The armored carriage had been cutting through the dark road for hours. Inside the passenger compartment, the two sisters were asleep. On the driver's seat, Zhì Yuǎn guided the beasts without rest, the black hat protecting his face from the cold early morning wind.
The sky had been cloudy and heavy since dawn. Thick gray clouds covered the horizon, and a column of black smoke rose from the village, making the sunrise even gloomier. Zhì Yuǎn pulled on the reins. The beasts' hooves skidded on the dirt and the wheels came to a stop.
The smell arrived first.
Even from a distance, the wind carried a dense, nauseating odor of burnt flesh, charred wood, and something sickeningly sweet that clung to the throat. Zhì Yuǎn raised his face and looked down at the valley below.
Qīngshān was in flames.
Where the houses, alleys, and central courtyard once stood, there were now only smoking craters and twisted black beams. The fire still ran through the dry rice fields while thick clouds of black smoke rose endlessly from the center of the village, blocking what remained of the rising sun and scattering ash through the air.
Zhì Yuǎn stared for a few seconds. Then he stepped down from the driver's seat.
He opened the heavy carriage door and climbed inside. Yù Qíng was already awake, sitting on the cushioned seat. Yù Méi woke up the moment the door opened, still groggy from sleep.
— What happened? — Yù Qíng asked, her voice low and tense.
Zhì Yuǎn didn't answer. He simply extended his hand and helped the two of them down.
When Yù Méi stepped onto the ground and looked at the valley, her body froze. Her knees gave out. She fell sitting onto the gravel, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
— No… — the whisper came out hoarse from her throat.
Yù Qíng stood beside her sister, her face pale and motionless. Her black eyes swept across the craters, the destroyed houses, and the rising smoke. She said nothing. She only clenched her fists tightly.
Zhì Yuǎn crouched beside Yù Méi. He slipped one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting the teenager with ease. He placed her back on the driver's seat, next to the coachman's bench. Yù Qíng climbed up right after and sat on her other side.
— Stay here — he said, his voice low and calm.
Yù Qíng climbed up after him, sitting beside her sister. Zhì Yuǎn returned to the driver's position, took the reins, and snapped them. The beasts snorted and the carriage began descending the slope, plunging back into the ashes of Qīngshān.
The wheels of the carriage crushed the loose earth of the slope as the Mobile Palace descended toward the valley.
The path leading to Qīngshān had turned into an open-air cemetery. The draft beasts avoided charred, curled bodies on the ground. At the doors of destroyed houses, elderly villagers lay with their skulls caved in or sliced in half by sword strikes.
On the driver's seat, Zhì Yuǎn guided in silence. His dark eyes scanned the destruction beneath the brim of his black hat.
Beside him, Yù Qíng had turned deathly pale. Her black eyes widened as she recognized the disfigured faces of girls she had grown up with in the village, now reduced to pieces of meat thrown into the gutter.
Sitting on the driver's seat between the two, Yù Méi couldn't take it. The strong smell of cooked blood and dust invaded the teenager's throat. She leaned forward and vomited bile directly onto the ground.
She coughed, gasping for air. Every familiar face destroyed on the street was a punch to the stomach. Her hands trembled. Her eyes filled with tears she couldn't hold back.
The carriage rounded the final curve and stopped.
The heart of the destruction rose before them. The main house, where the two sisters had been born, was still burning. The thick oak beams in the courtyard cracked under the flames. The heat from the giant bonfire hit the driver's seat head-on, drying the sweat on the three faces at once.
Zhì Yuǎn stepped down from the driver's seat and raised his arms, helping Yù Qíng and Yù Méi descend from the carriage. The air in the courtyard reeked of iron, dust, and burnt flesh.
Ten steps from the ruined staircase, the bodies lay scattered on the ground.
Yù Chéng had been sliced in half. A clean sword strike had torn through his chest from the left shoulder down to his waist. Just behind him, crushed beneath a thick beam from the ceiling that was still on fire, Sū Huì lay charred. In the corner of the veranda, the old grandmother lay slumped on the wooden bench, her chest pierced by a splinter of oak.
Yù Qíng stopped. Her black eyes moved across the three bodies. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply stood there for a few seconds, her face completely white. Then she slowly turned and pressed her forehead against Zhì Yuǎn's chest, hiding her face against his tunic. Her hands gripped the fabric tightly.
Yù Méi ran past them.
The youngest ran until she stopped near the veranda. When she saw the bodies, she froze. A low, broken sound escaped her throat.
— No… — she murmured, her voice failing. — No, no…
She took another step and saw her father's face. Her entire body trembled.
Her knees gave out. She fell to her knees on the warm gravel. With both trembling hands, she tore the veil from her face and threw it to the ground.
— Father?! Mother! — the scream tore from her throat, sharp and desperate.
She stayed there, sobbing uncontrollably, until the screams turned into nothing but hoarse gasps against the ground.
