Inside Hunan's office, Kuan presses his palms against the heavy wooden desk and shoves it aside. The legs scrape across the floor, the sound cutting through the stillness of the room. Beneath, hidden in plain sight, is the trapdoor. Kuan kneels, fingers sliding along the edges until he finds the latch. It clicks open with a soft metallic snap, and he pulls, revealing the dark passage leading into the sewers.
Jia watches from the doorway, her arms crossed. Her eyes widen, just for a second, before her usual smirk returns. "You've got to be kidding me. There's an actual hole to the sewers in here?"
Kuan stands, brushing the dust from his robes. "Follow me," he says, ignoring her incredulity as he steps onto the ladder leading down.
Jia snorts, folding her arms tighter. "You first, your highness. I'll catch up."
Kuan descends carefully, his feet finding purchase on the rungs. The air thickens with the smell of rot and dampness the further down he goes, but he says nothing. At the bottom, he glances up, and sure enough, Jia starts climbing down after him, her movements quicker, less cautious.
The moment she drops to the floor beside him, she wrinkles her nose dramatically and gags. "Ugh! Smells like someone's been dumping rotten cabbage and fish guts down here for a century. You come here often?"
Kuan doesn't answer, his thoughts flickering to what Hunan had told him the last time they were down here—about accepting the filth, about controlling it. The words hover on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them. This isn't the place for lessons.
Jia glances around, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. "No, seriously," she says, stepping over a puddle with a grimace. "You must be a sewer rat to know this place so well. What, do you come down here when palace life gets too boring? Sniff some muck to feel alive?"
Kuan's brow furrows, and he shoots her a sidelong glance. "I don't think you're one to talk, with how quick you were to dive into this hole."
She laughs, loud and unrestrained. "Heh. But at least I know how to live a little. You, though—what, your daddy taught you all this? A noble boy with a secret lair. I'm impressed."
Kuan's lips twitch, a rare hint of amusement flickering across his face. "What kind of man," he says, his tone sharp, "would want to marry a vulgar girl like you?"
Jia cocks an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "Who said anything about marriage? That's not your business, rat boy."
Kuan's expression stiffens, but there's a glint in his eyes as he steps over a particularly large heap of… something he chooses not to inspect too closely. "Ah, so it's just general bad manners then. I was hoping there was a method to your madness."
Jia grins, sidestepping the same pile. "Bad manners keep life interesting. You should try it sometime. Loosen up that stiff spine of yours."
Kuan shakes his head, a reluctant chuckle slipping out. "I'd rather not smell like a gutter on a permanent basis."
Jia gestures around, her fingers spread wide. "Oh, please. You're already knee-deep in it. Look at you! Up to your ears in filth and secrets. What's a little bit of stink to a future administrator?"
Kuan lifts his chin, feigning haughtiness. "I'm simply preparing myself for diplomatic missions. One must understand the lower rungs of society to govern them."
Jia barks out a laugh. "Diplomatic! Is that what you call crawling around in sewers now? What do you do for fun? Negotiate treaties with the rats?"
They pass beneath a dripping archway, the trickle of water from above hitting the stones with soft plinks. The conversation bounces between them as they walk, Jia's taunts growing more colorful with every step, while Kuan's sharp retorts become less formal, more quick-witted.
"You've got a foul mouth for someone who works in the palace," Kuan says, dodging a low-hanging vine.
"And you've got a foul attitude for someone with your pretty face," Jia shoots back without missing a beat, her grin widening.
He exhales, exasperated but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "You know, there's a certain way you could talk to me that might actually not result in your getting thrown out."
"Yeah?" Jia smirks, stepping over a narrow stream of sludge. "And where's the fun in that?"
Kuan shakes his head, the banter pulling him in despite himself. "No wonder the eunuchs were chasing you."
Jia's eyes twinkle with mischief. "What can I say? People just can't keep away from me."
Kuan rolls his eyes, sidestepping another puddle. "Or maybe they were just hoping to shut you up."
