The procession followed its path, leaving the massive gates of the imperial palace and entering the streets of Yunlan. The city of Yong'an, always vibrant with the sounds of conversations and life, slowly fell silent, as if the very land itself felt the pain that lingered in the air. A murmur spread through the narrow alleys, and without the need for explanations, the people recognized the deposed prince; their gazes fixed on his face, laden with sorrow.
Lin Ziyu walked with hunched shoulders, his expression weary, as if the weight of the world had been placed upon him. Each step seemed heavier than the last, and the shadow of pain was etched on his face, like a tragic painting sculpted by fate.
Beside him, a maid lifted the wooden board on which the sentence that would break the silence of the crowd was engraved. Her voice, though hoarse, cut through the stillness with an unusual force, reverberating through the stone and wooden houses that lined the street.
"Liu Yunxiao, a noble concubine, whose name rose like a beacon across the empire, may have fallen from grace. Her body, now returned to dust, may be forgotten by the powerful", she said, her voice firm.
She paused, her penetrating gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The crowd watched her in silence, and something deep within the maid's words began to resonate in their hearts.
"But her voice... her voice will never be silenced. It will echo in the mountains, the rivers, and the rice fields. It will live in the hearts of those she saved, in the eyes of those she taught to fight for a better future. Those who dared betray her, those who cast her into oblivion... one day, they will pay for it."
The maid did not hesitate to look at the faces of the crowd, which now stirred, moving like a river of mixed currents of anger and lament. Lin Ziyu's eyes were fixed ahead, as if the weight of it all prevented him from looking back. He continued forward, wordlessly, and his entourage followed.
The journey seemed endless, with the footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the city. But Lin Ziyu did not feel fatigue. His feet knew that path as well as they knew the palace corridors, where he had often lost himself in thoughts of love and loss.
They crossed narrow, rocky paths where the roots of ancient trees seemed to hold the soil with an invisible strength, and fallen stones marked the memory of a difficult journey. But when they finally reached the top of the highest mountain in Yong'an, the sight that awaited them was a beautiful landscape etched in the prince's soul, like a memory that would never fade.
A massive maple tree stood before them, its vast, twisted branches stretching like arms, casting a serene shadow over the land. The leaves, tinged with a deep red, swayed gently in the breeze, some falling and floating through the air, like small fragments of blood carried by the wind. And just beneath it, untouched by time, rested a dark wooden lounge chair.
Liu Yunxiao used to come to this mountain when she still had freedom within the Forbidden City. Here, far from the watchful eyes of the court, she could breathe without the fear of being crushed by the torturous gossip of the other concubines and ministers, and without the need to hide who she truly was.
Nothing had changed.
Not the lounge chair, not the tree, nor the stillness of that place. Only time had passed — one hundred years, four months, and five days, to be exact — taking with it her mother and everything she had represented. Liu Yunxiao's grave had been dug there, near the deep roots of the maple tree, as if the tree were destined to protect her for all eternity.
Lin Ziyu slowly approached, and without needing to hear his orders, the servants stepped back, leaving him alone on the mountain.
He knelt before the grave, his knees sinking slightly into the soft earth. Then, he took an incense stick from the case that one of the servants had brought and lit it, raising it between his fingers as the bitter and comforting aroma spread through the air. With his back straight and his head slightly bowed, Lin Ziyu began the reverences, following the ancient ritual that children owed to their deceased parents.
First, he raised his hands with the incense, bringing it to his forehead in a gesture of absolute respect. He inhaled deeply, allowing the smell of the smoke to fill his lungs. Then, he bent forward until his forehead touched the ground before the grave. He slowly rose, taking his time, allowing each movement to carry the weight of his devotion. Once again, he lifted the incense and bowed.
The third and final time was slower; he held his breath as his forehead pressed against the cold earth of the mountain. He stayed there for a moment, his eyes closed, as if trying to hear a response that would never come. The incense smoke rose in thin spirals, dancing in the breeze, carrying his prayer wherever the souls of the dead rested.
Lin Ziyu remained kneeling for a long time after that. He did not cry. He did not speak. He just stayed there, feeling the silent presence of the earth beneath him. Finally, he rose from the ground, walked to the lounge chair, and sat down, allowing himself to sink into the old wooden seat his mother had used so many times.
Lin Ziyu rested his arms on the chair's armrests, and his gaze was lost in the infinite vastness of the sky. He just wanted to forget, for a moment, that he had been through hell on earth and survived. Yet, his mind was still trapped in a maze of memories. He thought of his mother's gentle laughter, the melancholy gleam in her eyes when she spoke of a distant past he was never allowed to know.
