The Countryside Night Is Noisy.
Under the rain-cleared moon, the frogs’ chorus echoed endlessly. Occasionally, the call of an owl would interrupt, while in the backdrop of the frogs’ song, autumn insects held a lively feast.
Fei Ling , who had sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, was suddenly awakened. The piercing sensation of murderous intent had shattered her rest.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze met Lan-Xin.
Lan-Xin gripped a bronze dagger tightly.
(So, she’s come to kill me.)
Her expression was veiled in shadow, but the edges of her moonlit eyes were painfully strained. It was the look of someone on the verge of breaking down, barely holding themselves together through sheer willpower—a fragile yet resolute wavering.
Lan-Xin held her breath and brought the dagger down.
“Ah…”
Just as the dagger was about to pierce Fei Ling ‘s chest, Lan-Xin diverted its trajectory, embedding it into the bedding instead.
Straw scattered into the air. Tiny dust particles shimmered like crystals in the moonlight. Fei Ling , capturing the fleeting brilliance in her eyes, remained still, silently gazing up at Lan-Xin.
“Why…?”
Lan-Xin’s voice broke.
“Why can’t you just stay the heinous ‘Daughter of Chaos’? If you’d been the arrogant, cruel princess I imagined, I could have killed you without hesitation!”
Tears streamed from Lan-Xin’s eyes.
“The former emperor… took everything precious from you, didn’t he?”
The former emperor was tyrannical. Ruthless. He indiscriminately stole, wounded, and poisoned everything in his path—a true personification of chaos.
“…My father served as the Minister of War under the former emperor.”
The Minister of War was a bureaucratic position overseeing national defense. Unlike generals, he did not command troops on the battlefield, but he bore the heavy responsibility of managing personnel and logistics.
“He was an earnest, diligent man. The pride of our family. But the former emperor sentenced him to death for a trivial mistake… Do you know what it feels like to open a package from the palace after a long time, only to find my father’s severed head inside?”
To say, “I understand,” would be easy—but untrue. Yet Fei Ling could imagine her despair. She, too, had lost her beloved father, albeit in a different way.
“My younger sisters thought it was another one of his rare gifts from the capital. Their joyous cheers turned into screams. I told myself it was just a nightmare… but it never ended. My mother broke after that… Tell me, why did my father have to die like that?”
“Unforgivable.”
Lan-Xin spoke with a voice full of malice.
“There’s no way I could forgive him. I swore one day I’d kill the emperor. Clutching this dagger my father left behind, that thought alone kept me going. But the emperor was executed.”
Her voice trembled as if a lute string had snapped, cutting off abruptly.
“All I was left with was hatred.”
Ah, so that was it. She had lost both the person she loved and the one she hated.
Hate had been her only anchor, preventing her from breaking completely. But when even that anchor was stripped away, she must have been overwhelmed by despair, like being cast adrift in a void of endless darkness.
“Then I heard rumors that the emperor’s daughter was still hiding in the harem. I was elated. Finally, I could avenge my father.”
A shadow passed across Lan-Xin’s face, like an eclipse obscuring the moon.
“…And yet, I couldn’t kill you.”
She was consumed by despair.
After a brief silence, Lan-Xin undid her sash in one swift motion, letting her robe fall loose.
“Look at this.”
Exposed under the moonlight, her chest was fractured.
Through the cracks in her skin, a bronze-colored gleam tinged with gold peeked through. The mixture of gold and green reflected the moonlight, scattering a brittle radiance. It looked like a distorted version of kintsugi, where the repair itself had become a curse, ensuring the wounds would never truly heal.
“Golden poison…”
“I knew it.”
Her startled reaction upon seeing Lan-Xin earlier wasn’t due to the unfamiliar affliction—but because it mirrored her own wounds.
“I’ll die soon. So it’s fine now.”
Lan-Xin turned the dagger toward her own slender neck. She intended to end her life. Fei Ling raised her voice, trying to stop her, and moved to restrain her.
“…!”
Lan-Xin’s arm trembled violently, but she couldn’t bring herself to pierce her throat. After a long struggle, she slumped in defeat, and Fei Ling quietly took the dagger from her.
“The source of the poison is this dagger. Bronze itself isn’t poisonous, but… this one is ancient. Let me prepare an antidote for you.”
This poison—she could concoct a remedy quickly. But even with an antidote, she couldn’t save Lan-Xin without her consent.
Lan-Xin pressed her lips together and remained silent.
Surely, she didn’t truly wish to die. But if she couldn’t exact her revenge, she felt she ought to choose death. Accepting aid from the emperor’s daughter was an unforgivable thought—yet who, exactly, would condemn her for it?
She mistook vengeance as the only way to honor her father’s memory. But the dead cannot forgive or condemn, no matter how strongly the living yearn for it. The act of forgiving or condemning belongs solely to the living.
“You didn’t tell your sisters about your quest for revenge, did you? You came to the palace alone.”
Lan-Xin’s eyes wavered.
“…Say you want to live.”
Fei Ling spoke quietly but earnestly.
(I won’t let her die. I refuse to repeat the same mistakes.)
A fleeting memory of a figure in blue robes flashed through her mind. The medicine had been there, but Lady Feng had refused it. Consumed by fire and poisoned air, she had perished, leaving not even bones behind. Fei Ling still didn’t know what she could have done differently, yet regret haunted her endlessly.
Gripping Lan-Xin’s shoulders, Fei Ling raised her voice.
“Say it!”
“…I…”
Her tear-filled eyes quivered, her tense throat finally releasing a hoarse whisper.
“I… don’t want to die…”
It was just a single phrase, but it carried no falsehood.
Fei Ling nodded. If the patient had the will to live, the poison could always be cured.
