Ban Yue sits in the porch of Puqi Shrine, gazing out into the night sky as the warm wind rustles the fabrics of her tattered robes. Like most of the time; she seems to be in an entirely different time and place. Her grey-violet eyes are hazy, and one might even mistake her for crying.

Ban Yue hadn’t cried in centuries.

She stirs slightly, resting her chin atop her knees as she pulls at weeds growing through the cracks of the wood.