Propped up on a stack of pillows, Quinming lounges on his stomach, his eyes half-closed like a lazy hunting dog. The mid-morning sun filters through the small window, casting soft, golden rays across him as the bustling courtyard and garden outside are a theater of mundane chaos.
Zhao moved the bed closer to the window to allow him a view, a small comfort in his otherwise monotonous days. 'I appreciate the effort, Zhao. Though if you really want to help, smuggling in some decent wine would be a start,' he muses.
His lips curl into a smirk as he watches the dust motes dance in the sunlight. ‘Propped up like this, I almost look dignified. Almost.’ He stretches slightly, careful not to disturb the comfortable arrangement of pillows supporting him. ‘Can’t get rusty, though.’
He shifts his gaze to the world outside, where a seven-story tower dominates the sky. Its dark, polished stone exterior glistens like obsidian in the sunlight, a formidable presence that commands the landscape. The tower’s unyielding stature reminds Quinming of how far he has fallen. Once, he stood at the pinnacle, a Great Grandmaster feared and respected. Now, he’s bed-bound, reduced to a shadow of his former self. Even the sun’s warmth feels like a victory these days—a small, bitter triumph in a world that has all but forgotten him.
‘How the mighty have fallen,’ he thinks, casting a wry glance at the imposing structure. Its shadow stretches across the courtyard and gardens, a silent enforcer of its dominion, much like the grip fate has on him. ‘The tower stands tall, while I’m left to wither. But even a fallen tree has its uses. Firewood to keep the flames alive.’
The garden, in sharp contrast, is a meticulously maintained oasis. Flowers bloom in an array of colors, their petals swaying gently in the breeze. Every flower, every stone seems deliberately placed, yet there is an eerie tension in the air, as if the very earth beneath the Fragrant Twilight is conspiring in secret. He observes the gardeners tending to the plants with diligent care.
One of the younger servants, a boy no older than twelve, struggles with a particularly stubborn weed. Quinming smirks. ‘He’s got spunk, I’ll give him that.’ The boy finally yanks the weed free, falling back onto the grass with a triumphant grin. Quinming chuckles. ‘Enjoy the small victories, kid. You’ll need them.’
More than once he has noticed a few oddities. Garden tools often appear in unusual places, like pruning shears left on a tree branch or a rake propped against a statue. ‘It's like the garden itself is playing tricks,’ he muses, recalling the rake incident where someone almost tripped and ended up blaming the statue. His personal favorite, he spotted a watering can perched atop a birdbath, as if the birds had taken up gardening. ‘Nature’s little rebels.’
He blinks, mouth twisting in a mixture of amusement and confusion. ‘Are the servants losing their minds, or is someone trying to mess with my head?’ He glances around the garden, noting how everything seemed so meticulously maintained, yet the odd placements of the tools seemed too deliberate to be mere accidents.
The air is crisp and fresh. A breeze tousles his long messy hair. The faint scent of wildflowers reaches his nostrils, prompting him to turn his head towards the door where Lan stands, clutching a small bouquet.
“Look, big brother, I found these for you!” she exclaims, holding out the flowers with pride.
Quinming's eyes flicker open just a bit more, taking in the sight with a mixture of amusement and mild interest. “Flowers, huh? Well, aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine?”
‘At least someone’s having a good day.’ He reaches out and rests his hand on her head, making her blush.
Lan giggles. “Do you think they’ll make you feel better?” she asks, her brown dowe eyes wide with genuine concern.
He takes the bouquet from her. “They already have, Lan'er,” he says, his tone softer. ‘And who am I to crush her enthusiasm?’
She beams. “I’m glad! I wanted to bring something to cheer you up.”
Quinming places the flowers on the small table next to his bed with a casual grace. “You know, not everyone would go out of their way to pick flowers for a grumpy old man like me.”
“You’re not old,” Lan protests, shaking her head. “And you’re not grumpy. Well, not always.”
“You’ve got a point there. But you’re still a kid, so you don’t know any better.” His smile is wry, almost teasing.
She pouts, crossing her arms. “I’m not a kid. I’m growing up.”
“Growing up, huh? Just don’t grow up too fast. You’ll miss out on all the fun.” Quinming leans back into his pillows, a flicker of pain passing over his face before vanishing.
She tilts her head, curious. “What kind of fun?”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, you know, the kind that involves not worrying about anything and just being a kid. Trust me, you’ll understand when you’re older.”
Lan nods. “Okay, big brother. But if these flowers make you feel better, I can bring you more.”
Closing his eyes, he lets the sun’s warmth seep into his bones. “Sure, Lan'er. I’d like that.” ‘Anything to break the monotony of this prison.’
