Four weeks passed in a blur, and the Yu Yan manor was thick with anticipation for Yun’s return. Jia spent most of her days in the garden, restless and watchful, her eyes constantly flicking toward the gate as if willing her brother to appear. She couldn’t understand why Yun had chosen to leave with only his companion, and the worry that had started as a quiet hum now roared in her mind.

  She attended her usual lessons, but anything beyond the basics—painting, embroidery, music—fell away from her routine. Her focus was singular: waiting.

  Even the Taishou had begun to show signs of unease. He had expected some word from his son by now, a letter or a messenger—anything. But nothing came. The silence stretched longer than anyone had prepared for, and soon it became clear that this was no ordinary delay.

  An immediate meeting was called.

  That morning, Jia was walking briskly along the veranda, heading to the garden as usual, her ears straining for any news. Distracted and deep in thought, she turned a corner sharply—and collided hard with someone.

  “Ah! What the hell?” she yelped, clutching her head. She looked up—and froze. Xin Ya.

  Her stomach did an unwelcome flip as he stepped back and bowed politely.

  “Good morning, Lady Jia Hua.”

  Jia blinked to recover. It struck her—she hadn’t been this close to him since that night at the banquet. Somehow, after weeks of absence, he looked taller, sharper… more composed than she remembered. Or maybe she just hadn’t let herself notice before.

  She hurried into a bow, her cheeks burning slightly, mortified by her outburst.

  “Uh… what brings you here?” she muttered, avoiding his eyes.

  “Lord Yi Yong has called us in for a meeting. My father is just behind me.”

  Jia glanced past him, grateful for the distraction—and there was Advisor Xin Yu, approaching with calm precision.

  “Good morning, Lady Jia Hua,” the advisor greeted smoothly.

  “Good morning, sir,” Jia replied, clutching her hands together. She risked a sidelong glance at Xin Ya and hesitated before asking, “Xin Ya just told me you’re here for a meeting. Is it… something to do with my brother and the investigation?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not my place to discuss it,” Advisor Xin Yu said gently with a bow. “We must hurry now—our apologies, Lady Jia Hua.”

  Xin Ya bowed again, following his father’s lead, and the two men swiftly moved on down the hall, leaving Jia standing there, staring after them.

  Jia let out a slow breath, watching them disappear around the corner. She frowned, hugging herself. Something about that brief exchange stuck with her—and she hated to admit, her heart was still thudding a little too fast.

  After their brief exchange, Jia was left with even more questions swirling in her mind—and an unfamiliar, gnawing fear creeping into her chest. Something wasn’t right.

  Compelled by worry, she followed at a distance, watching Xin Ya and Advisor Xin Yu stride purposefully down the long corridor. Her eyes tracked them all the way to her father’s private office. Her stomach dropped. Meetings in that room were never casual; they were reserved for only the most serious matters.

  She hesitated, her heart pounding, then crept closer, intending to listen. But before she could get near, the door slid open, and her mother stepped out.

  “Jia,” Hua Lian said gently but firmly, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I just want to know what’s going on!” Jia blurted, her voice cracking with frustration and fear.

  Hua Lian’s expression softened with sympathy. She reached for Jia’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

  “Come with me,” her mother said, her tone quiet but insistent. “I’ll tell you what I know.” And with that, she guided Jia away from the door, down the corridor, leaving the heavy tension of the office behind them.

  “Your father is getting concerned,” Hua Lian began gently, “since we’ve had no word from your brother for weeks now. I know you’ve been worrying about him too—and so have I.” She exhaled; her brows drawn in worry. “He’s decided to send a group of his men to find your brother. Either to bring him home… or assist him in his investigation, whatever the case may be.”

  “So that’s why the advisor and his son are here,” Jia said, her voice tightening. “He’s sending them, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, of course.” Hua Lian gave a small nod. “Your father would only entrust something like this to his most loyal people. They’ll leave this afternoon, so be prepared to send them off properly.”

  She paused, then offered a soft smile, though her eyes were still shadowed with concern. “It might help to keep yourself busy. Why don’t you go down to the kitchen and help them prepare the travel rations? You know they always appreciate the extra hands.”

