A while later, the wind turned colder, scattering leaves from the trees. Evening crept in, and just as the sun sinks beneath the horizon, Mu Chen's heart too sank into stillness.
His eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he sat alone in his dim room, carefully polishing his broken sword with a devotion that seemed almost sacred..... as if it were the most precious treasure he owned.
The room was silent, yet it screamed with the storm of voices echoing inside his mind:
"What now? I only have enough for one… With this meager sum, only Ai Ning can study."
As these thoughts weighed heavily upon him, a soft laugh rang out from behind. Ai Ning entered the room with a smile so bright, so pure, that Mu Chen's own face lit up at the sight. For no matter how heavy his burdens, seeing his younger sister happy always melted the stone within his chest.
She came straight to him and sat down, eyes brimming with liveliness. Her gaze fell upon the sword he was still polishing with a white cloth.
"Brother, so many blacksmiths in the market offered to forge you a new blade for free. But I don't understand...why do you always refuse them? And besides…" Her voice softened, playful yet sincere. "I don't need to go anywhere. I'll always stay by your side. As long as you're with me, I'll never be in danger."
For a brief moment, her expression turned slightly serious.
"I don't need to study at the academy, brother. Everything you've taught me is more than enough. And it's not as if I'm going to fight in wars, am I? Why would I need to train there?"
Her words trailed off into silence. Perhaps she truly meant it, or perhaps it was only a mask to hide her sorrow. But Mu Chen… he knew his sister far too well. How could he not see through the smile she forced to cover her pain?
Lingjian Zishui Sect
At Cang Ming Yuan Academy, preparations for the arrival of new disciples were already underway. Within the grand Shouming Hall, Patriarch Zharu Tsen Wenhuan sat in attendance, surrounded by his eleven Yan disciples.
At the sight of him, the faces of officials and teachers alike brightened with joy. His presence alone seemed to uplift the atmosphere.....everyone was pleased by his arrival.
Everyone, that is… except Queen Xiyen Zhaori'an.
For she knew all too well: with the Patriarch present, she could no longer move as freely as she had for the past twenty-two years.
Patriarch Zharu Tsen Wenhuan's gaze slowly swept across the hall, as if searching for someone. The air grew still...every eye fixed upon him, waiting for him to speak.
Then, in a gentle yet resounding voice that carried to every corner of the hall, he asked a question that made Queen Xiyen's blood boil:
"Her Highness Xiyen Zhaori'an… Prince Heng Yao Ren seems absent. We were told he had fallen ill. We would like to see him."
A storm ignited within her chest. Her eyes burned with hidden fire, her fury like parchment set ablaze. Yet, outwardly, she allowed not a flicker of her true self to be seen.
Instead, she responded with flawless composure, her voice smooth and respectful.....though it was no different than a crow dressing itself in the feathers of a swan, desperately mimicking what it could never be.
"Patriarch Zharu Tsen Wenhuan, it warms my heart that you show such concern for my son. But there is no need for worry. Yao Ren is perfectly well, merely resting in peace."
But the truth was far from her lips.
In a dim, desolate chamber.....silent, cold, stripped of light.....Prince Heng Yao Ren lay bound in chains. A gag pressed against his mouth, a white blindfold covered his eyes, his wrists and ankles shackled like those of a criminal.
And seated before him, as if savoring the cruel contrast, was his younger brother.....Prince Shui Han Lei.