As Lan chatters about her night as kitchen help, Quinming listens with the relaxed patience. He finds a strange comfort in the simple joy of the child’s presence. Her innocence is a stark contrast to his own jaded outlook, a reminder of a time when life was simpler.
“You know,” he interrupts her story with a sly grin, “if you keep talking like that, people might think you actually enjoy working in the kitchen.”
She giggles. “I do! It’s fun to help out and learn new things.”
“Well, just remember, too much enthusiasm can be dangerous. You might end up with all the chores.”
Lan frowns, trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to feel useful.”
Quinming’s smile softens. “Useful is good. Just don’t forget to have some fun too. Balance is key.” His gaze drifts to the window, where the world outside moves on without him, a reminder of his current limitations.
He lets out a quiet sigh. “You know, Lan, sometimes I envy your world. It’s a lot less... complicated.”
She tilts her head. “Complicated? How?”
“Oh, you know, less plotting, fewer stabs in the back—literal and metaphorical. But hey, at least the flowers are nice.” He chuckles, a dark humor underlining his words.
Lan giggles, not fully grasping his meaning but enjoying the moment. “You’re funny, big brother.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he murmurs, closing his eye again. ‘Funny how life works. Or doesn’t.’ He listens to her cheerful ramblings, letting the sound wash over him like a balm, easing the ache of both body and soul.
“By the way,” Lan starts, her tone shifting to something more secretive, “I saw Auntie Mei talking to a girl... or was it a woman? She smelled really nice, but I can’t remember her face.”
Opening one dark gray eye he looks at her. “A girl or a woman, you say? When was this?”
Lan furrows her brow, trying to recall. “Really early this morning when I picked the flowers..."
~~~
Dewdrops clung to the petals, making them shimmer like tiny jewels in the early morning light. Her tiny hands reached for them, carefully picking only the best. ‘Mother says Quinming is a hero, just like the rabbit in the song, she thought, a smile touching her lips.’ Tiptoeing, Lan hummed softly, a little song her mother would sing when she felt sad. The melody was about a brave rabbit warrior who found peace in a serene garden, away from the battles and chaos.
“In a garden far away,
Where the morning dewdrops lay,
Lived a rabbit brave and bold,
With a heart of purest gold.”
All around Lan, the garden felt like a secret oasis, filled with mythical plants and vibrant colors that seemed to hum with ancient magic. Each flower she chose was a small piece of that magic. Magic meant to bring a bit of cheer to Quinming’s room.
“He liked the flower yesterday,” she murmured, thinking of his rare smile. She wanted to see it again, to make him happy. ‘Maybe today, he'll smile even more.’
Stepping over a stream, Lan crouched down. ‘These moonflowers are perfect. He'll love them,’ she whispered, plucking the flower and adding it to her bouquet. ‘He looks so sad sometimes. I wish I could make him feel better,’ she thought, continuing to sing softly...
“Fought the shadows, chased the night,
With his sword so sharp and bright,
Through the fields of flowers fair,
Found a peace beyond compare.”
The garden, meticulously maintained under Madam Li's ever watchful eye, felt like a sanctuary to her. Each section had its own theme—rock gardens, small ponds with koi fish, and paths lined with perfectly pruned bonsai trees. She often snuck out here, much to her mother's fretting.
‘Mom worries too much. I'm just picking flowers.’
Lan moved on, making sure not to pick too many flowers from one spot so as not to anger the gardener. Or worse, Madam Li. She shifted the flowers in her hand, fingers brushing against the soft petals of a moonflower, its luminescent glow fading in the morning light.
‘These flowers are like a little piece of the moon. I hope Quinming likes them as much as I do.’
In her mind, the garden was the domain of an immortal lady, not Madam Li. The vibrant colors and intricate designs made it feel like a place of beauty and mystery, far removed from the stern woman's control.
"This place is like a fairy tale," she murmured, her eyes wide with wonder. She added bitterly, "Madam Li must be so proud of her garden."
She paused in her flower hunt, frowning down at the collection in her hands, wondering just when the kind woman who used to smile and give her mooncakes became so... foreign to her. A stranger.
‘Madam Li used to be so nice. What happened to her?’ she thought, her small fingers trembling. ‘I used to look forward to her visits.’
It was hard for her to overlap the images. A beautiful woman with mooncakes and the sight of Quinming she found that day. His horrid pained breaths. The angry welts. The old scars beneath even that. Years. For years, Qian Yun had said. That meant during those mooncakes, those same neatly polished hands that had handed her mooncakes, that had smiled at her, had rubbed her head and-
She shook her head and forced the song through her trembling lips:
“Underneath the willow tree,
He laid down his sword with glee,
In the blooms, he found his rest,
In the garden, he was blessed.”
