The messenger stood motionless beneath the gnarled tree, its bare branches reaching toward the stormy sky like skeletal fingers. Rain pelted his hunched figure, soaking his clothes and blurring the ink on the imperial decree he clutched in trembling hands. The parchment was now a ruined, sodden mess, its disarray mirroring the man's own state—diminished, fragile, and purposeless.
The world around him was a canvas of gray and despair. The road had vanished beneath a sea of mud, and the icy wind lashed at his face, cutting through his soaked garments. He exhaled heavily, his breath a laborious effort, and allowed his shoulders to slump under the weight of his humiliation.
Then, a sound disrupted the monotonous rhythm of the storm—soft, deliberate footsteps. Barely audible over the rain, they nonetheless sent a jolt through the messenger. His head snapped up, his eyes darting around in search of the source.
Through the rain, a figure emerged. Cloaked in a dark mantle that shimmered under the downpour, the person moved with unnerving calm, each step precise and deliberate. The hood obscured their face, heightening the air of mystery.
The messenger instinctively stepped back, clutching the ruined decree to his chest as if it were a shield. His voice trembled as he called out.
Messenger: "Who are you?"
The figure stopped a few paces away, and the faint curve of a smile became visible beneath the shadow of the hood.
Mysterious Woman: "It seems the rain isn't on your side today, my friend." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, yet it carried an undertone that made the messenger's skin prickle.
He tried to compose himself, but the unease in her presence was palpable. He took another step back, his boots sinking into the unstable ground.
Messenger: "What do you want?"
With deliberate slowness, the figure raised her hands and pulled back the hood. The face that emerged was striking—delicate features framed by wet, dark hair. But it was her eyes that unnerved him. They were deep, almost too deep, as if they could see straight into his soul.
Mysterious Woman: "I'm no one important, just someone passing through." She tilted her head slightly, her gaze studying him with unsettling intensity. "But you seem to be carrying quite the burden."
The messenger looked away, unable to hold her gaze. He fumbled for words, but her presence and the storm made it difficult to focus. Finally, he thrust the ruined decree forward, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
Messenger: "It's a burden of rejection. Mr. Jun refused as well."
Her expression shifted subtly, a glimmer of interest sparking in her dark eyes. She crossed her arms, her smile sharpening into something predatory.
Mysterious Woman: "Mr. Jun, you say? The same Mr. Jun who lives in the mansion atop the hill?"
The messenger nodded, his gaze fixed on the muddy ground. Rain streamed down his face, mingling with tears of frustration and despair.
Messenger: "Yes, the same. He refuses to accept the marriage proposal. There's no hope." His voice carried a bitter tone, tinged with a resignation that seemed to echo the relentlessness of the storm.
The woman turned her gaze toward the distant silhouette of Jun Mansion, barely visible through the layers of rain. For a moment, she said nothing, her expression contemplative.
Mysterious Woman: "Interesting... They say Mr. Jun is a solitary man. Perhaps there's a reason behind his refusals." Her tone was soft, almost a whisper, but carried a conviction that suggested she already knew the answer.
The messenger remained silent, standing like a broken statue beneath the tree. The woman, however, seemed invigorated by the exchange. Her eyes gleamed with a curiosity that unsettled him.
The storm raged around them, but for the messenger, time seemed to have stopped. The woman's presence was like a force separate from the rain, the mud, or the wind—a force that demanded attention.
With a frustrated sigh, the messenger crossed his arms. The rain, which seemed to intensify with every passing second, had soaked him to the bone, and the cold was seeping into his muscles. He kicked a half-buried stone in the mud, watching it fall with a dull splash.
Messenger: "Perhaps, but that doesn't help me." His voice was filled with bitterness.
The woman's enigmatic smile deepened as she observed him. Her gaze fell upon the ruined decree in his hands, and her expression shifted, as though an idea had just taken root in her mind.
Mysterious Woman: "What if I told you I could help you deliver this proposal to Mr. Jun?"
The messenger blinked, startled. He took another step back, his distrust evident. There was something about her—perhaps the glint of cunning in her eyes or the calm way she seemed immune to the storm—that unsettled him.
Messenger: "Why would you do that? What's in it for you?"
The woman's smile never faltered. She took a slow step closer, her movements deliberate, as though each gesture were part of a carefully choreographed dance.
Mysterious Woman: "Let's just say I have an interest in Mr. Jun's decisions." Her voice was soft, but it was impossible to miss the dark undertone.
The messenger clutched the ruined parchment tighter, his instincts screaming at him to run. Yet his exhaustion and the sheer strangeness of the situation rooted him to the spot.
Messenger: "I don't trust you."
The woman laughed softly, the sound light but filled with mockery.
Mysterious Woman: "Trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it? But think of this as an opportunity. After all, you've already failed. What harm could a little help do now?"
Her words cut deep, and the messenger's face twisted with indignation. Yet beneath his frustration, he felt the weight of her logic. He had failed. What harm could her interference bring?
Still, there was something about her that felt... wrong.