Yīngtáo's legs trembled as she walked along the dimly lit row of prison cells. Each step echoed in the silence, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her palms were damp with sweat as she clutched the bronze handle of the oil lamp, its flame flickering against the cold stone walls. She was here to find him.
Two guards stood watch at the cell, spears crossed before the iron bars. Within, the chamber was unsettlingly spacious—far too neat for a traitor. For the man inside had slaughtered her family, one by one. The screams still haunted her, echoing against her ribs.
A frail figure sat hunched in the shadows, a dying candle beside him guttering at the brink of extinguishing. When Yīngtáo's lamplight touched his face, she could see him clearly: long, matted hair, cracked lips, hollow cheeks, and brown eyes that clung to hers in silence.
Revulsion surged through her. She nearly turned to leave, but she had come here for one purpose—to let go. Not to forgive, never that, but to understand. Why?
"B..." The man's cracked voice broke the silence.
Yīngtáo recoiled. Her chest tightened, her instincts told her to flee. But she forced herself to stay. She already knew why he betrayed her. His cowardice, his selfishness, his excuses—every man has a choice, and he had made his.
"It is Nǚwáng to you," she said coldly. "Even if such formalities are abolished, to a prisoner I remain the Queen."
The man rose unsteadily, each step dragging chains across the floor.
"I... am sorry," he rasped. "I regret everything... I am a joke... I don't deserve you, I don't even deserve your presence."
"Stop!" Yīngtáo's voice cracked like a whip, heavy with disgust.
The man collapsed to his knees before her, tears streaking through the grime on his cheeks.
"Kill me," he begged, bowing low. "Just kill me, please!"
Yīngtáo's breath faltered. She had come seeking answers, but here he was—still selfish, still weak—pleading for death as though it would ease her burden. If she killed him, would that not chain her to his memory forever? Or perhaps... perhaps ending him would finally sever the last thread to her past.
Her decision hardened.
"Come closer then," she ordered. She gestured to the guards, who handed her a bow and a single arrow. Lowering her lamp, she raised the weapon, the string pulling taut. The arrow's tip gleamed, fixed upon his brow.
"Any last words?" she asked.
The man only closed his eyes, lips trembling, as though welcoming the strike.
Yīngtáo exhaled, her fingers releasing the string. The arrow hissed through the air and struck—not his flesh, but the wall behind him. He collapsed, trembling, expecting death that did not come.
"Hold your breath," Yīngtáo said flatly, returning the bow to the guards. "It would make dying easier." She retrieved her lamp and walked away, leaving him shivering in silence.
⸻
Later, Yīngtáo sat in her courtyard, the lamp's flame gone, replaced by a suffocating darkness in her thoughts. She pressed her palms to her face, but the shadows clung to her like a second skin. When she had raised the bow earlier, she had seen not just a man—but a shadow standing behind him, faceless, haunting. Even killing him would never free her.
"Jiějiě!"
Her brother Mùchén's voice pierced the silence. He came running, his eyes bright with excitement.
"Jiějiě, look what I found!" He opened his small hand, revealing a single cherry blossom flower, pale and perfect.
Her breath caught.
"Many trees have withered, not one has bloomed in years," Mùchén said with wonder. "But I found this in the woods, past the village. There's a great tree on a hill—it's massive, and covered with blossoms. The petals were so pink, like sunrise..."
He trailed off when he saw tears brimming in her eyes.
"Jiějiě, are you all right?"
"Yes," Yīngtáo said, quickly wiping her cheeks. "Yes, I'm fine. Perhaps the flower will bring you luck in sword training today." She forced a smile.
Mùchén grinned, but then his voice grew softer. "I also found an old zither in the quarters... may I keep it?"
Yīngtáo froze. The zither. The one she had forbidden anyone to touch.
"It belonged to a friend," she said after a pause. "I'll think about it."
Mùchén nodded and ran off, leaving the flower in her palm. Yīngtáo gazed at it for what felt like eternity. Memories pressed down like stones—the tree she forced herself to forget, the zither painted with blossoms of her own hand, the weight of power she could never control.
⸻
The carriage rattled through the streets. From her window, Yīngtáo saw life blooming again in the city—plums stacked in baskets, sweet aromas drifting through the market, children laughing. It pleased her that the people prospered, that her reign had ended years of hunger.
Yet her heart remained heavy.
When the carriage halted, she stepped down with the zither in her arms and dismissed the guards. Alone, she walked the familiar forest path. Every tree, every bend of the trail was etched in her memory since childhood.
At last she reached the hill.
There it stood—the cherry blossom tree, larger than life, glowing in sunlight, its branches heavy with soft, falling petals. The wind carried their fragrance like a forgotten song. Yīngtáo placed her palm upon the bark, rough and warm, and tears stung her eyes.
She set down the zither and knelt beneath the tree. The strings were stiff with age, but she plucked one, and its note shivered across the hillside. Birds startled into flight, and then all was still. She struck another string, and though it was off-key, she pressed on.
A melody arose—A Solemn Heart—a song once danced to in joy, but now transformed into grief and remembrance. The wind joined her in harmony, carrying her music beyond the hill, while tears fell freely down her cheeks.
Her mother's words whispered in her mind: Let go, and connect with your world.
Yīngtáo closed her eyes, and the world dissolved. A brilliant light surged before her, brighter than any dream. She ran toward it, lifting her hanfu, expecting it to flee—but it did not. She touched it. It was cold, like snow, yet radiant like the sun.
Suddenly she was before her mother's chamber. She sat in meditation, serene, eyes closed.
"You did it," her mother's voice said softly.
Yīngtáo startled. "This feels like a dream."
"No. Dreams are wild and uncontrolled. What you have touched is formed from will and energy. It is heavier... more draining than a dream."
Her voice echoed like thought.
"What now?"
"To change fate, you must pass one more state: the state of the soul. The body is appearance; the soul is truth."
Yīngtáo frowned. "What do you mean? How does one reach it?"
Her mother only smiled sadly. "To touch the soul, to break through space and time, comes at a cost. Have you seen the origin?"
"The origin?"
"The source of all seers, of our bloodline. There, you will face the gift and the horror of our talent."
Yīngtáo fell silent.
"To change fate," her mother whispered, "find Jīnhuá. But remember—your present cannot change your past. Only your past self can alter the path that leads here. Every choice will have consequences."
Yīngtáo's chest tightened. "You speak as though you've done this before... What was your consequence?"
Her mother's eyes opened slowly, glistening. "Losing you. Losing everything."
Her voice cracked into a scream, her body convulsing as porcelain cups shattered around her. A servant rushed in, passing straight through Yīngtáo as though she were a phantom, trying to calm the queen's fit.
"My name... is Yunjuan!" her mother shrieked, writhing. "I couldn't stop fate! The cycle continues... again... and again..."
Yīngtáo reached out, but her body grew weightless. The room dissolved into shadow and light.
When she opened her eyes again, she stood in a field of sunflowers. Two children ran through the blossoms, laughing in the sunlight.
"You're too slow, Longxuě!" a girl with wavy brown hair called, no older than sixteen. She stopped beside Yīngtáo, shielding her eyes against the sun.
A boy, broad-shouldered, sprinted after her, laughing.
"You should be getting home, my prince," the girl teased.
The boy caught her hand, breathless but grinning. He plucked a cherry blossom from his sleeve and tucked it into her hair.
"Caught you," he said softly. "Now... will you be my betrothed, Jīnhuá?"