Jia grins, unbothered. "Good luck with that, princeling. You'd miss my charm too much."
Kuan lets out a quiet, genuine laugh this time, surprising himself. It feels strange—this kind of humor, this freedom to speak without the weight of expectations pressing down. He casts another glance at Jia, who's now whistling as she walks ahead, her steps as confident and careless as if they weren't trudging through the empire's underground waste.
They've been walking for what feels like an hour. The dim light from the grates above flickers intermittently, casting long shadows on the damp stone walls. The smell of rot and stagnant water has almost become a constant companion, something they've learned to ignore as they make their way through the labyrinth of tunnels. But something is gnawing at Kuan, a subtle unease that twists in his gut.
He glances around again, trying to find some familiar landmark—a pillar, a turn, anything—but nothing looks right. The further they go, the more uncertain he feels. He's made too many turns, more than he remembers making when he was here with Hunan. He doesn't recognize these corridors anymore.
Jia, walking slightly ahead, notices Kuan's sudden quietness. Her steps slow, and she casts a glance over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "What's up with you? You're quieter than usual."
Kuan doesn't answer immediately. His eyes dart around the passage, mind racing, but the walls all look the same. Too similar. His fingers twitch at his sides.
Jia's smirk falters. "You're not seriously—" She stops, turning fully to face him. "Wait a minute. Are we lost?"
He keeps walking, not meeting her gaze. His silence is answer enough.
"Are you kidding me?" she snaps, the half-joking tone dropping from her voice. She hurries to block his path, her face incredulous. "Tell me we're not lost!"
Kuan clenches his jaw, brushing past her. "We're not lost. I just need to think."
Jia stands frozen for a beat, then throws her hands in the air. "You don't know where we are, do you?" There's a thin edge of panic creeping into her voice now. "I knew this was a bad idea! Why did I trust some pampered boy who spends his days in silk robes and marble halls? You probably don't even know how to get back, let alone out!"
She spins on her heel, muttering angrily under her breath, and starts down a side tunnel. Kuan's heart skips—she's heading into the darkness, alone.
"Jia, stop!" he shouts, running after her. His footsteps slap against the slick stone floor as he catches up, grabbing her arm to pull her back. "Don't just run around blindly!"
She yanks her arm free with a sharp twist, eyes wide with fury. "Blindly? You're the one who doesn't know where we are! You've been walking in circles, pretending you know what you're doing when clearly, you don't!" Her voice rises, echoing off the walls.
Kuan stiffens. "I just need a moment to remember! You shouting isn't helping."
"Oh, you'll remember?" she scoffs, throwing his words back at him. "Like you suddenly remembered that we weren't supposed to be walking down here in the first place?"
"I wasn't supposed to be guiding some loudmouth who runs off at the first sign of trouble!" Kuan snaps, his patience thinning as fast as his confidence. "If you'd just stop panicking for one second—"
"I'm not panicking!" Jia's voice wavers just slightly, enough for Kuan to notice. "I'm just not stupid enough to stand around waiting to die in a sewer with you!"
Her words hit harder than he expects, a jolt of anger bubbling up in his chest. "You think running off will make it better? You don't even know which way you came from!"
"Neither do you!"
Kuan's hands ball into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. "If you'd just stop and let me think, I could figure it out!"
Jia glares at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Think? Fine! Go ahead, princeling, think us out of here!" She spreads her arms wide, mocking. "Maybe the sewer gods will bless you with some divine guidance while you're at it."
Kuan exhales sharply, eyes narrowing. "You don't have to be so damn dramatic."
Jia stares at him, incredulous. "Dramatic? We're lost in a sewer! There's rats, there's probably gods know what down here, and you're telling me not to be dramatic?"
Kuan takes a step closer, lowering his voice but keeping it sharp. "And screaming at me is going to fix that?"
For a moment, the air between them is thick, the tension palpable. Jia's breath comes in short, angry bursts, and Kuan feels his own heart hammering in his chest. Neither of them moves, the fight suspended in the charged silence. Finally, Jia breaks eye contact, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
"Fine," she mutters, voice thick with frustration. "You want to think? Think. But if you don't get us out of here soon, I'm finding my own way out."