  Jia nodded absently, though her thoughts were far away. In their household, there had never been a strict line drawn between themselves and the servants. Whenever time allowed, both she and her mother took part in the daily chores—whether it was folding linens, preparing herbs, or helping in the kitchen. It was a quiet, unspoken tradition that made the manor feel a little less rigid, a little more like a true home.

  Still, today, even the comfort of familiar tasks felt heavy.

  There was a rush in the kitchen, the air thick with the clatter of pots and the sharp aroma of dried herbs and fresh bread. Servants and chefs moved quickly, chopping, wrapping, and boiling, their sleeves pushed up as they worked in harmony. Jia tied an apron around her waist and slipped in to help, packing bundles of dried meats, rice balls, and preserved vegetables. For a while, her hands kept pace with her mind, and she found brief relief in the busyness.

  But as soon as the trays were lifted and the food was carried outside, the weight in her chest returned.

  She spotted Xin Ya near the gates, tightening the saddle straps on his horse. Without hesitating, she picked up one of the bundles and walked straight toward him.

  “Lady Jia Hua,” Xin Ya said, visibly surprised to see her standing in front of him so boldly.

  “I wanted to bring you this.” She held out the package, her fingers brushing his briefly. “We packed a lot of food for you all, since... since it will be a long journey.” Her voice wavered, cracking at the edges despite her effort to keep it even.

  Xin Ya accepted the bundle with a small bow. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Jia opened her mouth, wanting to say more—something meaningful, something that would give him strength. But the words caught in her throat and tangled there, leaving her no choice but to swallow them down.

  “Stay safe,” she managed at last, and turned quickly on her heel.

  She didn’t look back, but Xin Ya’s eyes followed her as she walked away, her figure stiff with tension until the door of the manor finally closed behind her.

  A firm hand clapped down on Xin Ya’s shoulder, and he glanced up to see his father watching him closely.

  “Let’s go, son. We’ll be back soon.” Advisor Xin Yu’s tone was steady, but there was a flicker of something curious in his gaze—an almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. For the first time, he’d seen his son’s attention lingering on something other than duty.

  Xin Ya rode beside his father, their horses keeping an even pace while the rest of the men followed closely behind. They had been riding for about half an hour, still within the borders of Yu Yan.

  Wherever Xin Ya looked, the land stretched out in wide, flat plains—vast rice paddies shimmering under the midday sun. Far off in the distance, the mountains rose like silent sentinels. Despite the peaceful landscape, a knot twisted in his stomach, a growing unease he couldn’t shake. It felt wrong to be leaving.

  He didn’t understand why. This mission was important—a direct order from the Taishou himself. But as they passed merchants making their way toward the city, Xin Ya couldn’t help but question whether it was wise to leave the manor now, with so much uncertainty in the air. If there was unrest brewing in the southwest, what was to stop it from spreading closer to home?

  His thoughts churned as the scenery began to shift. Up ahead, just a few hundred meters away, the landscape gave way to dense woodland.

  The next moment—without warning—a snap broke the air, and an arrow embedded itself with a violent thud just beside Xin Ya. A split second later, a storm of arrows rained down, thudding into armor and flesh alike. One man beside him cried out, tumbling from his saddle with a sickening crunch. Another fell backward, an arrow lodged deep in his throat, blood spraying as his horse reared and bolted.

  Chaos erupted in an instant. Horses shrieked and thrashed, hooves pounding the dirt in panic, eyes wide with fear. Riders struggled to regain control, but more arrows came, fast and merciless, cutting them down before they had a chance to react.

  Xin Ya gritted his teeth, yanking hard on the reins as his horse bucked wildly beneath him. Dust and blood mingled in the air. Around him, two more of their men were struck, their bodies dropping like ragdolls into the dirt. The formation was shattered.

  He forced himself to focus.

  “Father!” he yelled as he saw him shield from the arrows. There was no time to think. Over the ridge, a new threat surged forward, at least forty mounted raiders, faces hidden by cloth, their weapons glinting in the sun as they charged, war cries echoing across the fields.