‘Maybe it's just a bad dream. Maybe Quinming will be okay,’ she tried to convince herself, but the image of his scars haunted her. ‘Why would Madam Li hurt him?’
As she ventured deeper into the garden, a noise caught her attention. She froze.
‘What was that?’ she wondered, her heart pounding. For a moment, she was reminded of the nightmare she had last night—a wicked cultivator with a whip chasing her. She shook her head, pushing the thought away, and decided to investigate the noise.
"Is it thst cat?" she whispered, curiosity and a hint of fear creeping beneath her courage. She crept closer, the morning light casting long shadows that seemed to dance around her. The scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth filled the air, grounding her in the moment.
Lan's mind flashed back to a memory of a strange black cat she had seen once in the garden. It appeared out of nowhere. Sleek and mysterious. Fur as dark as midnight and piercing green eyes that seemed to glow with an eerie light. The cat had moved with an almost supernatural grace, its movements so silent that it seemed to float rather than walk. Lan remembered how it had stared at her with those luminous eyes, making her shiver despite the warmth of the day.
‘Maybe it's the same cat,’ she thought, a mixture of wonder and apprehension filling her.
She pushed forward, her heart beating faster, as she tried to catch a glimpse of what had made the noise. The shadows seemed to swirl and shift, and for a moment, she thought she saw the flicker of a tail, just like the one she remembered.
As she peeked through the bushes, she instead spotted Auntie Mei standing by the ancient willow tree. But Auntie Mei was not alone. She was speaking to a girl... or a woman? Someone Lan did not recognize. The stranger had an air of mystery about her that Lan could not begin to understand.
‘Who is that with Auntie Mei?’
Lan crouched behind a bush, her heart racing as she watched the exchange. Auntie Mei handed over a bundle of papers, her expression serious and tense. The woman accepted them with a nod, her face partially obscured by the shadows cast by the willow’s branches.
‘Why does Auntie Mei look so worried?’ Lan thought, biting her lip. ‘Should I tell someone about this?’
She hesitated, the weight of the secret pressing on her young shoulders. The garden, once a place of refuge, now seemed full of hidden dangers and unanswered questions.
‘I have to be brave. Just like in the stories,’ she told herself, clutching her flowers tighter.
Lan strained to hear their conversation, but only caught snippets. “...keep them safe,” Auntie Mei said, her voice low and urgent.
"Who is she?" Lan muttered to herself, her curiosity piqued. The woman's long amethyst hair and vibrant green eyes made her look like a fairy from a story. Or was it a child? A girl like her, with black hair, brown eyes, and freckles on her face, with a playful smirk.
The girl moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her gestures fluid and elegant. She rolled up the papers with a delicate touch. Her eyes, a vibrant brown, sparkled with an inner light that seemed to captivate Lan. The way she tilted her head slightly when listening to Auntie Mei, the gentle nods, and the occasional flicker of a smile made her appear both enchanting and approachable.
Lan watched as the girl’s hair shimmered in the morning light, each strand catching the sun like spun silk. The girl’s movements were deliberate, every step and gesture carrying a sense of purpose and calm.
‘She’s like an Immortal lady from the stories Mama used to tell,’ Lan thought, her heart swelling with a mixture of awe and envy. ‘I wish I could be like that, too.’
After a few moments, Auntie Mei turned and walked back towards the brothel, her steps heavy with worry. Lan watched her go, then her eyes darted back to the girl. She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The figure seemed to shift, becoming a beautiful immortal fairy. Ethereal and gorgeous. Or was it just a girl? It was really confusing her.
Lan gasped, startled when she realized the girl was right next to her, squatting down and staring at her with those twinkling brown eyes. Lan's heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat.
‘So... pretty...’
“Hey there,” the girl said, her voice soft and melodic. “What are you doing hiding in the bushes?”
Lan jumped, nearly dropping her bouquet. “I-I was just... picking flowers,” she stammered, her heart racing and Lan could smell the sweet, enchanting fragrance that surrounded her.
‘Cherries?’
The girl tilted her head, her playful smirk never fading. “Flowers, huh? For someone special?”
Flushing, Lan nodded. “For my big brother, Quinming. He’s not feeling well, and I wanted to cheer him up.”
“That’s sweet of you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
Curiosity getting the better of her, Lan asked, “Who are you? And what were you talking about with Auntie Mei?”
