Chapter 7

 

“Get up!”

The sharp crack of a whip landed on Li Xiang’s frail body, but she barely flinched, trembling like a tuft of cotton without uttering a sound.

The surrounding exiles, fearful of being implicated, hurried onward under the guards’ watchful eyes. Only a few from the Li family lingered: Li Xiang’s birth mother, Madam Zheng; her full brother, Li Jinzhi; and Li Zhi herself.

Madam Wang, holding Li Huizhi tightly, forbade him from looking back or making a sound, forcing him to keep moving forward.

Even Zheng Gong’s threatening lashes couldn’t spur Li Xiang to rise. Frustrated, he called over Zhen Qiao to witness her condition.

“She can’t walk anymore,” Zheng Gong said, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Zhen Qiao stepped closer, examined Li Xiang briefly, and shook his head before walking away.

Madam Zheng burst into tears. Li Jinzhi’s expression darkened, but he was at a loss for what to do.

On the ground, Li Xiang lay motionless, her half-lidded eyes glassy and unfocused. Her slightly furrowed brow gave the impression she was lost in thought.

Li Zhi couldn’t tell what Li Xiang was thinking, or even if her mind was still present in this rugged wilderness. Even as Zheng Gong unsheathed the blade that had claimed countless exiled peoples lives, Li Xiang’s serene, dazed expression remained unchanged.

This version of Li Xiang was foreign to Li Zhi.

Li Xiang had been born with a heart condition that caused searing, stabbing pain during flare-ups. Their father, Li Qiaonian, had ensured a physician was always by her side. Despite this, Li Xiang had been the wildest spirit in the Li household—a tempestuous little peppercorn who spent most of her time climbing trees, stealing eggs, or chasing koi in the pond.

Whatever antics she got up to, she had always been accompanied by another.

The two had run rampant through the Li family estate, causing mischief. Whenever trouble arose, the favored Li Xiang would shield her less-loved companion.

They had been like another pair of twins, inseparable in their adventures, united in scoldings, always turning to share a sly smile.

Now, Li Zhi was the only one left.

The guard’s blade gleamed coldly in the barren wilderness as Zheng Gong cursed and spit, stepping closer to Li Xiang.

Madam Zheng knelt beside her daughter, pleading tearfully for mercy. Li Jinzhi, trying to defuse the situation, forced a smile and offered polite words.

Zheng Gong kicked Li Jinzhi aside and raised his sword high.

“Your Highness, please have mercy! Spare my sister’s life!”

Zheng Gong froze, startled, his blade halting mid-swing.

All eyes turned to Li Zhi, who was now kneeling on the ground, and then to the carriage approaching slowly from behind.

The piercing mountain wind howled as the wind chimes on the carriage jingled softly. Behind the swaying embroidered curtain, a faint glimpse of ashen gray fabric could be seen.

Li Zhi lowered her head to the rocky, weed-strewn ground, kowtowing heavily. Each time her head struck the earth, she cried out, “Your Highness, please have mercy! Spare my sister’s life!”

Ignoring the murmurs of the exiled people and the guards’ reproachful gazes, Li Zhi continued, her movements steady, as though the sharp stones digging into her forehead did not exist. Her determined eyes were fixed solely on the carriage moving through the mountain pass.

“You dare disturb the imperial grandson? That’s a crime punishable by death!” Zhen Qiao frowned as he stepped forward.

Zheng Gong, flustered, lashed Li Zhi with his whip. “Get lost! Stop meddling, or I’ll send you on your way first!”

The freshly healed wounds on Li Zhi’s back split open again, but she remained unfazed, lowering herself once more to the ground in a firm kowtow.

“Your Highness, please have mercy! Spare my sister’s life!”

Her resolute voice carried far in the wind, and gradually, the entire convoy came to a halt.

Li Zhi’s forehead was numb, reduced to a fiery sting. But her gaze remained unwavering, even as Zheng Gong, enraged, raised his sword toward her.

