The evening had settled fully into the night, the chill of the mountain air creeping in through the windows. Shuo Jin sat in his private chamber, a porcelain kettle of fermented wine on the table before him.
The flicker of candlelight reflected in his dark eyes. His eyes, always so sharp and calculated, seemed softer tonight, though Anchhi knew better than to trust that appearance.
"Come," he beckoned, his voice calm but commanding, his hand gesturing toward the kettle. "Join me for a drink."
Anchhi stood still, her mind quickened at the sight of him. She wasn't one to shy away from confrontation, but this wasn't a request—it was an order, and she knew it.
"I'd rather not," she replied, her voice firm but respectful. Anchhi had no desire to share his nightly ritual, especially with someone like Shuo Jin, whose intentions were never entirely clear.
He raised his cup slightly. "Fei Jia, you forget. I am your master now, and a student should never refuse her master's request. Pour the drink."
Her hands faltered for a moment, but she stepped forward and sat beside him on the push cushion. She took the kettle and poured the amber liquid into his glass. The faint aroma of the fermented wine wafted through the air.
His gaze never left her, watching her every motion with the kind of intensity that made her feel as though he was studying her.
"To your first day of training," Shuo Jin rose his glass in a mocking toast. "You survived it well." he murmured, taking a slow sip from his cup. The warmth of the wine seemed to soften his features.
After a few more drinks, he stretched lazily, taking a yawn. "I'm tired now," he said, his tone shifting suddenly to something almost childlike. "I need to go to bed. Take me."
Anchhi blinked, disbelief flickering in her eyes. "You're perfectly capable of walking on your own. You don't need me to help you to bed."
But he simply leaned forward, his gaze intense yet hazy. He sighed dramatically. "I refuse to go until you take me," he said with a slight pout, the words utterly unexpected from someone like Shuo Jin.
She scoffed, frowning at him. "Why drink if you can't handle a few glasses?"
Shuo Jin said nothing in response, only leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, his face softening in a way that disarmed her. His usual sharp demeanor had begun to wane, his features softening, his eyelids drooping slightly.
"I'm fine," Shuo Jin murmured, though his voice had softened. "I'm just… sleepy." Anchhi noticed how quickly the liquor had affected him.
He stood up unsteadily, and she couldn't help but scoff, the sight of him—Shuo Jin, acting like a stubborn child, almost absurd.
"You're like a baby," she muttered under her breath.
"I'm not a baby," he protested weakly, his voice losing its usual confidence. Then, as if some buried part of him had finally been released, he spoke with a sadness she had never heard before. "My mother used to help me to bed. Every night, when I was little. I used to sleep… in her arms. She was always so warm. She was always there... until she wasn't."
There was something different in his tone now, something Anchhi had never heard before. There was a rawness there, an unexpected fragility that she hadn't thought existed in him.
"My mother," Shuo Jin continued, his voice growing softer. It was tinged with the bitterness of old pain. "She was warm. She was kind. And I was accused of killing her."
Anchhi found herself listening intently, her mind reeling at the vulnerability he was showing. This was a side of Shuo Jin she had never seen, a depth of emotion she never thought he possessed. The mighty First Prince, feared by all, now seemed so small, so human.
"Your mother," she asked cautiously, "what happened to her?"
"They said I killed her. Her… and my unborn brother." His voice faltered, and for a brief moment, his composure cracked. "I was just a boy. Eleven. I didn't even know what was happening."
"How… how could they accuse you?" she asked, her voice filled with an unexpected gentleness.
He exhaled, his body slumping slightly. "The Queen Mother. She set me up. She wanted me out of the way. Made sure I was blamed. Locked me in a dungeon for years."
Anchhi had suspected something dark about the Queen Mother, especially with the way she had treated her but hearing Shuo Jin confirm her suspicions left her cold.
She stared at him, speechless. And suddenly, she saw him differently. He wasn't just the cold, calculating prince she had always feared. He was a man who had suffered, who had been wronged in ways that mirrored her own pain.
"How do you know it was her?" she pressed.
But his response was slow, his voice thick with wine and fatigue. "I just… I know," he mumbled something incoherent, his words slipping away as the drink finally took its toll. His eyelids drooping. Before she could press him further, he slumped forward, his breathing deepening as sleep overtook him.
Anchhi looked at him for a long time, his confession sinking into her. This man, who had seemed so untouchable, so ruthless, had endured unimaginable pain. The loneliness of his childhood, the loss of his mother, the betrayal of his own family—it was a story far darker than she had expected.
With a deep sigh, she gently lifted him by his shoulders, surprised by how heavy he felt in her arms. His body limp with exhaustion, and she grunted under the effort, guiding him toward his bed.
As she laid him down gently, her eyes lingered on his face. For the first time, Shuo Jin looked… vulnerable. The cold, aloof mask he always wore had slipped away, leaving only a man haunted by the ghosts of his past.
What are you, Shuo Jin? Anchhi thought, her heart softening unexpectedly. What have you been through to make you this way?
She stood watching him, her eyes lingering on his face for a moment longer. He was asleep now, his features softened by the shadows of the candlelight. A part of her wanted to hold him and tell him that he was not alone. For a brief second, she wanted to reach out, to touch his face, to offer some kind of comfort.
Instead, Anchhi stepped back from his bed and departed from his chamber. But, a part of her remained behind, still standing in the darkened room, staring at the man who had shown her a side of himself that no one else had ever seen. And for the first time, she found herself wanting to understand him.