The girl’s smirk widened. “Just a friend helping out. Don’t worry about it, okay? You should get back to your brother. He’ll be waiting for those flowers.”
“Okay...” Lan nodded slowly, still unsure. “But will I see you again?”
A playful smirk returned on the girl's lips, Lan stared enchanted. “Maybe. You never know. Take care, little flower picker.”
Before she stood up, the girl reached towards Lan's ear with a playful flourish and pulled out a vibrant purple chrysanthemum as if by magic. She handed it to Lan with a wink. "A little extra something for your bouquet."
Lan's eyes widened in amazement. “Thank you...”
With that, the girl turned and disappeared into the deeper part of the garden, leaving Lan with more questions than answers. She clutched her bouquet tightly, her mind racing with the mysterious encounter.
“Was she a fairy?” She was old enough to know such things obviously... probably did not exist. But that girl, if ever there were an immortal fairy, she had to be it.
Lan smiled, adding the purple chrysanthemum to her collection.
The last verse of her mother's song on her upturned lips:
“With each petal, soft and sweet,
Found a haven at his feet,
Warrior rabbit, brave and true,
In the garden, peace he knew.”
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
‘I wish Quinming could find peace too, just like the rabbit,’ she mused, her fingers lightly brushing a flower. As she made her way back to the brothel, daydreamed of Immortals flying through the sky.
~~~
“...mom caught me on the way back. That's why I only brought them to you now,” she finishes recounting softly with a small pout.
‘Of course she did,’ Quinming thinks, his lips curling slightly.
“Which flower was it, Lan'er?” Quinming asks, his voice casual but his eyes suddenly sharp.
“The purple one,” she replies, pointing to the vibrant bloom in the bouquet.
‘Ah, a vibrant violet chrysanthemum. Someone's got a sense of humor,’ he muses.
Quinming shifts, propping himself up a bit more on his pillows. He reaches for the flower, examining it closely. His brow twitches as he notices something unusual.
“Something wrong, big brother?” Lan asks, her eyes wide with concern.
Quinming lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. ‘No need to worry her.’
“No, nothing’s wrong,” he lies smoothly, his voice steady. “Just thinking.” His eyes flicker with a hint of amusement. “You know, in some cultures, chrysanthemums are a sign of death. But here? It’s just a pretty flower.”
Lan watches him for a moment, sensing there is more he is not saying, but she decides not to press him. “Okay. I’ll bring you more flowers tomorrow, then.”
Quinming nods absently, still focused on the chrysanthemum. “That would be nice, Lan'er. Thank you.”
As Lan turns to leave, Quinming's eyes narrow slightly, the sharpness of his mind piecing together the message hidden within the petals. He mutters under his breath, a hint of dark humor coloring his words, “Get well soon, huh? I wonder who’s really wishing for my recovery.”
He plays with the flower, his fingers lingering on the petals for a moment longer. “Sometimes, Lan'er,” he muses quietly, “flowers speak louder than words.”
Lan, already halfway to the door, pauses and glances back at him. “Did you say something, big brother?”
Quinming gives her a reassuring smile. “Just talking to myself, Lan'er. Rest assured, I’ll be here to appreciate your flowers tomorrow.”
Lan smiles back, her worry easing. “Alright, big brother. Rest well.”
As she leaves, Quinming’s smile fades into a contemplative expression. He taps the flower lightly against his chin, the gears of his mind turning. ‘Well, whoever sent this, they certainly have a flair for the dramatic.’
His eyes return to their half-closed state, but his mind remains alert, dissecting what Lan had told him. The sun's warmth and the gentle breeze tugs at his disheveled hair as he lies there, lost in thought.
“So, the Hao agent's been hiding here all this time, huh? And I'm guessing they're not some low-level lackey either."
Grasping the flower, he looks closer, seeing the hidden characters beneath one of the leaves. They read, ‘Remain’, ‘Heal’, and ‘Stormy’.
Quinming snorts. “Heal and stay put? It's going to get chaotic, you say? Why bother warning me? Clearly, you don't know me well. Makes me want to join the fun. But fine, I'll stay put this once.”
Still tapping the flower on his chin, he glances out the window towards the shadowy garden and the looming tower beyond. The moonlight casts eerie patterns on the cobblestones, and for a brief moment, Quinming swears he sees a figure standing beneath the tower’s imposing height. But when he blinks. The figure is gone. Swallowed by the night.
“Uhhh...” Even as goosebumps appear on his arms, his mouth turns up, eyes glinting dangerously. “It was you?”
‘That gaze… I’ve felt it before,’ he remembers. ‘On the balcony, again in the common room, and I think... when she caught me collapsing the first day I woke up here.’