Kuan glares at her, but he says nothing, turning away to face the dark, twisting tunnel ahead. His mind is racing now, pushing past the frustration, the anger. He will remember. He has to.
Hours stretch on in the oppressive darkness. The only sound is their footsteps echoing through the endless corridors of the sewers, and even that begins to feel like an illusion, as though they are walking in place, making no progress at all. Kuan keeps his eyes forward, trying to focus, but the endless turns and featureless walls blur together. His muscles ache, his feet heavy, and every now and then, he feels Jia glance at him, though neither of them says anything.
Finally, Jia stops. She doesn't announce it or make a scene. She just halts in the middle of the tunnel, breathing hard, and lowers herself onto a relatively clean patch of stone, leaning back against the damp wall. Her face is flushed, and her shoulders slump as she stares down at the floor.
"I'm done," she mutters. "If we die here, we die here."
Kuan looks back at her, wiping sweat from his brow, and exhales a long breath. He stands there for a moment, uncertainty flickering across his features before he finally sits down next to her, his own exhaustion too much to ignore.
"I don't know the way anymore," he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I don't remember how to get out."
Jia doesn't respond at first. She closes her eyes, resting her head against the wall, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at her lips. "I figured that much, genius."
Kuan lets out a sharp breath, feeling the frustration burn in his chest again. "You don't care, do you? You just… pretend everything's fine. Like none of this matters."
Jia opens one eye, her smirk fading. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He looks away, his gaze tracing the cracks in the stone. "It means you're acting like you can just laugh this off, like none of this is real. But we're lost in these sewers. You've been stuck as a maid, almost a prisoner, in a palace you hate, and now you're down here with an idiot who can't even find the way out. We might die down here, and you're pretending like it's nothing."
For a moment, Jia says nothing. The silence stretches between them, heavy, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance. Finally, she opens her eyes fully and looks at him, her expression unreadable. "Who says I'm pretending?"
Kuan turns to her, his face tight with frustration. "Because you're not fine! You're trapped and forced to serve people who couldn't care less if you lived or died. And now you're stuck here, and you might die in these disgusting, stinking sewers with me, someone you barely know." His voice lowers, sharper now. "And with your unborn child."
Jia stiffens, her eyes narrowing slightly. The weight of his words seems to sink in, but instead of anger, her face softens with something else—something closer to resignation. She looks away, her gaze distant. "I'm not pregnant," she says, her voice flat, almost emotionless. "That was a lie."
Kuan stares at her, blinking as the revelation settles over him. "A lie?"
Jia shrugs, her shoulders slumping. "It was the quickest way to get you to help me. You were so eager to play the hero, so I figured... why not give you a reason?"
He leans back, takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. Oddly, he feels a surge of relief, the tension in his chest loosening. "So, there's no child," he mutters. "Good. For a moment, I thought… well, a maid being pregnant in the imperial palace only means that the emperor's done something immoral."
Jia snorts softly, shaking her head. "Immoral?" She looks at him, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "There's nothing moral in this world. Morality is just something the powerful like your kind make up to keep weak and poor people like me in line."
Kuan frowns, glancing at her. "You don't believe in right and wrong?"
Jia chuckles, though there's no humor in it. "I believe in survival. I believe in doing whatever it takes to get by. That's the only truth I know."
He's silent for a moment, mulling over her words. The darkness of the sewers seems to press in around them, the air thick and suffocating. "My master… My father taught me the way of the virtuous. But if there's no right or wrong, what's the point? What's the point of anything?"
Jia tilts her head, staring at the dark ceiling of the tunnel. "The point? There isn't one. Life doesn't give you some grand purpose or destiny. We're all just trying to make it through each day without getting crushed."
Kuan exhales slowly, his mind turning over her words. "But… what if you want something more than just survival? What if you want meaning?"
