YUN RONG XIAN (雲榮羡)

  Day 5, 5th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “Report.”

  Jiang Feng performed the courtesy, knees pressing into the stone, but he did not rise.

  He spoke. “Ze Lujin has been sentenced to death. Her sons have been released.”

  A mother protects. At the very least, she did not forsake her convictions.

  “His Majesty expects a full account of the attack. The Minister of Law awaits your seal for the sentence. Her Majesty wishes to see you at once… and I—” His voice faltered. He bowed deeper, pressing his forehead to the ground. “—ask for punishment for failing to protect Your Highness. I have failed too many times.”

  “Get up. I will not say it again.”

  “This servant is truly sorry.”

  Then stop chasing penance I never asked for. The stubbornness of the loyal guard. He shifted on his knees, then slowly rose, head still bowed. I shut my eyes, not to rest them, but to summon composure.

  “Go. Receive fifty strokes.”

  He straightened. His shoulders lightened as if it were mercy. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Foolish man.

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  He turned on his heel, robes sweeping the floor like a theatre curtain in retreat, only to halt abruptly.

  “There’s one more matter. The findings from the investigation into Su Tang…have returned. Your prior hypothesis was correct.”

  I accepted the scroll without ceremony, scanning the contents with a glance.

  He continued, “Your Highness, what do—Oi! What are you doing?”

  His tone shifted from protocol to surprise. He reached behind the marble pillar adjacent to the pavilion’s entrance and pulled someone out.

  Su Tang.

  She did not resist. Her expression did not shift, even as Jiang Feng set her down like an errant child. She bent without urgency to retrieve her bamboo serving tray, then straightened and curtsied.

  “Your Highness.”

  Her composure was strangely calm. Jiang Feng jabbed a finger toward her shoulder.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  She bowed forward slightly. The effect was disarming—she shrank into the posture of an exhausted servant, shoulders caved in like an old crone’s. But it was no act of humility. Her neck was tense. Jaw tight. She was in pain.

  And she was pretending not to be.

  She lifted her gaze to me. A silent question lingered behind those eyes. I held her stare, searching.

  “Your service with me has ended.”

  Go and rest. Before your body fails you entirely.

  “I have not finished my tasks yet.”

  Still, she would not yield.

  My gaze passed between the two of them: Jiang Feng, begging to bleed for a guilt that wasn’t his. Su Tang, dragging herself back to her feet when every step looked like agony.

  Masochists, the both of you.

  I exhaled quietly. “Then you are aware of your duties?”

  She nodded once.

  I stood. She made a small noise in her throat.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I turned. Not out of formality, but to see her fully. To truly look. Under the veiled exhaustion, her irises gleamed faintly. Like the last gleam of candlelight through amethyst glass.

  Then silence.

  And the pin in my mind dropped.

  I glanced down at the paper Jiang Feng had handed me.

  The seal was still intact, the scroll barely opened but enough to read the lines inked against white rice paper.

  Ze Lujin lost a daughter six thousand years ago.

  Su Tang was found by Huadu Sect six thousand years ago.

  The scroll crinkled under my fingers.

  Of course.

  Of course no one saw it.

  Because no one was meant to.