There were many other times over these three months. But they were only much the same. ‘She’s been watching me all along. How quaint.’
“How fun.” He laughs, then winces. “Now it's just a thrilling waiting game, isn't it?”
---
Minling smoothed the silk of her dress. Her lips pressed into a tense line as she thought, ‘Once, this fabric symbolized the wealth of my family. Now, it's my armor.’
Glancing at her reflection in the polished surface of the ornate mirror, she flicked a speck of imagined dust off. The rich fabrics clung perfectly, a testament to her taste and status in this place. The star of the brothel ‘Fragrant Twilight’, the Jade Orchid, could never be less than flawless. In this den of intrigue, appearances were everything, and Minling was always impeccable.
‘Father would have been proud to see me like this, though not under these circumstances,’ she thought bitterly. ‘But then again, he's not here, thanks to that treacherous brother of mine. He’ll pay for selling me like a common good.’
She gracefully picked up the tea tray, Auntie Mei's whispered words about Madam Li's precarious position echoing in her mind. She smirked at the thought. Despite her usual aloofness, there was something almost deserving about seeing a powerful figure brought low. ‘Madam Li’s downfall could be the opportunity I need. Patience. Every step brings me closer to vengeance.’
Entering the tea room where Madam Li entertained her potential ally, she kept her head bowed as taught. As she set down the tea, Madam Li waved her off. Minling noted the tension in Madam Li's posture, a tightness around her mouth that she could not quite hide. Sitting across from her was a tall, thin, man with graying black hair and a trimmed beard. Oh, and a scar above his left eye.
The man, Mr. Chen, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. ‘Smart man. If only my father had been as cautious...’
Madam Li's voice was honeyed as she tried selling her pitch, but there was an edge to it. A barely concealed fury that made Minling's skin tingle with anticipation. She took her place by the window, pretending to admire the view while listening intently. ‘This meeting was doomed before it even began. Desperation is a dangerous scent, Madam Li. It draws vultures.’’
"Mr. Chen, you understand the benefits of our alliance," Madam Li purred, though her eyes betrayed a flash of irritation. She added, "Surely you don’t believe such baseless rumors," her voice dripping with saccharine charm. Yet, the undertone of desperation was unmistakable to someone like Minling, who thrived on observing the subtleties of power.
Mr. Chen shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his mustache. "Madam Li, it's not just rumors. It’s... troubling information."
Madam Li’s hand tightened around her cup, her knuckles whitening. "You should not believe such idle gossip. My only aim is the prosperity of this establishment. And of course those who align with me."
"Yes, indeed. Align. Madam Li, it’s hard to dismiss what I’ve heard.” Mr. Chen looked wary as he downed his tea. “People say you’re aligning with multiple factions. How can I trust your word?"
The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. ‘Trust. A fragile thing, so easily shattered.’
Minling could practically hear Madam Li's teeth grinding. She leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I assure you, Mr. Chen, those are mere fabrications."
A polite knock interrupted their tense exchange. Madam Li’s eyes flicked to the door. “Enter.”
One of her trusted attendants stepped in, bowing low and presenting a small, elegant envelope. Minling recognized the seal immediately—a subtle but unmistakable mark from the Hao Sect. ‘Interesting. The Hao Sect getting involved is significant. Madam Li is in deeper trouble than she lets on.’
Madam Li took it, her hands trembling slightly as she broke the seal. Minling watched, fascinated, as that ever youthful face paled. Whatever the contents, they had shaken her to her core.
And, for Minling, it was riveting. ‘Interesting. What could possibly rattle her so?’
She dismissed the attendant with a wave, her mask of composure slipping further. “I must apologize, Mr. Chen, but our meeting must end here,” she said, her voice barely holding steady.
Mr. Chen, not a fool, did not wait for a second dismissal. He practically bolted from his seat, mumbling a hurried farewell as he brushed past Minling. Madam Li also rose, going to her office. The moment the door closed behind her, Minling heard it. A crash. The unmistakable shatter of porcelain against the wall.
Minling waited a moment before following.
The sight that greeted her was glorious. Madam Li stood amidst the ruins of her once-pristine office. Shards of an elegant vase scattered at her feet. Her eyes met Minling's, and for a moment, Minling saw the raw fear she tried so hard to conceal. It was delicious to see her so vulnerable.
‘Fear. I remember it well. It’s what I felt when my brother betrayed me, took everything that was meant to be mine and sold me to her.’
“Leave,” Madam Li spat, her voice a venomous whisper.
