YCY - 12

Chapter 12: The Bleeding Oriole Falls From the Cold Branch

The wind from the north whipped her hair into disarray. She tucked a few strands behind her ear and gently touched the rough bark of the banana tree. Her feet crunched over the withered yellow leaves, producing a sound that tore at her heart like splitting silk. Now, the leaves were scattered across the ground in decay, and though the fairy of the fan remained, she was left with only a trace of sorrow. The legendary heart of the banana plant, sought by so many, now trembled in the chilling autumn wind, curling up in sadness, barely holding its form.

“Dreams are empty, unreal, just like the heart of the banana plant,” she murmured thoughtfully, recalling the couplet inscribed on the gate of Mingxin Courtyard. A bitter laugh escaped her lips: this dream had been both real and illusory, haunting her every night with a cold ache. Now, the autumn wind had stripped away the slender leaves of the banana plant, revealing its true heart—but it was too late.

She lightly traced the prayer beads made of sandalwood around her wrist and softly recited verses from the Sutra of the Mighty Bright King : “Like mist or a fleeting house, like a candle in the wind or bubbles on water, the heart of the banana plant is insubstantial, like painted illusions, like flowers in the sky, like dreams and echoes. Pain and pleasure cycle endlessly, like a rushing river, like the waves of the sea—such is life.”

Picking up a fallen banana leaf, she wandered through the now-empty courtyard. Since her brother had announced their move away from Fan City, the household servants and maids had taken their silver wages, retrieved their indentures, bowed deeply, and departed—half reluctant, half relieved. The once-grand Han family estate now stood as a solitary dwelling, inhabited only by Han Quan, Huamei, Nongmo, and Zhuyun.

Turning her head, she gazed through the fan-shaped window at the withered rose vines, a sharp pang of sorrow gripping her heart. Three autumns ago, the leaves had been lush, the flowers vibrant, the young women beautiful, and joy abundant. But now, the flowers had withered, the leaves fallen, the vines dried, and everything had changed beyond recognition.

Her fingers brushed against the thorny vine, and suddenly, a sharp pain pierced her fingertip. Turning her palm upward, she saw a tiny pinprick of blood forming on her left index finger, bright red like a crimson bean. Gently pressing the bleeding finger to the faded flower, she softly painted it with one last touch of spring, one final stroke of rouge.

Roses—thorny yet tender-hearted plants.

She lingered, taking in every detail: the tree, the flower, the colors of autumn, imprinting them deeply in her eyes and heart. Soon, they would leave this place, and all of this would become a cherished memory, adorning her dreams.

Slowly, she moved forward. By the time twilight fell and the courtyard grew dim, she finally arrived at the Herri Hall.

“The young mistress has returned,” Zhuyun said, setting down the chopsticks. She crouched down, tidied the young woman’s tousled hair, and gently chided, “The wind was strong today, yet you still went out. If your delicate face gets chapped, it won’t be good.” As she spoke, she instinctively placed the young woman’s cold hands against her chest to warm them.

Staring into Zhuyun’s soft brown eyes, the young woman whispered, “Zhuyun, I just wanted to see this place one last time.”

Zhuyun’s gaze flickered, and after a moment, she managed a faint smile. “My foolish young mistress, it’s not like we’ll never return. Didn’t the young master say this estate will remain ours, unsold?”

Nongmo placed a copper basin on the pearwood table and beckoned, “Young mistress, come wash your hands.”

Taking small steps, the young woman extended her hands. Nongmo carefully rolled up her sleeves and used a damp cloth to gently clean her palms. Silently, she gazed at Nongmo’s radiant profile—her willow-leaf brows, phoenix-like eyes, clear autumn-water pupils, and cherry-red lips—and for a moment, she was entranced.

“Young mistress?” Nongmo turned her head, her brows slightly furrowed. “Young mistress? What’s wrong?”

“Ah!” Snapping out of her daze, the young woman awkwardly rubbed her nose. “Nongmo, you’re so beautiful.”

Nongmo’s face lit up, glowing even more brilliantly than the fiery evening clouds. “When you grow up, young mistress, you’ll be even more beautiful.”

“Nongmo, stop teasing me,” the young woman pouted, tilting her head. Softly, she asked, “Why didn’t you leave with your brother and sister-in-law? Don’t you miss them?”

