CW: Explicit language, mentions of hanging, self-harm.
Virgin snowfall blankets the monochrome landscape. Despite the bitter chill, even the fauna are reluctant to touch this pristine canvas. There is a brittle beauty in this scenery. One that also wields a cruel mortal bite. So the first day of winter settles in Hanjuyang this way.
In the boreal spread of Black Forest, beneath the snow cloaked pine and larch trees. Here, a lone figure digs tirelessly into the frozen dirt, hands bare and frostbitten, but showing no signs of stopping. Around this figure are what appears to be a hundred or so cloaked witnesses, none moving, none speaking, simply watching with deep solemnity.
An hour passes. The cold sinks into the flesh and grazes bone, but none dare falter from their vigil.
When Bo’s strength visibly starts to flag, Rin steps into the circle and kneels beside her. His deep gaze locks onto bloodshot amber eyes. Darkness swallows light, and there’s a silent yet tacit understanding between the two. He shoves his hand into the freezing soil, ignoring the pain of cold. With renewed strength, Bo continues. And so they dig for another hour.
Afterwards, Masao gently rests Nuwa into the ground and all three of them kneel to bow before her. Like toppling statues, the other mourners follow suit, kowtowing to their fallen comrade.
A hard gust bends the frozen trees, cracking ice and shaking off the snow. It’s an odd sight – as though all the trees in the clearing were bowing in tandem.
Bo approaches the grave to place a spruce sapling upon Nuwa’s chest. The delicate roots embrace her body, as though to protect her from the elements. They are indistinguishable from each other.
“She once told me to bury her with a sapling, so that she may continue to care for her birds,” Bo murmurs, gently caressing the spindly branches. “Her body will feed this spruce tree and the spruce will feed the birds – this way, she will be eternal in nature.”
Sure enough, as Bo carefully pushes dirt back into the hole, birds of all flock and feathers gather around the grave. They chirp and sing and flap their wings with such fervour, that they appear to be communing with the dead.
Long after the humans leave the forest, the gentle sapling flutters the skirt of her needles; a moonlit dance shared with her beasts in sweet perpetuity. Daejimo’s secret blessing.
***
The Sweet Brier is in uproar tonight. Slummers, rebels, and those who wear both labels, spend these dark hours in the friendly heat of drink and company.
In a private booth set apart from the main floor for VIP guests, the inner circle of the Otsuki rebels sit in comparable quiet. Outside of the bamboo screen doors, their comrades dance, drink, and fight to combat their grief.
Rin curls up in the corner, beside Bo. Masao, Gou, Iris, Daisy, and Lee are also present, all sharing a pot of hot rice wine. The Rat Gang are with the others in the tavern, swept along the hazy chaos.
The little lord is at yet another dinner party in the High District – but he’d promised to come as soon as he’s able. And so Rin waits impatiently. He’s not in the mood to join the revelry, and the alternative is sitting with his elders, nursing a drink he can hardly palate.
Sighing, he glances at the paper lanterns strung up in this booth. They cast shadows that flutter like ghostly butterflies, every so often landing upon a person’s head.
At this moment, the seniors are speaking about their fallen friend, and little by little, this enigmatic woman is brought to light.
It turns out that before joining the Otsukis, Nuwa had been a rather bloodthirsty and terrifying loyalist. She was the head trainer (or ‘Edifier’) in the imperial umbrage called the Immaculate. Nuwa moulded thousands of children into assassins and spies using a horrendous method known as the Edifice Process. The ego was completely dismantled through torture, intense training, and indoctrination, until the child becomes nothing – a Nix – ready to forged into a weapon to enforce the Mother’s will.
Nuwa was the cruellest Edifier of them all, becoming the champion and master of the Edifice Process, and single-handedly building the Immaculate into an influential and powerful umbrage.
That is, until twenty years ago, when she suddenly defected and handed herself over to the nascent rebellion in the West.