She turns her head to look at him, her gaze softer now, almost pitying. "Meaning? You think there's some grand meaning waiting for you out there, princeling? Look at us." She gestures around, to the muck and filth surrounding them. "This is reality. It's dirty, and it's unfair, and it doesn't care about your ideas of right and wrong. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll stop being so anxious about everything."
Kuan frowns, his fingers curling into his palms. "So, what? You're saying I should just give up on… on wanting more?"
Jia shakes her head, a small, sad smile pulling at her lips. "No, not give up. Just stop holding onto things that make you miserable. That's what keeps you tied down, princeling. The more you cling to what you think is right, to what you should do, the more you'll be suffocated by it."
He furrows his brow, not entirely sure he understands. "But… how do you live like that? Without wanting anything?"
She leans back again, closing her eyes, her voice quiet. "It's not about not wanting. It's about letting go of the idea that you need to have it. You can want things, sure. But if you're always chasing after something—power, meaning, approval—then you're never free. You're just another prisoner, like me in that palace. The only difference is you put the chains on yourself."
Kuan looks down, the weight of her words sinking into him. The endless quest for approval from Hunan, the constant competition with Yile, the pressure to prove himself—it all feels like a noose tightening around his neck.
Jia's voice cuts through the silence again, softer now. "The trick is, princeling, to stop caring so much about what's out of your control. If you can laugh in a sewer, if you can find peace in the middle of this filth, then maybe you'll figure out how to stop letting it crush you."
Kuan stares ahead into the darkness, feeling the weight of the truth in her words. "But what if I don't know how?"
Jia opens her eyes, glancing at him. "You fake it," she says simply. "You pretend it's all a joke. You laugh at the world, at yourself, and one day, you realize it's not an act anymore. You've let go. You're like a fox that got kicked out of its den, Kuan. You just need to realize your den is wherever you want it to be."
For a long moment, they sit in silence, the slow drip of water the only sound around them. Kuan leans his head back against the wall, exhaling quietly. He closes his eyes and, for the first time in what feels like years, he tries to stop caring.
Maybe Jia is right. Maybe it's the only way out.
The first light of day filters through the iron grates above, thin beams cutting through the lingering darkness of the sewers. Kuan blinks as he looks up, the soft glow pulling him from the heavy weight of his thoughts. He pushes himself to his feet, shaking the stiffness from his legs. The air is still thick with the damp, musty stench, but the sight of daylight brings a strange sense of relief.
He glances down at Jia, who sits quietly against the wall, her head resting back as if she's in no hurry to move. Without a word, he offers her his hand.
Jia looks at him, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "You finally get your memory back, princeling?" she asks, her tone teasing but tired.
Kuan only nods, his expression calm. He points up at the thin streaks of sunlight breaking through the sewer grates. "The sun rises in the east," he explains quietly. "We can use the shadows to find our way."
Jia stares at him for a moment, then chuckles softly as she takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet. "Well, aren't you clever?" she mutters, brushing off her robes. "Lead the way, oh brilliant one."
They walk in silence for a while, Kuan's eyes tracking the light and its angles on the tunnel walls. The air feels different now, less suffocating, as though the possibility of escape is enough to breathe easier. Jia follows him, her steps quieter now, her usual biting remarks softened by fatigue.
After some time, they reach a heavy door embedded into the stone. It's old, rust clinging to its iron frame, but Kuan steps forward and braces his hands against it. He pushes with all his strength. The door groans in protest, but eventually, it shifts, swinging open just enough to let the sunlight flood in.
The sudden brightness burns his eyes, and Kuan squints, instinctively raising a hand to shield himself. The fresh air hits him next, crisp and pure compared to the foul stench they've endured. He inhales deeply, savoring the clean scent of earth and open sky. For a moment, everything feels still.
Then a hand grabs him roughly by the shoulder and yanks him forward.
He stumbles, the world around him a blur of sound and motion. Jia's scream cuts through the confusion, sharp and panicked, and the noise around them explodes into a cacophony of angry voices. Kuan's vision clears slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light, and he realizes they've stepped into chaos.