Minling inclined her head and left, slipping out of the room. As she walked away, she could not help but revel in the thought that even the mighty Madam Li could fall. Betrayal and loyalty. Two sides of the same coin. In this Fragrant Twilight wsd more than just a mere brothel. It was a labyrinth of hidden agendas and untold desires, where the walls themselves seem to whisper secrets. Only those who played the game well would survive. Someone's machinations had sown the seeds of doubt and fear, and Minling was right at the heart of it.
‘How utterly delicious.’
~~~
Minling finishes recounting her story to Quinming, her tone laced with a hint of satisfaction. A far cry from her usual complaints about Madam Li. She stands near the door, her posture rigid, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes flashing with a mix of pride and something darker.
"Can you believe it? That woman was shaking. I've never seen her like that before."
Resting against the pillows, Quinming's steady gaze betrays nothing of his thoughts, which drift to the layers of deception and power struggles he has navigated over the years. ‘People always think they have control until they don't.’ It had been three days since Lan's story about Auntie Mei and the mysterious girl, and the intrigue only seemed to deepen.
Quinming's gaze remains inscrutable. “Interesting... so the Hao Sect is tightening their grip.”
Minling gives a small, controlled smile, her arms crossing as she shifts her weight slightly. "She tries so hard to act tough, but I can see right through her. It's pathetic.”
Quinming raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Sounds like you’re enjoying the show.”
“Enjoying? I’m merely observing,” Minling replies coolly, a hint of disdain in her voice. “I just like knowing what’s really going on.”
Quinming watches her, recognizing the familiar gleam in her eyes. ‘Knowledge is power, until it's a noose.’ Her lips curl into a faint smirk, reflecting the satisfaction of her insight. He has seen that look before, right before everything fell apart.
His gaze drifts to his table where a vase of flowers from Lan sat. Next to it a lone flower rests. Quinming’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “What was the flower you gave me this morning?”
Minling’s demeanor falters for a moment, her brows knitting together. “The purple chrysanthemum. Some girl handed it to me and said it was for you. Maybe you have an admirer, though how they could fancy you looking like that is beyond me.”
His lips twitch. ‘An admirer or a warning?’ He shifts, propping himself up a bit more on his pillows. He reaches for the flower, examining it closely.
“Something wrong?” she asks, trying to sound indifferent but failing to mask her concern.
Quinming shakes his head, turning the flower gently in his fingers. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just... interesting.”
‘Interesting how such small gestures can carry such weight,’ he muses, his mind racing through possibilities and hidden messages.
Minling watches him for a moment, sensing there is more he is not saying. She sighs, exasperated but composed. “You’re always so cryptic.”
His smirk deepens. “Keeps things interesting.”
‘And it keeps me alive,’ he adds silently, knowing that in their world, revealing too much could be a fatal mistake.
Rolling her eyes, she turns as if to leave. “Well, whatever. Just don’t get yourself killed.”
As she reaches the door, she pauses, glancing back at him. His disheveled hair catches her eye, and she grimaces. Without a word, she walks over to a small table, grabs a comb, and returns to his side.
“What are you doing?” Quinming asks, genuinely surprised.
“Your hair is a mess,” she snaps, though her tone softens slightly. “And you look ridiculous.”
Before he can protest, she starts combing through his hair with practiced precision. Quinming squirms, clearly annoyed but unable to do much about it.
"Sit still. I don't want to do this any more than you do, but you look utterly ridiculous.”
Quinming stares out the window. Moonlight casting a silver sheen on his face. His eyes, sharp and dark, scan the moonless night outside. He shifts, against the wall beside the window with an air of nonchalance, one hand draped casually over his knee while the other rolls a small, polished stone between his fingers.
Another keepsake from Lan. ‘Lan and her futile tokens. If only she’d had the sense to bring me a dagger. But no, Quinming, you get a rock. Then again, why would an innocent, naive child like her think to bring a weapon?’
Minling’s movements slow, becoming more deliberate. “When I was younger, my father used to brush my hair like this. He said it was important to take care of oneself, no matter the circumstances.” Her voice softens, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. “I didn’t understand it then, but now... now I see how it’s a form of control, a way to keep something for yourself.”
Quinming remains silent, the unexpected intimacy of her words cutting through his annoyance. He lets her continue, the strokes of the comb almost soothing. He rolls the stone in his palm, its cool surface a silent testament to his restless mind.
‘Nice of her to share. But why do these tender moments always have to come with a side of gloom and groom?’
She pauses for a moment, as if lost in thought. “He was a good man, my father. Stubborn, like you. He believed in hard work and integrity. I used to think those were enough to get by in this world.”