  Xin Yu’s voice cut sharp through the madness, already braced for what was coming. He rode hard toward Xin Ya, eyes burning.

  “Xin Ya, I need you to listen to me, very carefully. Me and my men will hold them down, but you need to go. You must ride as fast as you can to the Yu Yan manor and make sure Lady Jia Hua is safe. Do you hear me? No matter what happens, she needs to be protected. You need not pay attention to anyone else; this is your only order. Guard her with your life, do you understand?”

  “But father…”

  “I said go!” Xin Yu roared, his horse already turning back to face the oncoming threat. He glanced once more at his son, eyes fierce with pride. “Fight with honor, you’ve made me proud.” He said, hoping his son had heard him, and without another word, he kicked his heels in, leading his remaining men straight into the clash.

  Jaw clenched, eyes burning, Xin Ya turned his horse sharply and drove his heels in hard. “Hyah!” he shouted, spurring the animal into a gallop, the world a blur as he raced across the plains. He left his father with his men to fight, hoping that no one had reached the city yet.

  He didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back.

  Xin Ya urged his horse forward along the dirt path, a gnawing dread coiling tighter in his chest.

  What if something had already happened at the manor? Who were those armed men? Why were they attacking?

  But there was no time to think. No time to piece it together. His mission was clear: get to Jia Hua.

  As he reached gates of the city, the sharp clash of steel rang out ahead of him. He rode through the crumbling streets, past fallen lanterns and overturned carts, but he didn’t slow. He did not have time to stop, nor did he have time to look. The scent of smoke was thick in the air—sharp—clinging to his robes and stinging his eyes.

  The gates of the Yu Yan manor came into view. He rushed inside, to the first place he thought Jia Hua would be, just hoping he wasn’t too late. He leapt from the saddle before the horse had stopped, sprinting through the garden.

  His heart was pounding. Please, let me reach her on time.

  Rushing inside, he quickly grasped the situation. The world was spinning in his eyes. He was too late. Lady Hua Lian lay motionless on the ground, her robes drenched in blood, and her head severed next to her. Her attacker, with his blade still dripping from blood stood beside her.

  Xin Ya’s vision tunneled. His arrow flew before he’d fully registered lifting the bow. The man dropped instantly, blood gurgling in his throat.

  He didn’t even notice the second man, covered in black, behind Jia, until he saw an arrow piercing her abdomen. He shot an arrow to the man’s chest. He caught her before she hit the ground, her blood already warm against his hands.

  No. She was just a while ago… laughing with me at the banquet… and now—this.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  She was bleeding dramatically, her sight blurry, barely able to recognize the man holding her, she was slowly losing consciousness. He ripped the sash from his robes and pressed it hard to the wound, his hands shaking as he tied it tightly.

  “Stay with me,” he whispered fiercely.

  With only his father’s words in his mind he quickly got Jia Hua onto his horse and rode off as fast as he could. He heard the echoes of weapons still clashing, still he had to stay on track and block his attention from drifting.

  The men had attacked from the west, so Xin Ya turned east, to avoid them by any means possible.

  It was an endless forest that stretched for miles, and he needed to take Jia Hua to a physician as quickly immediately. He could feel her growing colder in his arms, her breath faint against his chest. There was no time for fear, he had no time to make plans, he just needed to do everything he could, to get her to safety, even if it took his own life.

  Just hold on.

  Jia was unconscious as Xin Ya held her on the saddle, shielding her. Though he had wrapped her abdomen tightly with the sash from his robes, the bleeding hadn’t stopped. Blood had soaked through the bandages staining his clothes, but he did not care. They had ridden for miles, but Xin Ya remained alert, his senses sharp. Then he heard it.

  Horses and voices, armors hitting against each other, by the sounds of it at least 50 men. They were too close now; The city was no longer an option. He rushed forward. His heart stopped along with his horse. Ahead of him stood a formation of warriors, their red lacquered armor gleaming in the dappled light. The northern Asoka Clan.

  Relief surged through him as he recognized them—but the moment was tense. The soldiers moved swiftly, drawing weapons as they spotted him.