“Of course, we couldn’t trust her,” Gou says, rubbing his grizzled jaw. “Not at first. It wasn’t until she allowed us to drug her with a potent truth serum when we finally let our guard down. Even so, she had a reputation that was known to us through intel. We knew what she was capable of and how much blood stained her hands.” He gives Rin a wry grin and throws back his drink. “And then she became our spymaster and we realised just how vital she was to the cause. Without her, there would be no Otsuki.”
Rin furrows his brows and bites the rim of his cup. Teeth clack against ceramic, making Gou wince. “So why’d you stick your spymaster in the middle of the Slums? If she was so important, shouldn’t you have kept her close?”
“Her abilities are precisely why I placed her in Hanjuyang,” Masao explains, smiling. “She was not simply there to gather intelligence, but also to keep watch over you and your mother.”
The raven lowers his cup. “Yeah, you put a lot of eyes on me without my knowing,” he says, dryly.
“If I had not, Bo would not have saved you.”
Iris pours more wine for the table, her movements elegant and refined. “Throughout your childhood, you were ceaselessly reckless, throwing yourself into dangerous situations. Have you ever wondered how you alway escaped with your life?”
“…” Rin feels his throat suddenly clog up. “I…I had good luck.”
“Yes, you did. And that good luck was called Nuwa.”
“All those times you found yourself in a dangerous situation, Nuwa always sent help,” Bo says, quietly. A sad smile graces her lips. “Whether it be me or an Otsuki. Or one of her dogs to bare their teeth.”
“Or her stupid chickens to cause a distraction,” Rin murmurs numbly, remembering his altercation with Tiger in the alleyway, so many moons ago.
“Yes.” Bo blinks her tear-filled eyes and ducks her head. She wraps her large hands around the tiny wine cup, and somehow, this makes her appear moreso vulnerable and lonesome.
“Nuwa was the eyes and ears of the revolution,” Lee sighs, patting the larger woman on the arm. “The revolution has suffered a great loss today.”
“And I have lost my heart,” Bo whispers.
Head spinning, Rin drops his cup. Wine splashes across the table and drips into his lap. He clutches at his face, a wretched pain tearing through his chest like a blunt knife hacking at his flesh.
It was Nuwa. All this time, it has been Nuwa.
He’d thought himself alone and abandoned, left to the cruel wilderness of the city. But in the background, unbeknownst to him, that crabby old witch had kept a firm eye on him, keeping him well protected. She had always been there. She had been his guardian.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
And he didn’t do anything to return the favour.
“P mbeiv tjnf rabqqfv la.” Llr ygfjat tlamtfr. “P mbeiv tjnf rjnfv tfg. P mbeiv tjnf–jcv P vlvc’a–jcv cbk rtf’r–rtf’r–”
“Elc?” Db gfjmtfr bea lc mbcmfgc, ugjrqlcu atf sbeat’r agfwyilcu rtbeivfg. “Elc, ktja jgf sbe ajixlcu jybea?”
Lf ugjyr atf fvuf bo atf ajyif tjgv fcbeut ab ygfjx tlr cjlir. Llr ygfjat mbiijqrfr lc tlr mbcraglmafv atgbja.
“I saw her,” he croaks, staring at something only he can see. “I saw her hanging from the tree. I thought it was–I thought it was someone else. But I couldn’t see her face. I just assumed…” Self-hatred flares like a bellowed flame and he’s suddenly stretched too taut, on the verge of disappearing.
“You couldn’t have known,” Bo says, thickly. “You couldn’t have known it was her. She always believed that fate could be changed. Maybe she changed the fate of that person, and gave herself instead. You’re not the nexus, Rin. You can’t know everything. You need to let this go.”
There’s a conflicted look in Masao’s eyes when he breaks the unsettled silence. “I doubt it was mere coincidence that Nuwa was executed as a rebel.”
“Rin, dear,” Daisy peeps, staring at the upset youth with big, round eyes. “You said you thought it was someone else you saw in your vision. Perhaps, they may be related to what happened?”
The quiet baker has a knack for picking up details that others easily miss. Even Nuwa often consulted with Daisy, when she needed a unique perspective. So it’s not strange that the baker had noticed Rin’s wording. And from it, his intent to obscure this person’s identity.
