The soft hush of early dawn spilled into the Han residence, painting long shadows across the stone floor. Outside, the plum trees had begun to bloom again — life moving on, stubborn and slow. The scent of dew and the faint whisper of spring wind drifted through the open lattice windows, wrapping the quiet chambers in a veil of false peace.
Inside the quiet warmth of her chamber, Madam Han was folding clothes. Not because they needed folding, but because her hands couldn't bear to be still. She had folded the same sleeping robe three times already — the worn cotton soft with age, familiar in her trembling hands.
The creak of the floorboards came gently, like a ghost entering the room. But she didn't turn. She didn't need to. She knew the sound of those footsteps, the near-silent grace that was so different from her sons' heavy tread.
"…You're leaving, aren't you?" she asked, her voice a quiet, defeated whisper to the wall. Her eyes fixated on the clothe in her hands.
Han JiLan stood just inside the doorway, dressed in simple, dark traveling robes, minus the armor, her long black hair still damp from washing, the cold morning still clinging to the woman like a shadow. Her face was an unreadable mask of calm, expression carefully composed. But her silence was a confession.
But to a mother… silence speaks louder than any oath.
Madam Han sighed, a sound heavy with a mother's endless sorrow. She slowly folded the cloth one last time. Set it aside with the care of one handling a memory. She turned to face her daughter fully now, the morning light spilling across her features, tracing the lines of sleeplessness around her eyes.
"A-Yan, you are not allowed to go anywhere away from me."
JiLan blinked, a flicker of surprise in her silver eyes. "Mother?"
Madam Han's gaze locked onto hers, her own helplessness a visible crack in her general's composure.
"You— You, honey, I know you're a big, brave warrior," her voice cracked ever so slightly, "but I can't let you go. Not like this- "
For a moment, something flickered across JiLan's face. Not pain or resistance.
Something gentler.
She gave a small, quiet laugh — rare and fleeting. She took a step into the room, a clean towel in her hand.
"I only came to ask you to dry my hair, Mother. Not to fight."
Madam Han paused, staring. Her gaze dropped to her daughter's damp hair, then back to her face, searching for the lie and finding only a quiet sincerity. She shifted, her resolve softening just a fraction. "Come here, then," she said, her voice gruff as she patted the floor beside her. "Sit down."
A rare, warm smile touched JiLan's lips as she obeyed — wordless, like a child returning to old instincts. She knelt and settled herself on the floor, back straight, letting her mother pull her closer. Madam Han took the towel, her movements practiced and gentle as she began to blot the moisture from the long, silken strands. For a moment, there was only the soft sound of the cloth against her hair, a fragile peace in the dim morning light. The mother's hands moved slowly against her daughter's hair, ever so tenderly — careful not to tug, careful not to let her hands shake.
The silence was full of memories.
Childhood mornings. Training-day bruises. Scolding and secret braids before duels. Long-lost giggles under cherry trees...
"Now tell me," Madam Han said, her voice low, her hands never ceasing their tender work. "If you think this little trick would melt your mother's heart and make me let you go… my daughter , you better return to your room and rethink your entire strategy ."
JiLan smiled quietly, not moving. She looked down, her own small smile unwavering. "Mother…" she began, her voice slow and soft.
"What?" Madam Han snapped, her fear making her sharp.
"Mama."
The change in address, so childish and vulnerable, made Madam Han's hands still. "What is it?" she asked, her voice softer this time.
"Mamaaa," JiLan murmured,
"Its not working baby." Madam Han repeated— but gentler this time, her voice full of that pretend-exasperation only mothers can master.
JiLan looked up and smiled.
Then, with the casualness of habit — a rare vulnerability breaking through her phantom general's mask — she leaned forward and rested her head gently on her mother's lap.
Madam Han stilled. Her hands froze over the towel.
A thousand protests rose and fell— before reaching her lips. Her hand instinctively moved from the towel to her daughter's head, her fingers stroking the damp hair — slowly at first, then more surely — brushing through JiLan's damp hair, stroking her daughter's head in slow, circular motions. Despite the anger and terror trembling inside her, she could not resist the instinct. Whatever the age is, she was still her daughter.
Even now.
Even like this.
"Mom," JiLan's voice was muffled by the fabric of her robes. "Do you think Liuliu is happy now?"
Madam Han's hands paused.
The question startled her, pulling her from their quiet battle of wills into the raw heart of their shared grief. JiLan continued, her voice gaining a sharp, clear edge. "Mom… you know her. She could never tolerate injustice, even as a child. She used to scold the kitchen staff if they overfed the koi….. Remember?"
A soft, broken laugh escaped Madam Han.
"She even made Er-ge write an apology letters for yelling at the birds…"
JiLan smiled faintly.
"And right now— her murderer walks free within the walls of the Lin Clan, perhaps planning to harm more innocent people."
She lifted her head, turning slightly to meet her mother's gaze. The childish vulnerability was gone, replaced by a chilling, absolute clarity— it was like steel wrapped in silk.
"Do you think your Liuliu would want that?"
Madam Han shook slightly, the words hitting their mark with devastating precision. She saw it then: the brilliant, terrible trap her daughter had laid. This wasn't about vengeance. It was about justice. It was about honoring the spirit of the very girl whose loss was threatening to tear them all apart. Her hands fell from JiLan's hair. The mother's terror was now at war with the general's honor, and both were losing to the memory of her other daughter's fiery heart.
" And you're asking me to let my other daughter to go away too. Is this fair for my sake, A-Yan?"
" I'm not asking you to let go off me, mom I—"
"You're walking towards the death's door. How this is NOT letting go?" madam Han's voice was sharp with the pain she couldn't describe. JiLan was left speechless.
" Mother…"
" B-But- but you still don't have to go by yourself right?. There are many ways to get the Lin clan to confess. You just—"
" Mom…." JiLan's voice was soft . It was so softer than madam Han had ever expected.
"I love you…. You know that don't you ?"
Tears started to stream down madam Han's face. She hugged her daughter tightly and kissed her head.
" I love you too my baby " a light chuckle escaped her lips. " But that's an unfair weapon to wield."
She raised her head to looked back at the fierce, determined face of the daughter she had left. " And now I know-where she got that talent to make me speechless."
A long silence passed between them, full of the words neither could say. The towel slipped from her hands and onto JiLan's shoulders like a mantle.
Finally, Madam Han spoke again — barely a whisper.
"Promise me… you'll return."
" Promise…Your daughter will definitely return to you mother. Your kids doesn't know how to loose you know."
Both chuckled. Madam Han took a deep, shuddering breath, a general making the hardest decision of her life. "Find the truth," she said, the words costing her everything. "Avenge your sister."
She gripped her daughter's shoulder, fingers digging in with a strength that belied her trembling.
"But you must take care of your self, Han JiLan. You will come back, safe and sound. That's not a request. It's an order from your mother."
JiLan's expression softened into a look of profound love and gratitude.
" At your service, marshal" JiLan said with a salute. She realized how hard is to reconciling a grieving mother.
Madam Han scoffed through her tears, brushing aside a damp strand of hair.
"Don't call me that," she muttered. "Your father's ego will grow too big to fit in the war room."
JiLan chuckled.
Without another word, Madam Han picked up the towel and resumed drying her daughter's hair, her movements slow and deliberate. It was a final act of care, a silent blessing, a warrior mother saying goodbye the only way she knew how.