By the time Han Yu reached the last few letters, the pile beside him had grown high. The final one was the shortest of them all.
"My son, I do not know if these letters will ever reach you anymore. But I will keep writing as long as I can. The Ju Clan still remembers your name, even if you do not wish to remember us. If your anger fades one day, come home. There will always be a place waiting for you."
Han Yu folded the letter carefully and placed it back into the box. For a moment, he simply stared at it. There was a strange ache in his chest. He did not know Ju Fan, not truly, yet he could almost feel the echo of the man's loneliness.
He looked around at the filthy cave, at the blood-stained walls and the half-rotted mats. This was how Ju Fan had lived; alone, surrounded by decay. Perhaps he had sealed away these letters precisely because they were the only things that reminded him of something pure.
Han Yu took a deep breath and focused his thoughts.