Nongmo’s delicate brows knitted together, her phoenix eyes narrowing in anger. “Who would miss them? The general and madam treated us servants so well—it’s not like they didn’t know that. Yet no sooner had their bodies grown cold than my greedy brother and sister-in-law took their severance pay and left without a second glance. Such heartless people—I wouldn’t follow them if my life depended on it! If I’d gone with them, one day those soulless wretches would’ve sold me off as someone’s concubine!” Furious, she picked up the copper basin and stormed to the door, flinging its contents onto the ground with a splash.

The young woman cautiously shifted her feet, clutching Zhuyun’s sleeve and hiding behind her. This fiery temper was terrifying. Zhuyun gently patted her hand and shot Nongmo a reproachful look. “Enough. Why are you getting so worked up? Haven’t you already cut ties with them completely?”

“Hmph!” Nongmo snorted, wiped her hands, and lifted the lid off the steamer basket. “I’m not thinking about them anymore. What’s the point of dwelling on those despicable people?”

But deep down, she couldn’t let go. The young woman sighed silently, climbed onto the embroidered stool, and rested her chin on her hands, staring blankly at the ancient cypress tree in the courtyard. Even in its ruggedness, the tree stood tall and resilient, awaiting her return to stand even more solitary. Three towering figures blocked her view. Looking up, she smiled brightly. “Big Brother, Uncle Qi, Uncle Shuo—if you don’t come soon, Qinqin will have to eat alone.”

“Greedy little thing!” Her brother ruffled her hair, then gestured for the two uncles to sit.

Clasping her hands tightly, her fingers intertwined in nervousness, she asked, “When do we leave?”

Han Qi, who had shaved his beard, revealed a brown scar running from his left cheek to his jawline, giving him an intimidating appearance. He smiled kindly and asked, “We depart the day after tomorrow. Are you reluctant to leave?”

She relaxed slightly, releasing her grip, picked up her chopsticks, and replied with a smile, “It’s alright. I’ve memorized everything here; I won’t forget.” Just as she was about to lift her chopsticks, a thought struck her, and her brow furrowed. “Ling Yiran—no, what about Prince Qing’s invitation? What do you plan to do?” After the banquet at Lake Hu Yan, Ling Yiran had sent two invitations expressing his desire for talent. She wondered how her brother and uncles would respond.

Her brother pinched her cheek and said gravely, “I declined. Our Han family has always been loyal through generations. Though King You was unjust, I won’t betray our homeland. I won’t dishonor Father’s name by serving another country.” His star-like eyes hardened, and his tone turned icy. “But my loyalty, Han Yue Xiao, isn’t to the king—it’s to the Han family.”

She reached out and grasped his fist, nodding firmly. “Mm-hmm!”

“Master! Master!” Han Quan rushed into the hall, his robes flapping, panting heavily.

Her brother frowned and looked at him. “Uncle Quan, what is it?”

“Master, this afternoon, Miss Huamei and I went out to buy supplies. As the sun was setting, we remembered tonight’s curfew before the winter solstice and hurried back. But on the Green Dragon Road, a large crowd appeared, and Miss Huamei and I got separated.” Han Quan’s face was etched with worry. “After the crowd dispersed, I searched everywhere, but… but she was nowhere to be found.”

Gripping her brother’s hand tightly, her brow creased with concern as she asked loudly, “Did you search everywhere?”

“Yes,” Han Quan wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I searched Green Dragon Road, Vermilion Bird Road, and White Tiger Road thoroughly—but there was no sign of her.”

“Uncle Quan, don’t panic,” her brother pressed her hand reassuringly. “Perhaps Aunt Mei is looking for you too, and you simply missed each other.”

“That’s right,” Han Shuo nodded. “Han Quan, calm down. Let’s finish eating first, then wait patiently for Miss Huamei. It’s not fully dark yet, so nothing serious should have happened.”

“Yes, yes,” Han Qi agreed. “The young mistress must be hungry. Let’s eat first.”

Her brother’s expression became solemn. “Uncle Quan, you and the others go eat in the side hall.”

“Yes,” Han Quan bowed and followed Zhuyun and Nongmo out of the main hall.

The food tasted like wax in her mouth. She mechanically pushed grains of rice into her mouth, grinding them with her teeth, ignoring the dishes. Her eyes remained fixed on the entrance to the hall. The dusk settled like silt suspended in a river, gradually darkening into deep ink. Setting down her chopsticks, she leaned against the doorframe, staring into the shadowy corridor, hoping for the gentle figure to appear.

Her brother slammed his chopsticks down and bellowed, “Uncle Quan!”

“Master!” Han Quan hurried back into the hall.

“Prepare the horses at the gate—I’m going to look for Aunt Mei!”

“Yes!”

