Anchhi stepped outside the manor, the cold air biting at her skin as she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. And there, in the distance, Hui Jing stood—his tall, imposing figure outlined against the backdrop of the mountains, his posture tense as he awaited her.
She had prepared herself for this moment, told herself over and over that she wouldn't falter. But now, standing in front of him, she felt the familiar tightness in her chest. She ran her hands along her cloak, grounding herself. This wasn't a reunion. It was an ending.
Hui Jing turned to face her fully, and the moment their eyes met, a tear slipped down his cheek, catching the pale light of the evening. The sight of it might have once shaken her, might have once softened her—but now, it only steeled her further. She couldn't afford to be weak, not anymore.
"Jia'er," he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked, like he had been holding back so much for so long. The name, once intimate and familiar, now felt foreign and distant to Anchhi, like a remnant of another life. Hearing it again from him was jarring, but she said nothing. She simply stood, waiting for him to speak.
"I am sorry," Hui Jing said, as if the words were suffocating him. "I... I apologize for turning my back on you. For betraying you."
Anchhi felt the weight of his words but kept her silence. There was nothing left to say in response. Apologies couldn't change the past, couldn't undo the pain she had suffered. Her silence spoke louder than any words ever could.
Hui Jing took a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to continue. "Fourth Brother has regained consciousness," he said, his eyes pleading with her for something—understanding, perhaps, or forgiveness, though he had no right to either. "He gave his testimony to Emperor Father, told him of your innocence. He has restored your family's name. The Fei family's honor is returned."
Anchhi felt her heart ease at the news. Her brother—her dear Fourth Brother—was alive. And their family, once branded as traitors, had been vindicated. But even so, something within her remained hollow. The restoration of their honor, while a balm to the scars of the past, couldn't heal the deepest wounds. She felt no relief, no surge of joy.
"Will this make my father return?" She broke her silence, her voice steady, though her emotions threatened to unravel beneath the surface. Her gaze met his, searching for something—some acknowledgment of the pain he had caused. But she found none.
Hui Jing couldn't answer her. Of course, he couldn't. The silence that stretched between them was deafening. Her father was gone, taken by the same people who had conspired against her family. No testimony, no restored nobility, would ever bring him back.
Anchhi looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in what felt like years. She wanted to scream at him, to lash out at him for abandoning her when she had needed him the most. She wanted to hurl every hurtful word that had festered in her heart. But as she stood there, facing the man who had vowed to be with her, she found she couldn't.
He didn't deserve her rage. He didn't deserve the release of her anger. He deserved nothing from her.
"If you cannot return my father to me," Anchhi began, her voice firm, though a tremor of emotion ran through it, "then I ask you, Your Highness, to leave. This is my home now. I am happy here." She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle between them. "I will not go with you."
Her declaration hung in the air, and Hui Jing flinched as if struck. He opened his mouth as if to protest but then hesitated. The words died on his lips, and all that remained was the sorrow in his eyes.
"You don't understand, Jia'er," he said, his voice breaking. "The ministers, —they pushed for your condemnation. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't fight them alone. You have no idea how much I've regretted—"
Her gaze sharpened, cutting through his excuses. "You couldn't fight them?" she repeated, incredulous. "You are the Crown Prince. The heir to the throne. And you let them turn me, my family, into traitors. You chose to do nothing."
He flinched again, visibly shrinking beneath her words. "I was afraid—"
"Afraid?" Her voice rose, and for the first time, she let the bitterness seep through. "I was afraid, too, Crown Prince. I was afraid when they came for my father. I was afraid when they branded my family as traitors. I was terrified. But you? You were the one person who could have stopped it, and you did nothing."
Tears welled in his eyes once more, but Anchhi felt nothing as she watched him. She had cried too many tears over him, and now, she had none left to give. Her heart had hardened, not out of hatred, but out of necessity. She couldn't afford to be weak anymore.
"I can't undo what has been done," Hui Jing whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "But I can make things right now. Come back to the capital with me. We can start over. I'll make sure no one ever harms you again."
Her heart ached at the offer, not because she wanted to accept it, but because of how utterly impossible it was.
"Start over?" Anchhi repeated, almost in disbelief. "Do you truly believe we can go back to what we once were? After everything that's happened? After you stood by and watched my family be destroyed?" She shook her head, the weight of the past pressing down on her. "No, Your Highness. There is no starting over."
Hui Jing took a step closer to her, desperation in his eyes. "Jia'er—"
"Don't," Anchhi cut him off, her voice sharp. "Don't call me that. I am not the girl you once knew. She died the day my father deid. The day you abandoned me."
The words hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, it looked as though he might collapse under the weight of them. But Anchhi didn't waver. She couldn't. Not now.
"Leave," she ordered sternly. "I am not yours to take."
Hui Jing stood there for a long moment, his tears falling freely now, but Anchhi didn't flinch.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the cold, empty night. Anchhi watched him go. She felt the last remnants of her past slip away with him.
This time, there were no tears. Only silence.