Everyone turns their expectant gaze to the raven.
Rin hastily grabs the pot of wine before tossing the entire drink down his throat. “I thought it was a Rose,” he lies, voice like gravel. “One of the Roses that joined my Mischief. I thought she…they both have the same build, I–” He presses his lips together and looks away with a harrowed expression.
“Who is this Rose?” Daisy probes, gently. “Do you know her name?”
He shakes his head. “She joined recently…”
“We should ask Bucky.” The baker turns to her wife and grasps her hand. “I’ll bring her here. She would have more insight–”
“How would a Rose know anything about Nuwa?” Rin snaps, his tone drawing an irascible glare from the Guildmaster. He raises his chin, unwavering. “It’s not the damn Rose. Whoever exposed Nuwa knew who she was. And we all know that she didn’t reveal her identity so freely – unless that person is an Otsuki.”
“The kid has a point,” Gou gruffs. “Maybe we need to start looking within our circles.”
Iris huffs sharply through her nose, figure drawn tall and straight like a queen. “Before you start sowing the seeds of distrust, General, need I remind you that it takes but a single accusation for one to be branded as a rebel? One does not even require material proof to support one’s claim. Anecdotal evidence is apparently satisfactory for the arbiters of Hanjuyang.”
The general rolls his eyes and mutters out the corner of his mouth.
Iris raises a perfect brow. “What was that?”
“I said,” Gou growls, irritably, “if it’s as you say it is, then there’s no catching Nuwa’s killer. We will never get justice for her death.”
“I won’t stand for it!” Lee shouts, banging a fist against the table. Masao calmly catches his cup when it tips over the edge. “Spymaster was the backbone of our House! If we let her killer get away, how will she ever cross into the underworld in peace?”
“Oh, I do hope she hasn’t become a wandering spirit,” Daisy says, pinching the bottom of her lips worriedly. “After all she’s endured, Nuwa surely deserves a good rest.”
“Worry not, my sweet,” Iris says. “I am sure she is well on her way to the next life.”
Bo, who had been sitting in quiet contemplation for a while, abruptly raises her head and says, “It is as meaningless to ponder the uncertainties of the past.”
Everyone loses their voice, taken aback by the giantess’ sudden profundity.
“It’s something that Nuwa often said,” Bo explains, smiling sadly. “She believed that our history informs our future. We should take from it what we can and use it to move forward.”
Masao sighs lightly. His eyes hold a glint of pride as he regards his son. “Wise advice,” he praises. “It matters not who we should blame for Nuwa’s death. Because we already know that it is the Empire that tied the noose. We should not lose our way now – rather, we need to hone our focus. Ensure that Nuwa’s death leads us to the utopia we so envision.”
Murmurs of agreement rise around the table.
“Fear not, we will find the traitor, should there be one amongst our midst. But until then, we know what we need to do.”
Rin releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He knows exactly who to blame for Nuwa’s death – but to reveal their identity to the rebels is to risk exposing his little lord to danger. Mira is near rabid when it comes to her desire to protect her young master. Rin wouldn’t put it past the Otsukis to exploit this weakness, and harm Jun to get to the obstinate maidservant.
When Bucky dips by the booth to inform him of ‘Bijan’s’ arrival, he excuses himself and follows the ex-Rose into the main floor of the tavern. The elders can only utter a sigh at the youth’s retreating back, uncertain whether he will lash out in his usual rash manner.
Their fears are manifest rather promptly.
Without saying a word, Rin grabs the little lord’s hand, swipes a bottle of hard liquor from the bar, and stalks out of the Sweet Brier Inn.
The night is cold, but not bitterly so. A light snowfall sticks to the couple’s hair and lashes, and incites a health flush upon their chill-bitten faces. One would cast their gaze upon their persons and see their lovely appearance, their firmly entwined hands, and think they are out for a romantic stroll. But Rin’s mood is anything but romantic. And knowing the wrath brewing behind that pretty, reticent face, Jun follows in obedient silence, unwilling to hinder his lover’s path.