An angry mob surrounds them—peasants, their clothes tattered, faces grim and hardened by fury. They shout, brandishing makeshift weapons—sticks, rusted farming tools, anything they can find. Their voices merge into a furious roar, the kind that comes from desperation and anger left to fester for too long.
"Where did you come from?" one man barks, his face twisted in suspicion as he steps forward, eyes narrowing at Kuan and Jia. Others push closer, circling them like predators cornering prey.
Kuan opens his mouth, trying to form some kind of answer, but his voice catches in his throat. The mob's eyes scan him and Jia, flicking over their clothing, taking in the imperial markings on their robes.
"They come from within," someone mutters, and the crowd stiffens.
"There's a way to the imperial city from the sewers!" another man shouts, his voice swelling with excitement and fury. "That's how they keep us down!"
The mob erupts in agreement, the tension mounting as their focus sharpens on Kuan and Jia. Hands grab at them, rough and unrelenting. Kuan tries to pull away, but there are too many. The shouts grow louder, voices calling for blood.
"They'll guide us!" one man yells, stepping forward with a wild grin. "Take us to the city!"
Before Kuan can say anything, Jia moves. She's a blur of motion—her fist connects with the nearest man's face, the crack of bone echoing through the air. He stumbles back with a groan, clutching his nose, but before anyone can react, Jia spins and drives her knee into another man's groin. He doubles over, gasping in pain.
"Run!" Jia shouts, grabbing Kuan's wrist and pulling him forward. They tear through the mob, their feet pounding against the ground as they dodge swinging fists and weapons. The crowd is slower to react, still caught off guard by Jia's sudden attack, but soon enough, they're giving chase.
Kuan's heart pounds in his chest as they sprint through the open field, the shouts of the mob ringing in his ears. He can hear the heavy footsteps closing in behind them, the sound of bodies crashing through the underbrush. Jia's grip on his wrist is firm, pulling him forward, urging him to keep going.
But they're not fast enough.
A hand snatches the back of Kuan's collar, yanking him to the ground. He falls hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasps, his vision swimming as he tries to push himself up, but rough hands are already on him, dragging him to his feet.
Jia is caught next. They pull her away from him, her furious thrashing doing little to stop the mob from closing in around her. Her wild eyes lock onto Kuan's for a brief, panicked moment.
"He's valuable!" someone shouts, pointing at Kuan. "He's a eunuch's child! We'll use him as a hostage!"
"And the girl?" another voice asks, colder.
"She's just a maid, and too unstable," one of the men sneers. "She's no use. Kill her. Show them what we think of their precious empire."
Kuan's stomach drops. "No," he chokes out, struggling against the hands holding him. "No! Leave her—"
But it's too late.
A sharp, brutal sound fills the air—a sickening thud, followed by a gasp. Jia crumples to the ground, her body limp, blood pooling beneath her. Her wide eyes remain open, staring ahead, as if still searching for an escape.
Kuan's heart stops. He stares, his mind blank, unable to process what's just happened. Jia, the girl who had fought so fiercely, who had mocked the world with her defiance, now lies still in the dirt, lifeless.
The mob roars its approval, their victory cries filling the air, but Kuan doesn't hear them. His gaze is fixed on Jia's body, on the blood, on the stillness. Something inside him cracks—something deep and fragile, held together by years of control and expectation.
And then… he laughs.
At first, it's just a quiet chuckle, barely audible over the noise. But it grows, bubbling up from his chest, spilling out in sharp, broken bursts. The sound cuts through the chaos around him, drawing confused glances from the mob, but Kuan can't stop. His laughter rises, loud and unhinged, echoing through the clearing.
It's the kind of laugh that sounds more like a howl. The kind that doesn't care about rules or consequences. The kind that mocks everything—the empire, the peasants, the filth they had crawled through, the cruelty of it all.
Kuan's laughter fills the air, sharp and wild, like the cry of a fox.
And in that moment, nothing else matters.