As the carriage began to move, Yu Ming leaned out one last time to look back.
Her mother still stood there, arms crossed, face unreadable.
But just before the carriage turned the corner, Yu Ming saw it—a tiny, brief smile at the edge of her mother's lips, but it vanished almost instantly, making it look like an illusion made by her mind that craved her mother's affection.
The jade carriage shimmered softly under the morning sun as it began to rise into the air. Spirit patterns carved into its surface glowed faintly, responding to Noah's silent command. A soft hum echoed as the carriage levitated higher, its wheels no longer touching the ground.
Then, without warning, the space in front of it began to ripple—like a pond disturbed by a single drop.
The ripples spread, folding reality itself, and with a barely audible crackle, a tear in the fabric of space opened just wide enough for the carriage to pass through. The rift was smooth, clean, and silent.
