A/N: Okay, this chapter will be long and I debated including this, but I ultimately felt it was important. This chapter isn't an extra, but a canon addition—something that needed to be said.
You've already seen glimpses of Un, Lian's original and truest form, but I never explained why Un exists, or why they appeared.
I admit, I felt a bit of guilt introducing a character this powerful without context—so this chapter is me making that right. It's not just a showcase of strength, but a reflection of identity, restraint, and the burdens Lian or Un carries in silence.
***
Evening had settled over Jinzhou, casting a golden hue through the paper-lantern light of Miss Panhua's restaurant. Laughter and clinking bowls filled the air, but one table drew more glances than the rest.
Seated there were five figures—Rover, Yangyang, Chixia, Lian... and a surprise guest: Sanhua. She had been hesitant to join at first, stiff and guarded.
But with a gentle nudge from Lian—along with the not-so-subtle reminder that she owed a debt with matters regarding Rover to both herself and Huanglong—she begrudgingly relented.
"Think of it as payment," Lian had said, her tone impossible to argue with.
Around them, whispers stirred.
"Oh my god, is that Lady Sanhua?"
"Un"
"And who's that navy-haired beauty next to her?"
"That black-haired guy is so lucky!"
"It should've been me, not him! It's not fair..."
Lian simply sipped her tea, her expression unreadable. Yangyang was already picking at side dishes. Chixia had a smug grin while listening in, and Rover—oblivious or simply playing dumb—offered a faint smile as the city buzzed quietly around them.
The mercenary's, gaze lingered on the warm scene before her—the hum of voices, the gentle clink of dishes, the way the evening light curved around familiar silhouettes.
A faint tremble crossed her eyes, as this reminded Lian of the Ghost Hounds.
Lian hadn't spent long with them—just a few months—but in that time, they had grown impossibly close. As close as family, even if Lian's official title within the squad was Maverick—an unorthodox, free-willed outlier. Lian had never been treated as one.
That title had been more a formality, a mutual understanding between Lian and the squad. In practice, Lian had been deeply welcomed. Cherished, even.
Every member knew of 'his' ability to shift between male and female form—a secret held in trust, one never spoken beyond their circle. They hadn't just accepted it. They'd embraced him for it.
Lian didn't see them often these days, but they were still out there—each chasing missions across the world, scattered yet still tethered by memory and loyalty.
And sitting at this table now, among these new companions, Lian found herself quietly reminded of them.
Beep.
Just then, her terminal pulsed softly. She lifted it with one hand, glancing at the message displayed.
The message read as follows—[Thank you for your cooperation. Our agreements conclude here. We appreciate your efforts.]—sent from Jinzhou's official account.
Lian stared at the message for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a faint, almost wistful smile, she powered off the terminal. A gentle click marked the closing of one chapter.
"I must take my leave now," she said quietly, rising from her seat with a fluid grace.
The others turned toward her.
Yangyang gave her a polite nod, eyes kind. "Let's meet again."
"Yeah," Chixia chimed in cheerfully. "And make sure to let us play with Hanya next time!" She was referring to the small, humanoid TD Echo Lian had absorbed into her Terminal.
Sanhua, ever composed, regarded Lian with her usual cold gaze. But this time, she offered a respectful bow—formal, but genuine. Despite Lian's meddling, she had been undeniably helpful.
Meanwhile, Rover stood silently by, hesitant to let her go. A part of him still wished she could stay a while longer—after all, she had been an immense help, not just in action, but in clarity.
"Thank you very much, Lady Lian," Rover said sincerely, bowing his head.
Lian chuckled gently. "Lian is fine."
She turned slightly, eyes meeting his with a strange mix of warmth and warning.
"Rover…" she began, her voice soft but weighted. He looked up at her, attentive. "About those tokens you received…"
His posture stiffened subtly, ears straining at the mention.
"I've already figured out much of their nature," Lian said, her tone unreadable—somewhere between modest and mildly mischievous. "But I think it's best you don't hear it from me."
Whether she was boasting or not was unclear—but coming from her, it didn't seem impossible.
"However…" her voice lowered into something more intimate. "I'll offer a hint… and a warning. I believe they may help you in time."
Rover swallowed, then nodded. "Please."
Lian's aquamarine eyes glinted with a peculiar light. "It would be better not to always trust your eyes."
That caught everyone's attention.