  Xin Ya lifted one hand, palm open, as a peaceful gesture, with blood on his hands and the girl cradled in his arms.

  “Please! I’m from Yu Yan; I need your help. Is your leader here? Please!” Xin Ya called out, his voice steady despite the urgency in his chest. “I need a physician for her—immediately.”

  A large man with long, wavy hair stepped through the crowd. He wore a crimson armor, trimmed with fur around his shoulders.

  “Please… save her.” he hesitated, clutched her tighter, reluctant to let go. His job was to protect her, and now he was placing her life in a stranger’s hands. But what choice did he have? It was either to let her die or try to save her in the hands on another.

  “Bring the medic!” the man barked, his eyes narrowing as he took in the bloodied woman in Xin Ya’s arms. Two medics rushed forward from behind him, hurrying to take Jia Hua.

  “Who do you serve?” the leader asked, his voice calm but firm.

  “I apologize for my manners, sir,” Xin Ya said, straightening his posture despite the exhaustion pulling at him. His voice stayed firm, though his grip on Jia tightened protectively. “I serve Yi Yong Taishou. I believe you were expected for a visit. My name is Xin Ya, son of his chief advisor. The woman you’re tending to is his daughter.”

  “I am Hiroshi. My medics will take care of her, rest assured. Now… tell me what happened.”

  “We were attacked, sir. I don’t know by who or why. My only mission was to get Lady Jia Hua out safely.” Xin Ya’s tone stayed measured, even as his jaw tightened.

  Hiroshi’s eyes narrowed, calculating. He exhaled slowly, gaze shifting toward the forest edge.

  “The Asoka Clan has… a reputation. Old rivalries. Blood feuds that run deep. My father’s generation made enemies we still pay for today. We are not well liked. Nor do we have many allies. Yi Yong Taishou invited us to discuss an alliance between the Yu Yan and the Asoka Clan of the Northwest.”

  Xin Ya’s brow furrowed.

  “You think this was aimed at you?”

  “Not entirely. I think,” Hiroshi said carefully, “that we’re a convenient target to blame. And whoever orchestrated this could easily point fingers in our direction.”

  Xin Ya’s jaw tightened. “We don’t have the full picture yet.”

  “No,” Hiroshi agreed. His gaze sharpened again. “But both of us are caught in it now.”

  “The only thing I need, is for her to be safe.” Xin Ya said, his voice low and controlled.

  “She will be,” Hiroshi promised, his tone unwavering. “That is my word. Now—we need to return to the city. Will you guide us?”

  Xin Ya glanced back at the carriage where the medics were tending to Jia Hua, her figure now barely visible. He took a breath and made his choice. For now, he would trust Hiroshi’s word. There was no one else. No one to send, no one to call upon. It was just him and Jia now—and she couldn’t fight.

  They rode in silence at first, the tension between them unspoken but heavy in the air. As they crossed deeper into the forest, Xin Ya began recounting everything that had transpired before their encounter—his voice low and composed yet laced with urgency. Hiroshi listened intently; his brow furrowed. Though his expression was grave, it was not surprised. As if, somewhere deep down, he had expected this.

  The trees gradually thinned, and the city came into view. But something was wrong.

  The outskirts, once bustling with vendors, children, and the quiet rhythm of daily life, had fallen silent. The wind carried only the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of a distant sign swinging on broken hinges.

  As they entered the city, the sense of unease deepened.

  There was no one.

  No people in the streets, no soldiers, no cries for help or shouts of resistance. The roads were untouched, the market stalls undisturbed. Xin Ya had expected destruction—blood, chaos, the remnants of a battle—but there was nothing. No overturned carts, no shattered windows. Just… emptiness.

  A lone horse trotted across the street, riderless, reins dragging. A pair of dogs circled near a well, sniffing anxiously, untethered and without masters. Their whines echoed through the street like a distant lament.

  “Do you think they fled?” one of Hiroshi’s men whispered as if afraid to break the silence.