Quinming smirks, his gaze still fixed on the window. “And now?”
Minling’s eyes harden slightly. “Now I know better. The world is harsher than I ever imagined. But some lessons stick, even if they seem naive.” She continues brushing, her touch efficient and precise. “Taking care of yourself isn’t just about appearances. It’s about remembering who you are, and what you’re fighting for.”
‘Yeah, self-care. Like rubbing dirt on your wounds and chugging liquor. Very zen.’
He finally turns his head slightly, the moonlight highlighting the sardonic curve of his lips. “Appearances are just another weapon in the arsenal, huh?”
She nods, her expression unseen but her resolve evident in her voice. “But maintaining appearances is also a strategy. People see what you want them to see, and they underestimate you. That’s how you gain the upper hand.”
Quinming chuckles softly, the sound low and mirthless. “You think looking neat will make a difference?”
She smirks, her tone cold and calculating. “It’s one less thing for them to use against you. Never give your enemies an advantage, no matter how small.”
‘Practical. I can appreciate that.’ He shakes his head slightly. “Sometimes, being underestimated can be an advantage.”
Minling pauses, considering his words, then continues brushing. “True. But only if you control how they underestimate you. It’s a delicate balance.”
‘Control. Always about control. Funny how losing it makes you realize how little you had to begin with.’
She pauses, considering her next words carefully. “Madam Li, for instance. She presents herself as untouchable, but we both know that’s a facade. The moment she shows any sign of weakness, her enemies will pounce.”
Quinming raises an eyebrow, a sly grin forming. “And you’re planning to be one of those enemies?”
Minling’s smile is thin, almost cruel. “I’m planning to survive. And if that means taking advantage of someone else’s weakness, so be it.”
Her tone turns pragmatic. “The world doesn’t care about our struggles, Quinming. It only respects strength and cunning. We can’t afford to be careless.”
Quinming’s eyes glint with approval. “You’ve learned the rules of this game well.”
She smiles, a hint of pride in her voice. “And I plan to win. No matter the cost.”
‘Win, survive, whatever keeps the heads rolling. At least we understand each other,’ Quinming thinks, amused by their shared ruthlessness.
Quinming leans back, the stone now still in his hand. He squeezes it. Words he wished someone had told him back then spill from his lips, “Just remember, sometimes the cost isn’t worth the prize.” He pauses, realizing he got too emotional and adds offhandedly, “But hey, what do I know? I’m just a stubborn old fool.”
Minling chuckles, her tone lightening. “Old fool? You’re barely fourteen. If you’re an old man, what does that make me? Ancient?”
‘Great, Quinming, getting too comfortable,’ he mentally kicks himself, but laughs, a genuine smile breaking through. “I suppose that makes you my wise elder, always looking out for me.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Just don’t start acting like a real old man, or I might have to take drastic measures.”
Quinming raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Such as?”
Minling leans in slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Making sure you’re always presentable, for starters. And maybe ensuring you get your rest. Can’t have you falling apart on us, now can we?”
Quinming nods. “Fair enough. I suppose I’ll have to endure your care then.”
Minling’s expression softens, her voice becoming more earnest. “We both have our battles to fight, Quinming. Let’s make sure we come out on top.”
“There,” she says finally, stepping back to admire her work. “At least now you look somewhat presentable.”
Quinming glances up at her, raising an eyebrow but says nothing. His silence speaks volumes, a mix of annoyance and grudging acceptance.
“Yes, yes. I know you are overcome with gratitude. No thanks required.” She scoffs, trying to hide her satisfaction. “Take better care of yourself.”
She leaves and a gentle breeze tugs at his now neatly combed hair. The long, black stands brush against his cheeks.
‘Wise elder, huh?’ He chuckles internally. ‘If only she knew the half of it. Still, she has a point—falling apart now wouldn’t exactly help anyone.’
He sets the stone down onto the table with a deliberate clink, his movements slow and measured. Reaching for the flower, he picks it up gently, examining its delicate petals with an almost absent-minded curiosity.
"No marks this time, huh? Trying to remind me to keep quiet?" A wry smile plays on his lips. "I'm in no shape to dive into the action... but it just makes me itch for it even more."
His fingers brush lightly over the petals, his gaze distant. He sighs, the sound heavy with frustration. "What a lousy time to be stuck in bed.”
~~~
Quinming dozes off, the purple chrysanthemum still on his bed. The soft breeze from the open window gently ruffles his hair. As he drifts between wakefulness and sleep, a faint shuffling noise catches his attention.