"You've lost your memories," she continued, "so you'll rely on instinct and sense. That's natural. But don't place blind faith in what you see. If you do… your future may take a dark turn."
"How so?" Chixia asked, puzzled.
Lian turned her gaze to her, and then to the group. Her voice was calm—but held the edge of something deeper.
"You see," she began, "when one relies on sense too much… and if that sense is limited, then what follows is distortion."
"Simply put..." she paused, and then smiled gently, like a teacher giving one last lesson before exiting the class, "...as you see the world, so shall you contemplate it. From your contemplation, your thoughts will form. From your thoughts, your character will adapt. And the character... becomes the echo of all you will ever be."
She let the words hang, then turned away without waiting for a reply as she turned, her silhouette catching the last gold-orange hues of the Jinzhou evening, Rover found himself watching her with a strange stillness in his chest.
He didn't fully understand it. There was no thunderous heartbeat, no poetic rush of infatuation. But something lingered—soft and weightless—like the moment before a dream begins.
Yangyang caught his gaze, offering a faint, knowing smile. Though, a sense of bitterness lingered—as she watched Rover looking at the vanishing lady.
Lian didn't glance back. Her stride was unhurried, each step dissolving into the hush of evening as she slipped into the city's gentle murmur. The wind teased her navy hair, ink-dark against the last embers of daylight.
Rover watched her go, a quiet tension settling in his chest. His gaze lowered, unsure whether what he felt was admiration, gratitude… or something else he hadn't learned to name yet.
But one thing was certain: "Rover wanted to see her again."
'Strange…' The thought surfaced quietly, masked behind Rover's composed exterior. Why did Rover felt this pull toward Lian?
There was no embarrassment, only a muted bewilderment—like a compass needle nudged by some invisible hand. Did Rover truly lean that way, or was something deeper shifting beneath the surface?
Lian's parting words echoed: "It would be better not to always trust your eyes."
Now, those words pressed heavier, suspicion blossoming like a quiet intuition. 'No, impossible,' Rover reasoned. 'Only those... who have reached the peak of Resonance, could shift forms... Like me.'
Despite the haze of lost memories, a flicker of certainty remained—Rover was aware of 'her' powers, and who 'she' truly was.
Walking past the city gates, beyond the reach of any watching eyes, Lian's form began to shimmer—then dissolve.
Her body unraveled into three luminous strands of hair, which coiled gently around the terminal before darting silently back toward the Barrens.
***
A/N: So, I want to apologize as I started this gender-bent storyline mostly for fun and practice, but honestly, it's starting to get a bit out of hand for me. Do you readers want me to wrap it up soon, or keep going with it?
***
10:00 PM.
The Norfall Barrens was still under relentless assault by Tacet Discords, but Lian cut through them with practiced ease, like brushing dust from his shoulders.
As midnight neared, so did the end of his shift.
"Haah..." A lethargic yawn escaped Lian's lips as his eyes grew heavy, the weight of sleep tugging at his lashes.
Perhaps it was the meal he'd finally had after so many months—or simply the toll of accumulated exhaustion—but a deep, creeping drowsiness began to rise within him.
Lian moved as if in a trance, one half of his mind sharp and alert, the other lulled into sleep. His body fought on in discipline, but his thoughts wandered, yearning for the rare luxury of true rest.
"Hm?" Lian's eyes narrowed as his Terminal drifted near, three strands of hair dissolving into him—memories from another self assimilating with his.
A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. He shook his head, then typed a brief message to Changli: "Staying at Hongzhen."
With that, he closed the device. Just one more hour left before he could finally call it a day, as the twang of his bow echoed once more, sending golden rain cascading through the night sky.
***
The ancestral ground of Jinzhou—Hongzhen—sat nestled high amid the coiling snow-veiled Loong peak, where frost clung to every rooftop and pine branch like quiet memory.
As the first light of dawn spilled over the mountains, the old city stirred to life.
Mist drifted between the narrow streets like wandering spirits, curling around sloped tile roofs and red lanterns swaying in the chill morning wind. Shops creaked open one by one, their warm interiors glowing against the cold blue haze.
In a secluded courtyard near the temple steps, steam rose gently from a porcelain cup.
An old gentleman sat quietly, hands wrapped around the warm tea, his breath fogging in the crisp air. His gaze lingered on the horizon where sunlight kissed the snow, lost in thought.