  “It’s strange,” Hiroshi murmured, his sharp gaze sweeping over the silent street. “If they left in haste, they’d have taken the horses. But the stables are still full.” He gestured where several horses remained tied, restless and uneasy.

  “Lord Hiroshi,” Xin Ya said, his tone controlled but wary. “There’s no sign of struggle. No blood. No broken blades. Nothing to suggest a fight took place. Where is everyone?”

  “Xin Ya, was it? Show us the way to the Taishou’s manor, maybe we’ll find something.” Hiroshi ordered and the men continued their way.

  The group continued forward, the hooves of their horses echoing against the stone like distant drumbeats. As they neared the manor, the sense of foreboding grew heavier. The great gates of the Yu Yan estate—always shut tight, guarded day and night—now stood wide open, as if waiting for them.

  Not a soul stood watch.

  The great gates of the Yu Yan estate, always shut tight, guarded day and night—now stood wide open, there was no one around. Hiroshi raised his arm, signaling his men.

  “Half of you—search the city. The rest, with me. Check the manor thoroughly.”

  Xin Ya and Hiroshi walked towards the garden, through the eerily vacant grounds. The silence was deafening, broken only by the creak of the gate behind them. They stepped into the garden.

  The scent of blood had faded, replaced by the earthy smell of damp soil and crushed blossoms. The once-beautiful garden, carefully tended and full of color, now lay with petals strewn across the paths like remnants of a forgotten celebration.

  And there, beneath the moonlight filtering through the trees, lay the body.

  Lady Hua Lian.

  Xin Ya rushed forward, falling to one knee beside her.

  “I’ll check the grounds,” Hiroshi said quietly. “You… see to her.”

  Lady Hua Lian’s body had gone cold, but it was clean, and even in death her beauty remained. Hiroshi came back having found no one.

  “This is the Taishou’s wife, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with a rare gentleness.

  Xin Ya looked up and gave a single, solemn nod.

  The two men took their time burying Lady Hua Lian’s body, believing she deserved to rest with honor. Leaving her to decompose beneath the open sky felt unthinkable. Xin Ya could not bear the thought of Jia Hua one day seeing her mother in such a state.

  Hua Lian had been a Lady of the people, always helping anyone in need. Xin Ya remembered her kindness well. He had lost his own mother young, taken by an epidemic, and it had always been just him and his father. He had always followed his father on his business to the Yu Yan manor, but being only a boy, he had no business attending the meetings. While his father conducted affairs, Lady Hua Lian took notice of him.

  Lady Hua Lian let him play with the animals inside the manor, as there were no children around. She would sit with the servants and have Xin Ya eat beside her—not as a noblewoman above the staff, but as a woman simply seeking company.

  Her husband and son were always attending businesses, so she was mostly by herself, so she kept close with the help. They had never shared deep conversations, but her presence had been gentle, generous. A silent kindness that left its mark on him.

  Now, as he looked upon the mound of earth that held her, a sorrow welled within him that felt like losing a mother all over again.

  When the grave was finished, both men stood in solemn silence. They bowed low, then cupped their hands before their chests, a gesture of respect for the departed. Together, they offered an old prayer:

  "May your soul return peacefully to the earth,

  As all rivers flow to the east,

  May the wind carry your fragrant spirit,

  May you know no sorrow.”

  After a moment of silence Xin Ya opened his mouth

  “Everyone else is gone, except her. Why?”

  "It appears no one remains who can tell us." Hiroshi sigh, but the sound of rushing steps took his attention.

  The men came back through the tree line, breathless and urgent, carrying an unconscious man between them.

  “Sir, we found someone!” one of them called out.

  They laid the man gently on the grass. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, with short brown hair—unusual for the region, but already showing his status. His features were foreign, but his clothes were modest: linen shirt, well-worn sandals, a belt pouch that marked him as a tradesman. He looked like a merchant, maybe from one of the border towns.

  Hiroshi stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he crouched beside the stranger. “Where did you find him?”

  “A few kilometers to southwest,” one of the men replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “He was lying in a ditch, just beyond the rice paddies.”

  Xin Ya’s brow furrowed. “That must be near where I left my father,” he murmured.