‘Can't even nap in peace,’ he thinks, frowning as he opens his eyes and leans toward the window, peering through the gap. From his vantage point, Quinming watches three figures huddled in the garden, their furtive whispers barely audible over the rustling leaves. Above them, the tower loomed like a silent judge, its brightly lit windows staring down at the scene below. Curiosity piqued, Quinming props his head on his hand and listens intently.
The first is the head gardener, a woman with a perpetually dirt-streaked face and a straw hat that seems to be a permanent part of her attire. Her hands, always moving, nervously fidget with a pair of pruning shears.
‘She looks like she’s been wrestling with dirt and losing every time.’ Though whether It's part of her disguise or her personality remains to be seen.
Next to her stands the head of guards, a tall, imposing woman with a scar running down her left cheek. Her posture is rigid, her arms crossed over her chest, exuding an air of barely contained irritation.
‘Ah, the charming head guard. Seems like she’s ready to punch the gardener. Can’t blame her.’
The third figure is the head cook, a middle aged man with a burn scar on his forearm and a missing ear. He leans against a garden rake, his expression stoic and unreadable.
‘Ah, stoic as ever, our culinary genius. Bet he could whip up a feast even in the middle of a siege.’
“This is bad,” the gardener whispers, her voice trembling. “We all got those letters. They know everything!”
The head of guards scoffs, her voice a low growl. “We knew this would happen eventually. Stop whining. It’s not like we didn’t expect it.”
The head cook remains silent for a moment, then speaks, his tone measured and calm. “Panicking won’t help. We need to stay calm and figure out our next move. If we show any sign of fear, they’ll pounce on us.”
‘Wise words from the kitchen sage. Pity his advice is wasted on these two.’
The gardener wrings her hands. “But what if they come for us? What if—”
“They won’t. Not yet.” The guard cuts her off with a growl. “We have some time to plan our next move. But we need to stay vigilant.”
“Stay calm. Watch for any signs. And be ready to act when the time comes.” The cook nods in agreement.
“B-But!”
Head of Guards's snaps. “I told you all this would happen eventually. We knew the risks when we decided to side with Madam Li.”
The head gardener wrings her hands, her voice trembling. “But the warnings... the Hao Sect knows everything. We’re not safe here anymore.”
“We aren't safe anywhere anymore,” the head guard woman hisses.
Quinming’s lips curl into a slight smile as he watches them. He finds their fretful discussions amusing.
‘Well, this is a delightful little drama,’ Quinming muses, his amusement tinged with dark humor. ‘They’re scrambling like novices realizing a grandmaster is in their midst.’ He sighs internally, shaking his head slightly. ‘In martial world, they should've known better. Madam Li's alliances are as sturdy as a bamboo raft in a river storm.’
The guard shakes her head. “All we need is a plan. We can’t just sit here and wait for them to come for us.”
“What if they’ve already infiltrated us more than we know?” The gardener’s eyes dart around nervously. “What if they’re watching us right now?”
The cook remains calm, his gaze steady. “We stick to the plan. We keep doing our jobs, and we stay alert. If we panic, we’re as good as dead.”
Quinming leans forward a bit more, his gray eyes glinting with excitement. The tension and fear among the brothel’s high members are palpable, and it invigorates him. For more entertaining than what he has endured as of late.
‘It's like watching a troupe of actors fumbling through their lines,’ he thinks, barely suppressing a chuckle.
The guard grunts. “Fine. We’ll keep our heads down for now. But the moment things go south, we need to be ready to act.”
“Agreed. We’ll stay vigilant.” The gardener nods reluctantly.
“Then it’s settled.” The cook simply nods, his expression remaining unchanged. “We wait and see.”
As the three figures disperse, Quinming leans back, a smirk playing on his lips. “And so it starts,” he mutters. “Time to see who crumbles first.”
He continues to watch the garden, his excitement growing with each passing moment. He knows that the real show is about to start, and he is ready to watch the chaos unfold.
Quinming’s dark eyes glint dangerously as he considers their words. ‘Hao Sect finally moving, huh?’ Getting into a more comfortable position, he shifts.
He is not worried. It is too soon for any real danger to reach him and the courtesans. And even if it does come, he thrives in chaotic waters. ‘I've faced worse than some overgrown busybodies.’ He smirks to himself, his dark humor surfacing. ‘Of course, that was when I had qi... but hey, who doesn't love a good challenge?’
Quinming's gaze drifts back to the purple chrysanthemum. 'Knowing your enemy is the first step to defeating them,' he muses. 'And right now, they're their own worst enemies. What a lousy time to be stuck in bed, but at least I've got front-row seats to the show.’