Chapter 9

 

Two days after Shendan’s death, Li Zhi fell gravely ill.

Her fever left her in a haze, her mind muddled and body unresponsive. Zheng Gong’s harsh commands reached her ears as if from behind a wall. She tried to rise but couldn’t even muster the strength to lift her eyelids. The whip lashed her—she thought it did. She could only deduce it from the sound slicing through the air and the tremors it caused.

She heard other sounds too.

The sharp scrape of a blade being unsheathed.

Voices, muffled and unintelligible.

Perhaps this was the end.

She would perish here, burdened by regret and sorrow, her body reduced to unremarkable bones scattered across the wilderness.

Then came the sound of crying.

At first, Li Zhi thought it was her family mourning her. But soon, she realized the sobs belonged to someone else—her twin sister.

The other half of her soul, long gone, erased from this world.

“Why haven’t you danced on the lotus again?”

“…Because I’ve lost my wings.”

In the Li family’s lotus pond, the graceful figure that once flitted like a butterfly had vanished.

“The eight shells on the red cord—I picked and threaded them myself. For each shell, I burned incense and prayed ninety thousand times.”

Amid her disoriented thoughts, Li Zhi became aware that the blade had not yet descended.

She forced her eyelids to part just enough to glimpse a patch of clear blue sky.

Moments later, she was lifted by several pairs of hands and carried elsewhere.

Above her, the endless azure stretched, unmarred by clouds. Below, silver bells dangled from the eaves, their chime accompanying the rhythmic clatter of hooves.

The distant sound of the bells seemed to cradle her spirit, leaving her frail body behind as it journeyed through time and space into the vast ocean of memory.

Li Zhi was born into the prestigious Li family, where her father held the highest rank. Her mother, Madam Qin, hailed from a foreign land across the seas—a nation called Dashuo. There, women could study and hold office; some even ascended to the throne as empresses.

No one, except Li Zhi’s free-spirited twin sister, believed Madam Qin’s tales of this extraordinary world.

The servants whispered that Madam Qin had been rescued from the sea by a fishing boat, her mind addled by the ordeal. She had learned the local tongue only after arriving and had been purchased as a gift for Li Qiaonian due to her striking beauty and unique violet-tinted eyes.

Despite her looks, Madam Qin’s cold demeanor alienated her from others, including her husband. She remained a concubine, elevated to the title only because of her pregnancy.

The birth of twins, a rare and auspicious event, briefly turned all eyes to Madam Qin. But the joy was short-lived; she died not long after, leaving her daughters to fend for themselves.

Years later, the sisters blossomed into young women.

Though their features were identical—the same willow-leaf eyes, soft brows, and an imperceptible bump on the bridge of their noses—they were as different as two paintings created from the same palette.

The elder sister, mature beyond her years, shouldered the responsibility of raising her sibling. She excelled in reading, embroidery, and the arts.

The younger sister, sheltered by her elder, retained a childlike innocence. Her boundless imagination and bold ideas won her friends wherever she went.

Even the blind firewood carrier in the household could distinguish the two by their footsteps—one light and carefree, the other steady and deliberate.

They had grown up together, believing they would age together.

The shell bracelet on Li Zhi’s wrist bore seventy-two thousand prayers.

Prayers from someone who had once lit incense and whispered wishes for her well-being.

Someone she could no longer find.

The jingling of bells brought Li Zhi back to the present.

In the carriage, Xie Lanxu set aside the book he was reading and glanced at the curled-up figure opposite him.

Her dreams were heavy with sorrow, her brows knit like distant hills under the weight of her nightmares. Long lashes quivered helplessly, like fledgling wings struggling to take flight.

Tears streaked her pale face, slipping from the corners of her eyes to soak into her dark hair. They sparkled like dewdrops in sunlight, pure and untainted.

As if guided by some unseen force, Xie Lanxu reached out to touch her sorrow.

——

The crackle of dry branches in the fire was relentless, accompanied by the aroma of roasting meat.

Faint melodies of a song, melancholic and nostalgic, seemed to drift from afar.

Li Zhi felt as if she had returned to her mother’s womb, warm and secure.

She opened her heavy eyelids. The pale moon hung in the sky, its light soft and distant.

Gentle moonlight blanketed the wilderness, only to be devoured by the fiery orange glow of the campfire. Groups of exiles huddled around flames, seeking solace from the cold.

In contrast, the fire before Li Zhi stood alone. Skewers of red meat sizzled above it, exuding a rich, tantalizing aroma.

Xie Lanxu, clad in his flowing azure robe, sat opposite her. He was like a fragment of twilight fallen to the earth. The flickering flames distorted his expression, rendering it unreadable.

Li Zhi thought: I’m still alive.

She wasn’t sure if she should feel relief or sorrow.

“Eat.”

A skewer of charred, fragrant meat appeared before her, Xie Lanxu’s voice steady and calm.

