A Question Only He Can Answer
By the time Yiling reached home, the sun had started dipping toward the horizon, casting golden hues over the small courtyard. The scent of freshly dug earth and the faint hint of lingering smoke from a neighbor's cooking fire filled the air.
The moment she stepped inside, two small figures tackled her legs.
"Mama! You're back!" Zhi clung to her side, his wide eyes immediately darting to the basket in her hands. Yun'er, standing slightly behind, sniffed the air like a little fox.
"Meat?" she whispered, as if saying it too loudly might make it disappear.
Yiling grinned, setting the basket down. "Not just meat—pork belly, ribs, and lard."
The children gasped dramatically.
"We're eating like landlords tonight!" Zhi declared, grabbing Yun'er's hands and spinning her in a little victory dance.
Yiling chuckled. "Only if you help me cook. No free meals in this house."
Zhi gave an exaggerated salute. "Yes, Comrade Mother!"
Yun'er, meanwhile, had zero interest in work. She had already spotted the small bundle of candied hawthorn sticks peeking out from the basket. Her little hands snatched them up with the speed of a trained pickpocket.
Yiling raised an eyebrow. "And what do we say when we take something?"
Yun'er hesitated for a fraction of a second before flashing a radiant smile. "Thank you, Mama!"
"...That's not what I meant."
But the girl had already stuffed one of the sweets into her mouth, happily chewing away.
Yiling shook her head, amused. They had spent too many days in fear—it was good to see them acting like children again.
Dinner that night was a celebration.
Zhi helped stir the broth, Yun'er attempted (and mostly failed) to shape dumplings, and Yiling turned the pork belly into crispy, golden bites of heaven. The little house, usually weighed down by worry, was now filled with laughter and the rich aroma of cooking meat.
For a little while, Yiling allowed herself to enjoy it.
But as the meal wound down, and the children began nodding off, her mind returned to the looming mystery.
That man—her supposed husband—what had he meant by his words that night?
What was The Echo?
And more importantly—how could she be sure which man was real?
Yiling tucked the children into bed, stroking their hair gently. As she turned to leave, Zhi's sleepy voice mumbled, "Mama, you'll protect us, right?"
A pang hit her chest.
"Always," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
That night, Yiling sat by the dim lantern light, rehearsing.
She needed a test.
Something personal. Something the real Lu Jianhong would know.
Then it came to her.
The night of their wedding, under the full moon, he had whispered something in her ear. A secret. One that had made her laugh.
"You'll never believe what I hid in my wedding robes."
That was the question.
She repeated it under her breath, over and over, until the lantern flickered low.
Tomorrow, she would ask him.
And one way or another, she would know the truth.