The Hanging Tree is an ugly, gnarled death tree – a specific species derived from Northern oak that had been biologically modified by the Martel Empress. It’s a tree bred for hanging, with long sturdy branches that spread out like arms extended for an embrace. The position of the boughs give easy access to the executioner and guarantee never to break, no matter how heavy the person.
They wear no leaves upon their ebony branches. Bear no fruit nor life throughout the seasons. They are an untouched relic, unmoving with the time, an anomaly outside of Daijimo’s touch.
The amount of spectres gathered at the Hanging Tree is oppressive; overwhelming. Even now, as Rin stands hand in hand with his little lord, he can’t stop the panicked leap of his heart; and the hard shivers wracking his body.
The dead here aren’t just restless. The unjustly killed are infected with festering malice. Rage and despair that fills the very air like thick smoke, making it difficult to breathe. Their screams and howls attack the youth from every direction – but he’s had many years of enduring this kind of pain. He doesn’t falter now.
Rin stands at the foot of the Hanging Tree, staring up at the scars in the thick boughs. Remnant rope, frayed and mournful, dress their blackened limbs; echoes of a thousand executions carried out at the Empire’s behest.
“Nuwa is the last one.”
He smashes the bottle of liquor upon the trunk. Acrid stench rises as the wood is doused. A match is struck. Tossed. And the Hanging Tree is engulfed in flame.
Rin and Jun watch from a distance. Their frozen limbs melt by the heat of the inferno. In the middle of the clearing, blanketed in snow, the Hanging Tree makes for a lonely pyre. Embers rise with trapped souls, finally released from their torment in a breath-taking lumine display. One might believe the stars are born from this place as they journey to the nexus above.
Jun wraps his arm around his lover’s form, pulling him into his side; enveloping him in warmth.
And though Rin leans into his lord’s embrace, he remains numb inside. “I know it was Mira,” he says. His hellebore eye glows from more than firelight. His silent wrath rises to the surface.
Jun stiffens beside him. His arm tightening around his shoulders. “…Whatever do you mean?”
“I saw her, didn’t I? It was supposed to be Mira hanging, not Nuwa. I know she did something. I know it was her.”
“Rinnie…you accuse her so certainly, but I know with as much confidence that she would never do such a thing.”
“You know shit about her,” Rin sneers, shrugging the lord’s arm from his shoulders. “You say she’s loyal to you, but what do you know outside of her being your maidservant and Swordsmaster?”
“She is also my family,” Jun frowns.
“Oh, then you’d know that she’s Immaculate and likely killed hundreds of people in the Mother’s name.”
The little lord loses his breath. His golden eyes widen and pale in shock. His lips move, emitting no sound. Eventually, he manages a weak, “…She’s a what?”
“Immaculate? Ever heard of it?”
“Yes…in my preparation as Governor I was…I was alerted to the presence of this unit…” He looks utterly helpless and confused. Rin almost feels sorry for him.
But his savage tone only harshens. “You knew about the Immaculate, but you didn’t know that Mira was a Nix.” Rin barks a laugh. It’s a bitter sound, full of derision. “Then you also wouldn’t know that she held a grudge against her Edifier. The Edifier who she met only last week outside my house.”
Jun’s face goes blank as he wracks his brain. In mere seconds, his goldens blaze in realisation.
“Tell me with a straight face that Mira had nothing to do with Nuwa’s death.” Rin pushes a fist into the lord’s chest, forcing him back a step. “Tell me with that confidence of yours, little lord, that Mira is someone you can trust.”
“Mira is–” Jun falters, the light in his eyes dimming. He clenches his jaw and lowers his gaze as a deep, crippling gloom descends. “She must have a reason,” he murmurs. “Even so…even so, I trust her.”
“You fool!” Rin snarls, grabbing the front of Jun’s shirt. Blind fury cuts into his face in jagged lines. Sanguine glare bores into those helpless goldens, scorching their owner to the very core.
