Desolate Despair

There was a numbness in him. He remembered the pale despair. Pools of deep red. Now he stared at a long marble table. All he could see was a white sheet, concealing the body beneath it.

Fan Mingli was dead.

The numbness now was merciful. An Sun's face contorted. The knowledge rushed up in him, choking off his breath. Beside him, Yin Changpu's expression grew weary. The gaunt and strong young man, now frail and withered as if the faintest breeze would knock him over.

The two men's faces drew out in the flickering firelight. Yin Changpu covered his face with his hands and wailed. Words of apology slipped from his lips like a mantra.

An Sun did not look at him. He did not even see him. He turned and left the room.

All around the palace, Fan Mingli's death swept everyone by surprise. Not only was there remorse but worry. The young man was poisoned within the palace walls. Which only lead to the suspicion that there was a traitor among them.

A soldier? A servant? Perhaps even someone no one suspected.

Everyone exchanged wary glances with one another. Unsure of whom to trust. Meanwhile, the emperor ordered an investigation to be arranged as soon as possible. They were still to fight the An Clan the following day. There was little time to waste.

Outside on a grass-covered hill, the wind emitted a gentle whistle. Its song rustling in the trees and grass. Yin Changpu's eyes fixed on the glimmering stream below him. He had been staring upon the water for hours, time seemingly eternal. His heart was beating, but he felt nothing.

His fingers rubbed an old coin, the depths of his eyes growing darker and darker. A few days ago, he sat on this hill, right with Fan Mingli at his side. No matter how much he thought of it, he would never feel the warmth of the young man's presence again.

At that very moment, Jin Yue, who wandered the hill with a sack of sand on both shoulders, took note of the man staring absently. Her brows knitted, unsure of how to approach the lone man. She walked toward him carefully, stopping in her steps once she had been standing beside him.

Pursing her lips, she gazed at his bruised fingers, the exhaustion in his eyes. Even now, he did not regard her. Jin Yue sighed and sat in the grass beside him—the sacks of sand falling on the ground with a thud.

Yin Changpu's jaw clenched, the corners of his lips pulling to a frown. Glancing at him with quiet eyes, Jin Yue stretched out her hand to rest on his shoulder. She gently patted it.

The moment her hand touched his shoulder, Yin Changpu flinched. His face contorted in pain. A lump swelled in his throat unbearably, and he dropped the coin in the grass, his fingers digging into his welling eyes.

Jin Yue's lips pursed, and her breath was tight as she tried speaking to him. "It's not your fault, you know. You did the best you could."

Still silent, Yin Changpu buried his head deeper into his palms.

Jin Yue continued, her hands stiffly patting his back. "Things like this happen. And when they do, we move on."

"…How can I move on?" Yin Changpu lifted his head to stare at her with bloodshot eyes. "I was there. I was right there watching him struggle, and I couldn't…" His words trailed off, followed by a sob.

Jin Yue was surprised for a moment before lowering her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Remain the only words she could say as she patted the large man's trembling shoulders.

…

That night, Rin stood by Fan Mingli's body. She brought water and cloth, wiping the blood from his skin. Her hands were gentle as though she had been washing a newborn baby, not a corpse.

She had not known Fan Mingli long, but she knew he was a good and wise young man. It was too soon for him to leave this world, and yet he died tragically.

She could hardly imagine how An Sun and his comrades felt. They trained together with him. The mere thought made her heart sting.

At that moment, Manchu entered the room, and their eyes met over Fan Mingli's body.

"Well?" She asked upon his arrival.

Manchu's lips tightened in a grim line. "Nothing yet."

Rin's movements paused. Her eyes lifted. "What?"

The cause of Fan Mingli's death, it was clear the wine poisoned him.

So why did nothing appear?

Manchu seemed to share equal confusion with her. He sighed and glanced at Fan Mingli.

"It really is a shame." He mumbled.

"Yes…" Rin's voice was bitter with grief.

"We will seek justice for him. For everyone." Manchu said.

Rin's gaze lifted to meet his. She was unable to manage a smile. Manchu drew back, his eyes glancing at Fan Mingli once more before he left.

After he withdrew, a cold silence spread throughout the room.

Rin's eyes felt heavy. Everything felt worn and weary. Her pale lips trembled, but she bit them still. With a shake of her head, she managed to finish wiping the remainder of the blood from Fan Mingli's body.

He almost looked as if he was sleeping. His eyes soon to open at any moment.

But he never did. And he never would…

Returning to her room, Rin sat on the edge of the bed to pet Ju, when she heard something fall. Turning, her eyes widened. It was a notebook. More specifically, Fan Mingli's. She took it while everyone removed items from his room.

While she flipped through the pages, the falcon beside her had woken up to rest on her lap. His beady eyes blinked curiously.

The edge of the pages was worn as if he was constantly flipping through—staring at the words for hours in the hope they would be of use someday. She could tell how much the young man treasured it. The book was filled with his words, his thoughts, and tactics. Rin set her eyes on the last page. It was unfinished, still waiting to be written by his hands.

But they never would be.

Rin's breathing slowed. She never had the chance to say goodbye, to see them in their last moments. Every second, someone was gone.

"I don't know what to do anymore…" Her voice was a terrible thing, cracked and broken.

She bent over the notebook, her lovely emerald eyes spilling tears warm like summer rain. She leaned her head against the pages and sobbed. Her tears fell, no one to wipe them away.

Ju lifted his head. Silently, the falcon leaned on the crying girl, her broken piteous sobs sounding throughout the night.

In his own room, An Sun stared out the night sky in a daze. Before, he possibly would have smashed, cut, and kicked everything in his sight. But now, he felt numb. When he recalled the pale, limp body of Fan Mingli, his jaw clenched.

He buried his face in his hands and did not speak.

No more. He could not let this happen again.

"I'm sorry…" He whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry…"