And then, amidst his silence, he felt a familiar presence. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but undeniable. A slight shift in the air, a whisper among the trees, a lingering gaze fixed on his back. It wasn't a vague premonition, but a certainty: he was not alone.
Lin Ziyu did not move immediately. He showed no surprise or unease. He just let the wind touch his face for a moment before, in a low, controlled voice, murmuring:
"Your Highness", he said, with a broken sigh.
From between the trees, a figure finally emerged. From the shadows of the forest, Wang Lin stepped out with the natural ease of someone who had expected to be discovered. His steps flowed silently over the soft grass, and his sharp eyes studied every detail of Lin Ziyu's posture. He wore his usual golden-toned clothes, slightly dusted by the journey, and his expression bore an inscrutable look, a balance between caution and concern.
The wind blew again, scattering countless dry leaves across the ground and rustling the folds of his hanfu. Wang Lin remained silent for a moment, respecting Lin Ziyu's space, waiting for him to speak first. But the prince seemed unwilling to fill that void with words. He merely closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply, and without shifting his gaze from the horizon, murmured once more:
"Danxia, you may come closer, I won't bite you", Lin Ziyu curved a tired smile on his lips, trying to appear more controlled.
The silence between them stretched, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of a lone cicada. The incense was still burning, its bitter-sweet aroma mixing with the scent of damp earth.
Lin Ziyu kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if the words that needed to be spoken were hidden beyond the mountains. Wang Lin, on his part, remained motionless, observing him patiently. He already knew his hesitations.
"Will you stay in the imperial palace?", Wang Lin's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, without hesitation, without delay.
Lin Ziyu closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the fresh mountain air. And then, he said:
"No."
Wang Lin was not surprised, but he felt the weight of that single word settle on him like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake. Before he could ask more, Lin Ziyu continued, his expression remaining unchanged.
"I planned to leave here with my mother. She wanted to see the cherry blossoms bloom in Yunzhou, hear the monks singing in Beilan, walk through the rice fields in Xuezhou...", A brief dry laugh escaped his lips. "But, in the end, she died here."
A shadow of an undefined feeling passed through Wang Lin's eyes.
"Then, what will you do now?"
Lin Ziyu looked at his own hands, as if the answer was in them.
"Find a place in the martial world where I can feel renewed. There's nothing left for me here. I see no reason to stay under the influence of the empress or Zhao Xuanyuan."
Wang Lin felt something break inside of him. The invisible thread that had connected them for so many years was now so fragile that it was about to snap. Lin Ziyu had always been a constant in his life, even in the most distant moments, even when they didn't exchange words. Now, that constant was dissolving before him, like smoke in the wind.
For a moment, he thought of saying something, of contesting, of convincing him to stay — but it was already too late for that. It was too late for many things. Expressionless, Wang Lin slid a small storage pouch from the sleeve of his hanfu and, without ceremony, threw it to Lin Ziyu. The prince caught it easily in the air, holding it in the palm of his hand, but without looking directly at Wang Lin.
"What is this?", he asked, confused.
"Your clothes, some supplies, and enough money for you to find a decent place to sleep", Wang Lin crossed his arms, turning his gaze to the tomb of Liu Yunxiao. "I won't allow you to suffer out there. As for your servants, I will certainly protect them."
Lin Ziyu fell silent for a moment before nodding slowly.
"Thank you."
He slid the storage bag into the sleeve of his lingfu, keeping his movements calm and controlled, but Wang Lin noticed that his hands were slightly tense.
"And then?" Wang Lin asked, finally. "What do you plan to do out there?"
Lin Ziyu tilted his head back, letting the wind tousle his hair. His expression softened, but there was no relief in it, only an unpleasant weariness.
"Find someone from the past," he said.
"Who?" Wang Lin raised an eyebrow. He already knew the name of that person, but he wanted to be sure.
Lin Ziyu hesitated before answering, as if debating whether or not to share his thought.
"I've waited for a hundred years..." he finally said, his voice sounding like a confession. "But that person never appeared."
Wang Lin did not ask anything further. The silence that followed was neither comfortable nor oppressive; it was simply inevitable. Lin Ziyu remained in the recliner for a while longer, while Wang Lin walked away slowly, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. He no longer wanted to stay there after hearing the mention of that boy named Huang Wuxin.
On that cold autumn morning, the mountains witnessed the end of something that perhaps had never truly begun.
To be continued...