Luo Binghe has thought of Xin Mo often, since arriving—more than he has thought of most of his wives. It's been strange to be without it. It's strange to be without a sword at all, and dangerous, since it limits his power in combat—but it's even stranger to be without Xin Mo, and the comfortingly desolate things it whispers into his mind. It confirms his darkest suspicions, telling him what no one else will: that he will never be loved, that he is all filth and rot inside, and that only violence and carnage will ease the pain of it. These are things that Luo Binghe believes so fundamentally that any denial of them rings false. Thus, Xin Mo often feels like the only source of truth.

But there is a trace of hesitation in him, as he reaches out his hand to take it. He has been happier here, despite his struggles. And while there have been a few times that he's needed a sword, he has already learned—painfully, more than once—that violence is not the useful tool here that it was at home. The biggest challenge he's faced lately was maintaining peace when Galahad provoked him. If he'd had Xin Mo at his side... Who can say what would have happened? It would have been so easy to hurt Galahad with Xin Mo, and the sword would have wanted it more than Luo Binghe did.

But that's ridiculous. He shouldn't fear a sword. It is his spiritual weapon, and responds to his will. And it's not as though there's any chance he would turn it down. It represents too many possibilities.

He takes Xin Mo's hilt, turning the blade side to side to watch it catch the light, and feels its power rush into him. He looks back up at Liu Mingyan, satisfied. "You've done well to bring this to me."