Jun’s heart palpitates. Fear shoots through his veins like liquid ice. This man who stands before him is unrecognisable. His oppressive, tyrannical aura suffocates and extinguishes the very light around his rabid form. His small stature is void, for his presence is as big as the heavens themselves, forcing his will upon the other with brutal disregard.
This is the man who killed to sate his own desires. This is the man who would kill again.
The little lord flinches and averts his gaze, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He’s unable to say anything, do anything, but tremble in the presence of this stranger.
Rin notices the fear on Jun’s face and he immediately releases him, heart sinking to the pits of his stomach.
Jun is afraid. He’s afraid of me.
“I’m…” His apology peters away. There’s nothing he can do to rectify this situation. He knows that. So instead he asks a question, his voice quavering. “Why?”
Jun clasps his trembling hands together, refusing to meet that blood-drenched eye. “…Why what?” he whispers.
“Why are you afraid?”
Jun’s reluctant to respond. The situation calls for honesty, but how could he express this misplaced terror? He doesn’t want to hurt Rin. He also has little control over how he feels.
That long silence is all the confirmation Rin needs. While the inferno wrapped around the death tree gains body and strength, Rin’s anger wans and dissipates like melting snow. “I won’t hurt you,” he says, grasping Jun’s sleeve. The other man doesn’t flinch away, much to his relief. But those goldens are fixed upon the ground, refusing the other’s imploring gaze. “You know I could never hurt you. Everything I’m doing…it’s all for you…”
“Don’t,” Jun whispers. “Don’t say that to me.” Months of uneasiness and suppressed anxieties are unleashed in that one plea.
“Fine, fine,” Rin says, words tinged with desperation. “I won’t say anything about Mira. She’s innocent. She had nothing to do with Nuwa, okay? You can…you can stop being like this.”
“What would you do?” Jun asks, finally raising his gaze. His expression is as dark as his mood. “If Mira was in fact responsible for Nuwa’s death? What would you do?”
Rin grimaces and tugs feverishly at his shirt. “What can I do? Is there anything I can do?”
But both men know exactly what action Rin would take in this scenario. How many others had fallen by his hands in vengeance? Crow’s death is still stark in their minds. But so are Vex’s dying screams.
“Rinnie…” Jun gathers his courage and takes the first step back to his lover’s side. He grasps the raven’s icy hand. Wraps it carefully within his own. “Rinnie, you are the one I love. And yet sometimes, you scare me so terribly, I feel paralysed.”
Much to the lord’s dismay, tears spring to Rin’s eye. They gather upon his waterlines, soak into his lashes. One by one, they break free. Roll down his unblemished cheek in thick drops. “I’m sorry,” Rin murmurs, deliriously. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. I just don’t know how else I can make it better. I don’t know how I can, when I’m like this.”
Heart clenching, Jun’s wariness buckles at the sight of his crying lover. He gently cups that damp cheek and dutifully catches his tears. “When you are like what, Rinnie?”
Soaked lashes fall low, obscuring Rin’s chaotic emotions.
“…Powerless.”
There, in his periphery, the old witch cackles mutely while the tree burn to ash.
***
Jun finds her in the training yard outside the Silversword barracks, drenched in sweat and complexion grey from exhaustion. Her sword moves through the air with such speed and flexibility, it’s as though the steel were reed. She’s a blur of motion and agile strength, every muscle flexed and tight against her sweat-soaked clothes. Short black hair falls into her cold narrowed eyes, giving her a wild aura.
He stands there for a while, watching in silent admiration. Mira truly earns her title of best Swordsmaster in the East. It’s no wonder why his father was so eager to have her in the estate.
But what worries him is the lack of joy in her focused expression. There is none of the roguish, lively woman who emerges when a sword is in hand.
When she finishes her kata, the Swordsmaster puts away her sword and gives her young master a stiff bow.
He joins her by the bench, where she uses a cloth to dry her sweat.
“You have been working too hard,” Jun says, feeling oddly detached from his words. “You should take better care of yourself, Mira.”
“Why are you here, young master,” she says, bluntly.