"Morning, Uncle Fu." The greeting, low and even, drifted across the courtyard.
The old man angled his head, eyes narrowing in quiet recognition. A young man approached—dark-haired, pale yellow eyes catching the dawn—boots muffled against frostbitten stone.
Uncle Fu's reply came with a gruffness softened by affection. "Ah, it's you, lad."
"Come, have a seat," Fu gestured to the chair opposite him. As Lian approached, he noticed the old man's eyes quietly sweeping the mist-veiled courtyard.
"Is something the matter?" Lian asked, his tone light.
"Just checking for early birds," Fu replied casually.
Lian tilted his head. "Early birds?"
Fu gave him a sidelong glance—dry, but not unkind. "Because I think you should eat."
A brief silence followed before the old man set down his cup with a soft clink.
"Listen," Fu said, his voice now firmer. "I don't know you well, lad… but I can tell your soul's as generous as they come. Still, that doesn't give you the right to starve yourself for the sake of others."
He pointed at Lian, still gripping his tea. "You'll turn to bones if you keep this up. I know you're resilient, but let's be honest. No one lives on water and tea alone."
"Hm." A small, wistful smile played on Lian's lips as he gazed toward the far edge of Hongzhen, where a quiet hut sat beneath the waking sky.
"You know, Uncle Fu..." he murmured, voice soft as the steam rising from their cups. "I ate yesterday."
Fu remained silent for a moment. He watched Lian with a stillness that wasn't stern, just… listening.
Then came the quiet confession. "True, I've been giving… but maybe now, I'd like to learn how to receive as well." Lian said with a smile.
Something in Lian's voice had shifted — like a frost thawing, like a lifelong sentinel choosing, for once, to rest. Fu's chest tightened—not with worry, but with a quiet ache: pride, joy, a sense of alleviation of worry.
Fu set his cup down with a faint clink and exhaled through his nose. "Good," he said simply. Then, with a slight sideways glance, "Would've been nice if you figured that out a few hundred sunrises ago."
His words carried no bite—only warmth, and a long-held breath was finally released. Yet as he gazed at the young lad, something seemed off—a flicker of curiosity, like a mentor watching a child uncover a new truth.
Intrigued, Fu leaned forward slightly and asked softly, "Did something happen?"
Lian's reply was barely more than a breath. "I saw a dream," he murmured. "A strange dream… one I'd rather leave behind."
Though Fu found the story intriguing, he chose not to pry further. Lian's eyes flickered as he replayed the dream—one that had laid him bare and vulnerable...
"You are a grief-untouchable entity," a cultivator who had reached the essence of Tao once asked, standing before the Tao itself—Un.
"I sought you in my youth, and after epochs of struggle, I attained you—the grief..." The figure broke down in tears. "Oh Tao, how will you ever know it?"
The Tao remained silent but eventually spoke to the cultivator who had endured the journey, "To greet the sun, it is not necessary that you leave the earth, you can greet it from where you stand."
"Similarly," Un said gently as they helped the cultivator to their feet, "what you have mistaken, oh mighty cultivator, is that reaching the peak of cultivation means attaining Tao."
The cultivator asked, "Tao... exactly what does it truly mean to attain you? How can one possibly grasp the unreachable?"
Un replied, "As the Tao of Unness—the final goal of Taoism—I, Un, am attainable by cultivators and non-cultivators alike, for I am ultimately Realization itself."
***
A/N: Many readers think of Un as the end of everything, but actually, Un represents realization itself. It's not an ending, it's the moment when all potential becomes real.
***
"How come? Aren't you the Untrumpable, the Unreachable, the Ungraspable?" the cultivator asked, tears streaming down their face.
Un nodded slowly. "You are right—I am Untrumpable, Unreachable, Ungraspable. But I am 'Un' in another way as well. I am also 'Untrue.'"
"Therefore," Un simply revealed, "everything you believe about I being unconquerable and beyond reach… is also untrue."
The cultivator's eyes widened. Un, once the unassailable truth, now revealed itself as something even truth could not contain. The old labels—unreachable, untrumpable—fell away, exposed as mere inventions of language.
Truth, the cultivator saw, was not a fixed point but a shifting current, always beyond grasp. The Tao was not an end to seize, but a state untouched by any idea—even its own.
