he had to go to another world instead of the afterlife for it, that hardly matters.

"Wei Ying?" he breathes, as if afraid he might wake himself from this dream like he has done so many times before.