He blinks, startled by her tone. In all the time he’d known her, she has never spoken to him as she might to a stranger. There had always been a familiarity in her speech, even as servant to master – although their relationship was far deeper than that.
“…Nuwa has passed,” he says, closely watching her expression. “She was accused of treason and hanged.”
Not a flicker of emotion can be seen. “Who is that, I wonder.”
“Rin’s neighbour. The woman you met briefly outside his house.”
“Ah.” Mira rubs the towel through her damp hair, near frozen already in the chill. Her steady breath forms opaque clouds, obscuring her face. “A shame.”
Jun frowns, uneasiness growing by the second. “Mira…” He pauses. There’s a silent struggle. “Mira, did you have anything to do with this?”
The Swordsmaster drops the cloth onto the bench. She casts a disaffected glance at the man. “With what, exactly?”
“Nuwa’s death.”
“Why does that concern me? I don’t know this person.”
“I think you do.”
“A strange presumption to make.”
Jun pushes on, boldly. Heart pounding so loud, it’s hard to hear above the clamour. “The witch I consulted. There is more to his vision.”
“This witch claims to know much about me,” Mira says, voice dangerously low. “And yet I know nothing about him.”
“He told me about your past. Your time as a Nix in the Immaculate.”
Finally, there’s emotion in those cold, dead eyes. Fear.
Jun continues, “He told me about your Edifier. The one you bear a grudge against. That day, you looked at her as though she were a spectre. Nuwa…she was this Edifier, was she not?” It’s not a question, but a statement.
Mira hides her shaking hands behind her back. She stands upright, spine ramrod straight, steadily meeting her young master’s probing gaze. But even decades of training and obfuscation can’t mask the shrieking chaos in her eyes. The pits of despair that pushes her to the precarious edge of madness. She’s silently falling apart.
The perceptive lord sees this. In this earthly realm, Jun knows two people more intimately than he knows himself. One of them is Mira.
A weight like no other crushes him. His demeanour turns dark, as though all light were snuffed from his very being. “I want to know why you did it. Explain yourself.”
The maidservant meets her lord head on like fire to water. “We are loyal to the Empire. How could I not arrest a known rebel?”
His voice takes on a steely edge, “If that truly is your sentiment, then you should dare arrest this young master. You know my goals align with the Otsukis – does that not make me a rebel as well? In fact, you should throw a noose over your own neck, for you have done nothing but defy the Governor for these past few months. Speak not of loyalty, when your loyalty lies clearly with yourself.”
A flash of anger in her narrowing eyes. “My loyalty lies with you, young master,” she says, sharply. “Whom do I live for now, if not for you? Do we not consider each other blood? After everything we have gone through, can you stand there and make such an accusation?”
Jun flattens his mouth into a line, wavering guilt softening his hard edges. But he maintains his stance. Keeps a strong presence. Just like how his Swordsmaster taught him to.
“You are my most trusted friend, Mira,” he says, quietly. “My most loyal person. Which is why I wonder how you can hide your true heart from me with such ease.” The lord finally breaks his gaze. Freeing her from his interrogation. “You wounded him badly, Mira. I do not know if I can forgive you for this.”
Without gracing her with another glance, he turns and exits the training grounds. A trail of footprints in the snow, even and steady, the only evidence of his presence.
Mira steps after, reaching out belatedly to stop him from leaving. Her limbs quake badly, but not from the cold.
A tiny sparrow lands upon her extended hand and puffs up its feather. She stares blankly at the creature, unable to fathom the sight. The sparrow chirps, loudly, piercing, as though it were chiding her. And then it pecks her fingers, gives her a deep look, and flies away; small wings fluttering energetically before vanishing mid-air.
I’m seriously going to cry all the tears of my body because of you
GIMME MORE TEARSSSSSS
I am going to study whatever is needed and be everyone’s therapist because- 😭😭😭
Thank you for the chapter!! <3
bahahaha if therapy and psyche meds existed in this world then this novel would be done in ten chapters XDDD there must be more SUFFERING!!!!
thank you for readinggg <333