  The stranger stirred, groaning softly. A hand moved to his temple as he blinked against the sunlight.

  “Ugh... my head hurts,” he muttered. His eyes fluttered open, and he flinched at the circle of unfamiliar faces surrounding him. “Am I… in trouble?”

  “That depends,” Hiroshi said calmly. “Who are you, and how did you end up in a ditch?”

  The man swallowed, sitting up slowly with the help of one of the soldiers. The large man in front of him was scary.

  “My name is Ge. I’m a merchant—operate mostly in the western lands. I was on my way to meet a friend who works in the fields, when a foreign group of soldiers came attacking some of the soldiers nearby. It was chaos. Someone shoved me into the ditch, I think to hide me. I must’ve blacked out after that.”

  Xin Ya knelt beside him; his voice tight with concern.

  “That could’ve been my father and his unit you saw. Did you see anything else? Flags, colors, accents—anything?”

  Ge shook his head slowly.

  “No, sir. I only saw flashes of metal and shouting... and then everything went dark. The next thing I know is waking up to see y’all.”

  Hiroshi and Xin Ya exchanged a look—silent but telling. Both were experienced men; they knew how to read faces. This one was pale, shaken, but not deceitful.

  “I don’t think he’s a spy,” Hiroshi said quietly.

  Xin Ya gave a short nod.

  “Agreed.”

  Hiroshi stood and extended a hand to Ge.

  “We’re heading back to regroup with our men. It’s not safe out here—if those attackers are still in the area, they may strike again. You’re coming with us.”

  Ge took the offered hand and rose unsteadily to his feet.

  “Do you know how to ride?” Hiroshi asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Ge replied quickly, dusting off his trousers. He paused, glancing around at the eerily quiet landscape. “By the way… where is everyone? There’s no one around...”

  The question hung in the air like a shadow. No one answered right away.

  Xin Ya looked toward the horizon. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  Xin Ya briefly explained the situation to Ge as they rode through the thinning forest, on their way to reunite with Hiroshi’s men. Before leaving the city, Hiroshi had given quick but firm orders: rescue as many of the horses as they could manage, and set the rest loose to roam, so they wouldn’t starve within the empty stables.

  The men had moved swiftly, gathering what provisions they could carry—dried meats, fruit, rice, and clean water—from abandoned market stalls and storerooms, packing them onto saddlebags and makeshift carts.

  Before turning back, they searched the alleys, homes, and outskirts for any signs of life—hoping to find survivors who had fled the chaos. They called out, checked for footprints, left marks in case someone returned. But the silence was complete. The city, once full of voices and color, remained empty. There was no one else.

  Xin Ya noticed Hiroshi’s unease and broke the silence.

  “I don’t think framing you would benefit the Taishou in the slightest,” Xin Ya replied calmly. “And I’ve known him all my life—he’s never struck me as someone capable of something so cruel.”

  “I don’t think it was the Taishou,” Hiroshi clarified. “I believe someone else took advantage of the situation—acted knowing exactly when we’d be there.”

  “I’ll back you up if it comes to that, Hiroshi,” Xin Ya said, his voice steady. “I owe you—for saving Lady Jia Hua, and for your help in the city.”

  Ge, who had been trailing a few paces behind, still looking overwhelmed, finally chimed in with a mix of confusion and casual wit.

  “They weren’t expecting anyone to escape. Or—correction—anyone important. I mean, if it were just me, I could run to the Emperor and shout that a whole city vanished, but who would actually believe me?” He gestured vaguely between them. “Now, you’ve got the Taishou’s daughter and his advisor’s son both as witnesses. Oh—and the mighty Asoka clan helping out. That’s a different story.”

  “So, what you’re saying is... we should go to the capital?” Hiroshi asked, his tone flat.

  “Do you see another option?” Ge replied, lifting his brows. “If we leave it like this, it’ll look like you're guilty, and we’ll all be sitting ducks. But if we take what we know straight to the Emperor, we might get protection—and a proper investigation.”

  He turned to Xin Ya, looking for support.

  “I think Ge’s right,” Xin Ya said without hesitation. “The Taishou has ties with the Emperor. The capital should be our first stop.”

