Han Yu sobered. He remembered the crushing grief he had felt at the bottom of the ravine—the cold emptiness, the despair that gnawed at him day and night. That sadness had become a part of him, and it now formed the bulk of his Soul Qi reserves.
If he wasn't careful, he could fall prey to the very emotions that gave him strength.
"I need balance," he muttered.
The joy wisps he'd received earlier were precious, and rare. Unlike sadness, which came in floods, or surprise, which flitted in moments, joy was elusive. Genuine, bright moments that lit the soul were harder to come by.
"I need more experiences. More interactions… more people," Han Yu mused aloud. "But I can't draw too much attention yet."
He stood, stretching his limbs.