She was certain that this time, Xie Lanxu would have no choice but to intervene.

Just as the blade began its descent, Xie Lanxu’s calm voice came from within the carriage.
“Let her come up.”

Without waiting for the guards to process his words, Li Zhi bowed deeply and expressed her gratitude. “Thank you, Your Highness, for your mercy!”

With Li Jinzhi’s help, Li Zhi lifted the limp Li Xiang from the ground. Struggling to support her full weight, Li Zhi called out Li Jinzhi, “Brother, lend me a hand.”

Only then did Li Jinzhi snap out of his stupor and hastily assist.

Li Xiang was placed at the front of the carriage, where the coachman reluctantly made some space. Though she remained exposed to the elements, at least she was spared from the grueling walk.

Li Zhi stood by the side of the carriage, bowing toward the shadow behind the wooden lattice window. “Your Highness’s kindness will never be forgotten. If there’s ever an opportunity, I’ll repay this debt with my life.”

From inside, there was no response.

Amid the guards shouting and whip-cracking, the convoy resumed its slow, arduous journey.

The feeble sun, struggling against the biting wind, managed to crawl toward its zenith, casting pale light through the sparse trees. The exiled group shuffled forward, ignoring their frostbitten limbs, bleeding hands, and growling stomachs. All they could do was press on—toward survival.

By the time the sun sank into the mountains, night had arrived.

The convoy emerged from the forest into an open wasteland and set up camp. Without the trees for shelter, the icy winds grew fiercer, and a light snowfall began to dust the ground.

Huddling close to the campfires, the exiles sought what little warmth they could. On the desolate plain, the flickering flames mirrored their fragile, tenuous lives.

With the coachman gone to warm himself by the fire, Li Zhi took his place on the carriage’s bench. Shendan sat loyally beneath the carriage. Li Zhi checked on Li Xiang’s condition before dividing her meager ration into two portions.

She slipped one piece through the curtain to Xie Lanxu, while the remaining piece she broke into small bits, feeding them carefully to Li Xiang. After a few bites, Li Xiang turned her head away and bit her lip, refusing to eat further.

Li Zhi, stroking her sister’s icy forehead, she spoke toward the carriage. “Your Highness, I have one more favor to ask.”

There was no response from behind the curtain.

“I heard that in Chongcheng, Your Highness received some medicinal pills to restore your strength. Please, lend them to help my sister survive this ordeal. Your kindness will be repaid tenfold.”

A fit of coughing came from inside the carriage, followed by Xie Lanxu’s soft but firm reply.
“The medicine won’t cure her.”

“Even so, better to try than to do nothing. There’s no other option.”

“Miss Li, no one can predict what the future holds. Why should I believe your promises of risking life and limb, or eternal gratitude?”

Xie Lanxu’s tone was gentle, but Li Zhi caught the unmistakable indifference in his words, as if the matter didn’t concern him at all.

“If Your Highness cannot trust the future,” Li Zhi said, “then what can I do for you now?”

Xie Lanxu regarded her calmly. “What could you possibly offer me?” he countered.

A faint rustling broke the night’s stillness. From the Li family’s group, Madam Zhu, the concubine who had borne Li Cien and Li Xiangsheng, quietly slipped away. She approached senior guard Zheng Gong, whispered a few words, and the two disappeared behind a small hill.

The guards on night watch paid no attention—such things were common. In this desolate exile, people would offer anything for a scrap of food.

—-

After a long silence, Li Zhi’s voice rose again, steady and resolved. “Everything,” she said. “As long as Your Highness lends your aid, I am willing to give everything I have.”

At that moment, Li Xiang stirred violently on the carriage bench. Though too weak to form words, she let out incoherent whimpers and clutched Li Zhi’s wrist with surprising strength.

“…No need,” Xie Lanxu’s voice came from within the carriage.