Han Shuo and Han Qi exchanged glances and stood up simultaneously. “Young master, we’ll join you.”

Her brother waved them off. “No need. There’s a curfew tonight. Both of you should return early. We leave the day after tomorrow, and there’s much to prepare at home.”

They hesitated, then nodded. “Then we’ll take our leave. If anything happens, call us anytime.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her brother escorted them out, and the three men departed together.

The dishes on the table had barely been touched, growing cold where they sat. Head in her hands, she perched on the threshold, listening to the sounds of Zhuyun and Nongmo clearing the table behind her. Gazing into the black night, devoid of moonlight or stars, heavy clouds hung low like a leaden weight pressing on her heart.

“Young mistress, it’s getting cold. Come inside.” Nongmo’s warm breath brushed against her neck, but it quickly turned cold under the night breeze, seeping icily into her skin.

“Young mistress…”

With a deep sigh, she stood up, head bowed, and silently walked back into the main hall.

Zhuyun sat on the carved chair, weaving nets with nimble fingers, colorful threads intertwining. Nongmo sat beside her, using a silver needle to adjust her hair, sewing a cotton robe for her brother by the dim candlelight. She held a book of strange tales, flipping through its pages, though her gaze never lingered on the words.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed outside. Slamming the book shut, Zhuyun quickly stowed her work, and Nongmo set aside her needle and thread. All three pairs of eyes fixed intently on the main entrance. When they saw it was only Han Quan returning alone, their hearts sank.

Frowning, she anxiously asked, “Uncle Quan, did you find her?”

“Hah… hah…” Han Quan gasped for breath, shaking his head. “No. The young master and I searched the four great roads—Green Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise—but there was no sign of Miss Huamei.”

None of them had seen her? Something must have happened! She jumped off the stool and began pacing back and forth.

“Fortunately, the commander enforcing tonight’s curfew is an old friend of the general, so he allowed us to search repeatedly.” Zhuyun handed Han Quan a cup of tea, which he gulped down. “The young master has gone to file a report at the Sky Pavilion. He’ll be back soon. It’s late, young mistress—please rest.”

“No.” She crossed her arms and rested her head on the table. “I won’t sleep. I’ll wait here.”

“Young mistress!” Uncle Quan called out worriedly.

“Uncle Quan,” Nongmo glanced at her, shaking her head. “Let her be. Zhuyun and I will stay with her.”

Han Quan sighed. “Very well. I’ll wait for the young master at the gate.” With that, he turned and left.

“Dong… dong! Dong!” The night watchman’s gong shattered the silence. Judging by the rhythm, it was already the third watch.

Trimming the red candle, the flame trembled slightly, momentarily dispelling the overwhelming drowsiness. Nongmo covered her mouth and yawned. “Young mistress, please sleep.”

“No.” Watching the flickering flame, which calmed after being stirred, the room once again submerged into a melancholy yellow hue. She hated herself—hated her weakness, hated her powerlessness. All she could do was sit by the candlelight, waiting for fate’s mercy, waiting for luck to shine upon her. Why! She slammed the table, leapt off the stool, and rushed to the door, her nails scraping against the wooden frame, leaving deep gouges. The hanging lantern above the corridor cast a pale, ghostly glow.

“Young mistress.” Gentle hands rested on her shoulders. “Huamei will be fine.”

“Nongmo!” She looked up, her voice tinged with anxiety. “Don’t lie to me. If she hasn’t returned by now, something must have happened.”

“Young mistress…” Nongmo froze momentarily.

“Stop treating me like a child! Stop placating me—I know everything.” She spun around and strode back into the room. “Huamei must have been abducted! The question is, by whom? Thieves? Soldiers? Or officials?” Leaning against the square table, she gazed at the scattered chrysanthemums. In this oppressive night, their petals fell unevenly, their faint fragrance drifting intermittently.

Picking up a petal, she squinted. “Who could it be?”

“Young mistress!” Nongmo leaned against the doorframe and beckoned. “The young master is back!”

Clenching the petal, she dashed outside. “Brother! What happened?”

“The Sky Pavilion will only handle the case tomorrow.” Her brother’s face was weary, his brows knitted. “I’ve searched every alleyway—still nothing.” He patted her head and led her back into the main hall.

The candles stood quietly on their stands, occasionally releasing wisps of smoke that curled toward the ceiling. The flames swayed with everyone’s breathing, tears of wax dripping steadily. From the corners untouched by the candlelight came a faint sigh, as delicate as a strand of hair falling to the floor.