“…How come there is meat?” Li Zhi’s voice was hoarse.

“Hunted,” Xie Lanxu replied, his tone calm. “There was more, but after distributing some, this is all that’s left.”

No wonder the air was laced with lingering aromas of roasted meat. Around several campfires, white bones gleamed faintly, and the exiles, usually gaunt and despairing, appeared satiated for once.

Li Zhi was silent for a moment. She accepted the skewer of roasted meat and rasped, “Thank you, Your Highness…”

Propping up her weak body, she ignored decorum entirely and bit into the meat.

The savory richness exploded in her mouth, nearly moving her to tears. It had been so long since she’d tasted meat, and though not even a trace of salt seasoned it, this was luxury—unparalleled bliss for her and the rest of the exiles.

Xie Lanxu picked up another skewer and used a small knife to cut the meat into neat pieces, eating slowly. His pace was unhurried, often interrupted by bouts of coughing. Each time he coughed, an unhealthy flush would rise to his pale cheeks.

“Was it a wild boar, Your Highness?” Li Zhi asked cautiously.

“Dog.”

That single word was like a bolt of lightning, striking Li Zhi’s expression into utter dismay.

Her stomach churned violently. The food she had just consumed surged up her throat, and she turned aside, unable to stop herself from vomiting.

“Do you know what lies between the capital and Mingyue Tower?” Xie Lanxu suddenly asked.

Li Zhi couldn’t answer.

“There are twenty-two mountain ranges, nine hills, four deserts, and two plains,” he continued, his tone as light as a breeze brushing clouds. “Only six large cities lie along the way. Cooking bones and boiling corpses is inevitable.”

“…In such circumstances, how could I not prepare for myself in advance?”

Li Zhi crouched on the desolate ground, tears and snot streaming down her face. Her body bent like a taut bow as she vomitted until only bitter bile remained.

What she hadn’t understood before, she understood now.

From the beginning, those stray dogs had been Xie Lanxu’s backup plan.

“Nine of them, but three escaped,” Xie Lanxu said with a sigh. “…What a pity.”

Li Zhi raised her head and looked through the flickering firelight at the boy sitting across from her. Ignoring the cold detachment in his eyes, his expression seemed full of a gentle mercy—one that could deceive even the most seasoned schemers.

The imperial prince, they said, was virtuous, noble, and courteous, a spitting image of his father.

But Li Zhi could see something in him that mirrored herself.

Cold, unyielding pain.

“Look over there,” Xie Lanxu said, nodding toward a direction.

Li Zhi followed his gaze to Zheng Gong, who was lazily picking his teeth in satisfaction. While everyone else in the camp had wasted away, Zheng Gong had grown visibly plumper.

His movements reminded her of the day Shendan died—contented, relaxed, entirely unbothered by having taken a life.

“If you want to please him,” Xie Lanxu said slowly, “don’t eat a single bite.”

His words pierced her heart like a needle, sharp and precise. Her eyes burned with fury.

Why did the kind and righteous always suffer?

Why was retribution against evil only found in stories told by storytellers?

They said the heavens were just, that karma spared no one. But where was Zheng Gong’s punishment? Where was the reckoning for those who caused her twin sister’s death?

“Equality before the law”—a principle taught in every dynasty—was nothing but a joke.

Hatred was the most potent force she knew.

It had turned Li Zhi from a delicate maiden who yelped at the smallest scratch into a hardened soul who could endure thirty lashes in silence.

It was hatred now that made her suppress her revulsion. She forced herself to her feet, grabbed the fallen meat skewer, and shoved it into her mouth.

She didn’t chew; she swallowed.

Even as her stomach rebelled, even as she gagged, she held her hand over her mouth and forced the meat down.

The firelight reflected in her tear-streaked eyes, which glimmered with a shattered resolve.

She fulfilled her promise—to do anything to survive.

The flames flickered, their light dimming as the night deepened. The wilderness echoed with the snores of the exhausted. The fire crackled no more, and only an occasional cough broke the stillness.

Li Zhi poked at the dying embers with a stick.

Xie Lanxu, seemingly tired, rose and dusted off his azure cloak. He walked slowly toward the starry expanse where his carriage waited.

“…Why did Your Highness help me?”

Her voice was low, fragile.

Xie Lanxu paused and turned back, his cold gaze tinged with faint mockery.

“…If I said I admired you, would you believe me?”

His tone was eerily familiar—he had repeated her own words back to her, even mimicking her exact pauses.

Li Zhi was speechless.

Without waiting for her response, Xie Lanxu climbed into the carriage.

The embroidered curtain fell, separating the world inside the carriage from the one outside. The plum, orchid, and bamboo designs on the curtain swayed in the night wind.

She… didn’t believe him. Not a single word.

Li Zhi lowered her gaze, her eyes resting on the faintly glowing embers.

Neither the heavens nor justice could be trusted.

She trusted only herself.

If there is a chance for revenge, she would take it personally.