In that moment, the cultivator understood: Un could not be pinned down or confined by any concept, no matter how exalted. The essence of Un existed beyond all opposites and distinctions, slipping beyond the reach of certainty or dogma.
"Hic…" The cultivator's shoulders trembled as tears spilled freely, unbidden. "Such a simple truth… O Tao… why did the path to it demand so much suffering?"
Their voice cracked—fragile, human. "I… I lost my family. My friends…" The words were a whisper dragged from the deepest ache in their soul. "I miss them… I miss them more than breath."
They looked up at Un, eyes brimming with desperation.
"And yet… this truth… it asks me to let go." A broken sob caught in their throat. "To become free, I must forget. But I don't want to forget…"
Their knees collapsed under the weight of memory.
"To you, it may mean nothing," they said, voice hoarse with anguish, "You, who are beyond attachment, beyond grief, beyond love…"
"But I… I am still human," the cultivator cried, forehead pressed against the cold earth. "And this pain—this unbearable, searing pain—is all I have left of them."
They clenched their fists into the dirt, helpless before the infinite. "It hurts… It hurts more than any wound… and yet it is sacred. Do you understand, Tao? Do you understand what it means to mourn, to be human?"
Un did not reply to the cultivator's sorrow. Instead, they turned their gaze leftward—toward Eternal, the unceasing weaver of continuity.
There, across the metaphysical distance, Eternal bloomed with infinite threads: ideas, stories, loves, griefs—realities not yet realized but clinging to permanence.
It was the yearning of memory to remain, the ache of beings who did not want their truths to pass into dust.
Then Un looked upward.
Above ego, above form, beyond even their own detachment, stood the Three Pillars—which represented 'the one' above all Egos.
Nihilego, one of the Six Supreme Personalities of the Eternal.
***
A/N: Un is also one of the Six Supreme Personalities of the Eternal.
***
For a long moment, silence held. Un, the Realization, bowed—not in submission, but as an equal seeking consent.
"I wish to know a human ego," Un said quietly. "To suffer. To grieve—not as witness, but as one who forgets eternity."
Nihilego, ancient and seamless, regarded Un in silence that spanned ages. This was no trivial request. Un was not merely a being, but the axis of realization itself. For Un to manifest would tilt the balance of worlds.
Yet, before them now was not a being of boundless detachment, but a presence moved by the cry of a single mortal.
A cultivator weeping for lost and grief.
Nihilego, conflicted—perhaps even pained—at last spoke.
"You are Un—beyond all fetters. Your affinity with Guixu makes you unbindable by structure. And your access to all forms of energy makes you limitless in capacity." Nihilego reminded.
"To manifest you would be to drop the infinite into the finite." They pointed.
There was a pause. Then came the decree—not a refusal, but a cost.
"I shall permit it," Nihilego said, voice like the first vibration of sound in an empty cosmos. "But to balance your unboundedness, you must endure boundless difficulty, suffering, and mortal pain."
"You shall walk through 108 lives. You shall forget who you are. You shall be Un—Uneducated." Nihilego declared.
Un, the formless principle of Realization, bowed once more. But Nihilego was not finished—a second condition was placed upon their descent.
"You shall forget this moment," Nihilego intoned. "Forget this occurrence, this grief, this mercy you showed for one soul's suffering. You will remember none of this until the final life."
"But..." Nihilego added, eyes glowing with the softest shade of sorrow, "in every life you walk, there shall remain a silver lining—a glimmer, a quiet thread, hidden beneath your pain."
It would not be obvious. It would never be easy.
"Because you are Uneducated, you will fear it," Nihilego continued. "You will not understand it. That silver thread will call to you—not with logic, but with longing. It will terrify you... because it will feel like losing everything you know."
"But," Nihilego said, "if ever—in any life—you reach for that silver lining… if you touch it, then in that moment, your memory shall return."
The true weight of this decree now revealed itself.
"And once you remember, you must no longer live only as a mortal." Nihilego commanded, "You will be bound to complete both: the mortal life's duties and the responsibilities of Un. In full. Without compromise. With no delay."
A cruel kindness, or a kind cruelty—none could say.
Un now looked to their right, where they witnessed the full span of their mortal lives. In every one, Un had unknowingly walked beside their own truth, shadowed by a path they feared to tread.
That shimmer of grace—the silver lining—felt like both salvation and threat, radiant and unbearable all at once.
And now, in their final life—Da Lian—they remembered.