  Hiroshi’s expression darkened.

  “You don’t understand. My clan arriving at the capital would cause a stir—chaos, even. Our reputation isn’t exactly favorable. I won’t risk my men’s lives walking into that.”

  “What did they do to be so hated?” Ge whispered sideways to Xin Ya, who quickly brushed him off to turn his focus on Hiroshi.

  “I understand your concern, but we don’t have a choice. If there’s even the slightest chance, that someone tried to frame you, the capital will find out about it, and as we are here with you, we could be targeted as well. We need to report this and ask for help.”

  Hiroshi exhaled sharply, clearly displeased. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes wrong, I’ll have your head chopped off first.”

  Ge blinked, then glanced at Xin Ya.

  “Is that a metaphor?”

  “It’s not,” Xin Ya replied without looking back.

  They continued riding in silence—though Ge couldn’t help but mutter.

  “Worth it, though,” under his breath.

  The camp was already in sight and his horse had not stopped yet before Xin Ya jumped off it and ran to find Jia Hua. He looked around and saw the physician who had taken her earlier.

  “Where is she?” he gasped. The physician guided him to the carriage where they had taken her to treat her wounds.

  “The arrow pierced her lower abdomen,” the physician said, his voice low and measured. “Yet by Heaven’s grace, no vital organs were struck. The bleeding has ceased for several hours now, though the young lady has yet to stir.”

  He folded his hands behind his back, gaze thoughtful.

  “Her condition is stable, but her energy remains faint—withdrawn, as if her spirit is gathering itself from afar. I ask you, speak gently, and do not burden her heart. Should the bleeding return, there is little more we can do. Her body has already given much, and we lack the means to restore what has been lost.”

  He paused, as if puzzled by his own thoughts.

  “Still... there is something in her. A quiet strength. The wound was clean, and she endures with uncommon steadiness. If the heavens favor her, she will return to us.”

  Xin Ya offered a small nod, then stepped quietly into the carriage to see Jia Hua.

  She was lying on a thin mattress and covered with a blanket.

  They didn’t even clean her face.

  He thought as he reached out for a wet cloth to wipe the blood that had dried around her mouth. He changed the cloth they had left on her forehead and made sure she was as comfortable as possible. Hiroshi pulled the curtain to the side to call Xin Ya outside, and he followed.

  “How is she?” Hiroshi asked.

  “The physician is optimistic, but I’m still worried.” Xin Ya replied.

  “We’ll camp here for the night, so she can rest. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.” Hiroshi said and Xin Ya walked back to the carriage.

  “Is she his lover or something?” Ge asked Hiroshi.

  “Or something.” he replied.

  Xin Ya sat next to sleeping Jia Hua for several hours. He was just about to fall asleep, when Jia Hua started making sounds, as she was waking up. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, then a sharp cough broke through her breath. Xin Ya held her back as he lifted her so she wouldn’t choke. He held her gently until the coughing settled, then eased her back onto the pillow. Jia Hua looked at him.

  “My mother is dead, isn’t she?”

  Xin Ya hesitated, then gave a quiet nod. She swallowed hard.

  “What about my father and brother, did he come back?”

  He lowered his eyes.

  “Everyone in the city has disappeared.”

  A stillness settled between them. Tears welled in her eyes, slipping silently onto the fabric beneath her head.

  “I’m alone again,” she murmured, memories of Tokyo returning like shadows.

  Xin Ya leaned closer, his voice steady but kind.

  “You’re not alone now. I’ll take care of you—for as long as you need. But you must rest.” He brushed a hand gently across her forehead. “We leave for the capital tomorrow. You’ll be safer there… and more comfortable. I’ll explain everything later.”

  Jia Hua fell asleep as quickly as she had woken up. Xin Ya leaned back against we wall and sighed. He had no idea how to take care of her from now on, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave her side. His father trusted him to protect her with his life, and he knew that’s what he needed to do. Still, why did it feel so hard staying close to her?

  “Ma Li…” Xin Ya heard her mutter in her sleep.

  Who?