— Why… — her voice came out hoarse, almost without strength.
Her crying faded until only low, exhausted sobs remained.
Zhì Yuǎn remained silent, supporting Yù Qíng against his chest. When Yù Méi's sobs finally lost their force, he released his wife and walked over to the youngest. His boot crushed the embers in his path.
He stopped beside her and squeezed the girl's trembling shoulder.
— That's enough, Méi — he said, his voice low and steady. — Get up. We need to move them.
Without waiting for a response, Zhì Yuǎn walked over to the rubble of the veranda. He slid both hands beneath the oak beam that was still burning on top of Sū Huì's body. The fire hissed as it touched his skin, but left no mark. With a sharp jolt, he lifted the heavy log and tossed it aside. The impact raised a cloud of smoke and sparks.
Yù Qíng worked in silence.
She entered the ruins of the house and, using intact linen sheets and freshly cut bamboo poles, improvised three crude stretchers. Together, she and Zhì Yuǎn placed the bodies of Yù Chéng, Sū Huì, and the old matriarch onto the cloths and dragged them away from the scorched earth until they reached the cool shade of the great bamboo grove to the south.
Zhì Yuǎn released the stretcher and turned his face toward the rocky slope that bordered the valley.
He walked over to it, brought his right thumb and index finger together. A thin thread of Primordial Qi rose to his fingertips. The energy condensed, forming an invisible and sharp blade.
Zhì Yuǎn brought his arm down.
The blade cut through the solid granite with ease. He extracted three heavy rectangular blocks directly from the mountain. Then, with the same finger, he carved the names of Yù Chéng, Sū Huì, and the matriarch onto the smooth surfaces of the stones, along with the Yù family lineage. The ideograms were deep and dark, marked by the heat of friction.
He carried the three stone tombstones back to the edge of the bamboo grove. He drove their bases into the damp ground, side by side. The terrain had already been dug by him into three wide, deep graves, aligned beneath the shade of the tall trees.
After planting the three tombstones, Zhì Yuǎn removed his black hat and placed it on top of Yù Chéng's tombstone with a calm, respectful gesture. Only then did he and Yù Qíng lower the bodies into the bottom of the graves, arranging the coarse linen over the cold earth.
Yù Qíng removed the dark blue veil that still covered her face and folded it carefully, placing it over her mother's chest before arranging the coarse linen on top. Then the two stood up in silence.
Zhì Yuǎn raised his face. His dark eyes crossed the courtyard and found Yù Méi, still huddled in the ashes of the veranda.
— The resting place is ready — he said, his voice low and steady. — Come here, Méi. Say your goodbyes.
The teenager lifted her soot-covered face. She forced her legs to move and walked over to the open graves. Down below, her grandmother, father, and mother rested beneath the linen shrouds.
Zhì Yuǎn crouched down. He took a handful of damp earth in his large hand and let the grains fall slowly over Yù Chéng's body.
— You gave me my first tool — he said, his voice hoarse. — You took me in without hesitation. You opened the kitchen door for me, mother-in-law. The steam from the rice and the clean clothes… that was my first home. And grandmother was the one who gave me a name.
He bowed deeply in silent reverence.
When he straightened up, Zhì Yuǎn extended his hand and wrapped his arm around Yù Qíng's waist, pulling her to his side. Yù Qíng knelt at the edge of her mother's grave. A single thick tear ran down her pale face and fell onto the earth.
— You never judged me, mother — her voice came out low and trembling. — When everyone thought it was absurd that I wanted to stay with the quiet boy father brought from the forest… you stood up to the world. You blessed my choice before I even understood what I was doing.
Yù Méi collapsed beside her sister. She sank her fingers into the mud, sobbing without a voice. Her vocal cords had already been destroyed from crying on the veranda.
— Please, father… — she whispered hoarsely. — I swear I'll pay attention… come back home…
Zhì Yuǎn's large hand descended and covered Yù Méi's head. His calloused fingers gently stroked the girl's blonde hair. Yù Méi clutched the hem of his tunic, hiding her face against her brother-in-law's leg. Yù Qíng stood up and wrapped her arms around her husband's broad chest, pressing her forehead against him.
Zhì Yuǎn remained silent for a long time, with both of them leaning against him. Then, slowly, he raised his face toward the cloudy sky above the bamboo grove.
A single thick tear ran from the corner of his left eye, slowly sliding down his soot- and dust-streaked cheek. Zhì Yuǎn made no sound. He didn't wipe his face.
At that exact moment, the first drops of rain began to fall. Thick and cold, they struck the bamboo leaves and the earth around the graves. Within seconds the rain grew heavier, drowning out any sound and washing away the blood and soot that still stained the courtyard.
Zhì Yuǎn lowered his face again. The tear mixed with the rainwater running down his chin. He picked up the wooden shovel and began covering the graves, one by one, while the rain fell heavily over the three of them.
The heavens are truly cruel to the weak.