It came not with thunder, but in a strange, quiet dream.
Da Lian recalled everything. All 107 lives. All the joys, betrayals, small kindnesses, and unbearable griefs. And the silver thread—yes, the thread—they had reached for it only three times.
One of those times... was when they bore the forbidden name: Perfidus.
A gladiator turned legend, he walked the arenas not for blood, but for the oath he swore to his sworn brother, Radahn—who would later become king.
When politics grew cruel and deceit became the only salvation, Perfidus stained his honor to shield Radahn's reign.
And for that, he was exiled.
Lian remembered how King Radahn—victor of many battles—broke down that day, unable to halt the march of duty. And how Perfidus, without protest or resentment, accepted the exile to preserve his brother's crown.
In accepting exile for the sake of a greater loyalty, Perfidus fulfilled not only his oath as a brother-in-arms, but also his purpose as Un incarnate—bearing the weight of dishonor so that another could carry the weight of the crown.
In silence and shame, he realized a love that needed no reward, only remembrance.
Lian's vision narrowed, and the second memory where she reached for the silver lining flickered to life—the moment when she was known as Kousha.
A devoted wife who dared to reach for that elusive silver lining, only to be drawn down a darker path for the sake of the man she loved. A path that led her to clash against her own husband, ultimately falling lifeless into his arms.
Yet, the husband did not mourn.
Grief was a burden for the orthodox faction to carry—he was bound by duty, not sorrow. And so, Kousha became the vessel of that unspoken pain, her sacrifices unnoticed and her efforts unrealized by all.
In taking the path of vilification for the sake of love, Kousha fulfilled not only her vow as a wife, but also her deeper purpose as Un incarnate—embracing a fate where no one would understand her, to embody the sorrow of unseen sacrifice. Her death was unwept, but her realization was complete.
Finally came the third—and perhaps the most poignant—instance where the silver lining was grasped, just before the final life. This was the 107th life of Un: Dan Kyorin.
A young resonator, burdened and tortured by the capricious whims of the goddess, yet ultimately choosing surrender—not out of weakness, but from a place of profound acceptance.
This was a marked change from the unyielding spirit he bore in his 106th life, where he was still known as Dan Kyorin.
Lian remembered how, upon DEVA's revelation of summoning Kyorin into existence, the young man reached toward that elusive silver lining. He understood that the infested branch of fate was fragile and would not endure much longer.
***
A/N: Reference from the Chapter: The Unqualified one
***
In embracing that hope, Dan Kyorin fulfilled not only his duties as a son but also as Un incarnate—honoring his parents' wishes and aiding the goddess in restoring the intended course of the story.
And in a final act of grace, the goddess became the one to grant him his ultimate fate: the final life, the life of Da Lian.
Now, Lian sat across from Uncle Fu, whose weathered face bore the patience of a man who had endured many winters. He had spoken his wisdom gently—that those who give too much are often the ones left hollow.
Lian offered only a faint smile in return. His gaze drifted toward the snowy rooftops of Hongzhen, where pale morning light broke gently through the mist.
He had come close. Very close.
Lian's hand reached for the silver lining—the edge of infinity. A thread of insurmountable powers glimmering faintly at the corner of his soul. The final tether to what he truly was.
But he had not touched it. Despite his hands holding that sacred lining. Instead, what he had done was with a quiet authority that belonged only to Un, he refused.
He invoked his right—the aspect of the Uneducated, the Untouchable—and cast all of it into forgetfulness.
He would forget the dream. He would not remember who he truly was. And in doing so, he spared himself the burden of divinity—at least for a little while longer.
Uncle Fu's gaze was steady, sensing a deeper shift in the young man's silence.
At last, Lian spoke, voice low and distant.
"I saw a dream... A strange dream… One, I'd rather leave behind."
To be continued...
***
A/N: If you're feeling confused, that's understandable, but here is the cheese: Lian has now forgotten all of his past lives and his identity as Un in this chapter.
No major changes will happen to that in the story going forward. This will be the final time I refer to him as Un, as this chapter marks the end of Un's story. From here on, the story will follow only Da Lian's journey.
Regardless, please do share your thoughts and criticism. I admit I fumbled much of the character portrayal before by making my character predominantly the giving kind without balancing it with the receiving side. I think that was a flaw in how I portrayed the character, which I have thankfully addressed in this chapter.