The curtain was lifted by a thin, pale hand, revealing Xie Lanxu wrapped in an ashen gray cloak. His elegant eyebrows stood out starkly against his bloodless face, dark as night against moonlight.

“Consider this repayment for your care,” he said.

In his hand rested a small, brown glass bottle of medicine. His expression was neither overly distant nor excessively intimate—more like a benevolent deity patiently listening to prayers.

“With this, we are even,” he said.

Li Zhi stared at the bottle in his palm.

“Agreed,” she replied.

Taking the bottle, she immediately shook out a pill and moved to feed it to Li Xiang.

Li Xiang resisted, refusing to swallow anything Li Zhi had begged for. For once, Li Zhi took a firm stance, prying her sister’s mouth open and forcing the fragrant brown pill down her throat.

It wasn’t Li Zhi’s first time dealing with such defiance. When Shendan had first come to the Li family as a malnourished stray, Li Zhi had used the same method to force-feed it medicine, nursing it back from a sickly pup to the strong black dog it had become. She was well-practiced at administering medicine, even to the unwilling.

Li Xiang, too feeble to put up much of a fight, eventually gave in and swallowed the pill.

Her glassy eyes glared at Li Zhi for a long moment before she rasped, “I won’t thank you…”

Li Zhi gently cradled Li Xiang’s head in her lap, stroking her dry, yellowing hair that had once been as lustrous as silk.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Li Zhi said softly.

“If only…” Li Xiang’s hoarse voice murmured. “If only you hadn’t slept so soundly that night… everything would have been different.”

Li Zhi’s body stiffened.

“If it had been me lying beside her that night…” Li Xiang whispered.

Li Zhi’s chest burned with fiery regret and guilt, so intense it felt as though her soul were being consumed. She bit her lip, suppressing a groan of anguish.

If only she hadn’t slept so deeply that night.

It was a thought that haunted her every sleepless hour, staring into the void, unable to escape the torment of that single possibility.

She feared sleep now, terrified of losing consciousness and waking to another tragedy. Night after night, she lay awake, dreading the memories of her twin sister’s final moments.

The terror, despair, and isolation.

And the blood—so much blood. The crimson that soaked the bed, pooled on the floor, and dripped down to the wooden boards below.

Her sister’s blood.

She had loved her sister deeply. But now, even hearing her name or picturing her face sent shards of pain through Li Zhi’s soul, leaving it shattered.

“But in truth…” Li Xiang continued, her voice fragile, “I know I’m only taking it out on you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Li Zhi said nothing, her hand continuing to stroke her sister’s head.

“Li Xia…” Li Xiang’s voice quivered. “She was so healthy. When we climbed trees, she was always faster, always higher… How could someone like her—never sick a day in her life—suddenly bleed to death?”

Her eyes glimmered with confusion, as though searching for an answer she couldn’t grasp.
“Her death… it wasn’t natural. There’s something more. But Father, Brother… everyone just stammers and avoids the truth…”

Li Zhi’s hand paused briefly, then resumed its gentle motions. Her eyes shimmered with tears that refused to fall.

Her voice was cold, so cold it seemed devoid of emotion, but it carried a quiet resolve.
“Her death will not go in vain.”

Li Xiang stared at Li Zhi, her tear-filled eyes wide with disbelief.

“I promise you,” Li Zhi said. “When you recover, we’ll uncover the truth together.”

“Do you think… I’ll get better?” Li Xiang asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Li Zhi replied. “The medicine is already working. Rest for the night, and tomorrow you’ll be back on your feet.”

Li Xiang, skeptical but too exhausted to argue, let her heavy eyelids close.
“Tomorrow… make sure you wake me,” she whispered.

“…Alright,” Li Zhi murmured.

In the bitter night, snowflakes danced in the air.

A few barren trees stood solitary in the wasteland. When the wind blew, frost-bitten leaves broke free, spiraling into the sky—like birds escaping their cages, finally finding freedom.