Pacing restlessly within the oppressive room, a sudden thought struck her. Her eyes widened abruptly. “It’s him!” She spun around to see her brother and the others staring at her in surprise.

“Judging from the signs, Aunt Mei must have been abducted. Who would dare abduct someone openly on the streets of Fan City without leaving a trace?” She stared intensely at them, analyzing quickly. “An official! It must be an official!”

Zhuyun frowned deeply. “An official? Which one?”

“Brother, do you remember the toad by Xixin Lake?”

“Qinqin, you mean the prime minister’s son, Qian Qun?”

Before she could reply, a commotion erupted outside the main gate.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” Kicks and pounding echoed.

Her brother clenched his fists and strode toward the door. “Uncle Quan, open the gate!”

“Yes!”

Dodging Zhuyun and Nongmo’s attempts to stop her, she ran after them. The northern wind whistled mournfully through the night. The dim corridor lamps swayed wildly, and suddenly, the candlelight extinguished, plunging the hallway into pitch darkness.

As the gates creaked open, she saw the familiar, gentle figure. “Aunt Mei!” she cried joyfully, sprinting toward her. Drawing closer, she realized her face was pale, her eyes vacant, standing there like a soulless puppet.

“Aunt… Mei…” She slowed her steps, crossed the threshold, and reached for her hand. “Aunt Mei?”

With a violent jerk, Huamei pulled her hand away, shaking her head frantically. “No! No! Young mistress, don’t touch me!” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her body trembled like a withered leaf in the autumn wind.

“Aunt Mei! What’s wrong?” She tried to grab her hand, but Huamei evaded her.

“I’m dirty! I’m dirty!” Huamei collapsed to her knees, her hands buried in her hair, sobbing inconsolably. Each cry tore at her heart.

“Aunt Mei! Whatever happened, let’s talk about it at home.” Her brother stepped forward to help her up, but a figure in bright red blocked his path.

“Don’t you dare touch her, you Han scum!” A slick, arrogant voice rang out. She looked up, glaring at him with such intensity it felt like daggers piercing his flesh.

“Qian! Qun!” Her brother ground out the words through clenched teeth. “So it was you!”

“Hahaha~” The toad laughed brazenly, lifting Huamei’s chin with his hand. “This is my fourteenth concubine. Other men aren’t allowed to touch her.”

Fourteenth concubine? She crouched down, staring at Huamei in confusion. Huamei avoided her gaze, biting her lower lip, shaking her head repeatedly.

“You beast!” Her brother raised his fist and lunged at him. But before he could reach him, a group of servants restrained him.

“Hmph! You Hans, listen well!” Qian Qun strutted arrogantly in front of the restrained young master, chin raised haughtily. “Today, I’ve deigned to visit your pathetic household because my beloved concubine asked me to. Don’t get any ideas into your head! Look at your shabby gate—it’s pitiful. If you serve me well, I might put in a good word with my father, and perhaps your general’s residence can regain some glory.”

“Get out!” She stepped in front of Huamei, shouting shrilly. “Our Han family refuses to associate with beasts like you. Leave!”

“Beast?!” Qian Qun’s triangular eyes narrowed, and he stomped forward, raising his leg to kick her.

Just as she prepared to dodge, she felt herself pulled into a soft embrace. Turning her head, she saw Huamei’s deathly pale face. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, her tear-filled eyes gazing tenderly at her. “Young mistress…”

Pushing her hands away, she struggled to stand, cupping Huamei’s face. Her eyes stung, her lips trembling. “Aunt Mei…”

“Wench! Traitor!” Qian Qun kicked again, and a streak of blood bloomed at the corner of Huamei’s mouth.

“No!” She yanked the wooden hairpin from Huamei’s hair, gripped it tightly, and plunged it into Qian Qun’s thigh with all her strength.

“Ugh!” The toad screamed in pain, swinging his arm to slap her to the ground.

“Qinqin!” Her brother broke free from the servants’ grasp and punched the toad, sending him flying. “Qinqin!” He scooped her up, gently checking her face.

“Young mistress!” “Huamei!” Zhuyun and Nongmo rushed over, helping Huamei to her feet. Han Quan grabbed a wooden stick and attacked the servants viciously. “Get out! Get out! Go back to your filthy den!”

“Damn you! Damn you all!” Qian Qun leaned on a servant, limping to his feet. “No wonder my father said the Hans are stubborn fools—I see none of you have any sense.”

What?! Before she could struggle to her feet, her brother delivered a powerful kick, sending the toad and his lackeys flying ten paces away. Qian Qun spat blood, trembling as he clutched a servant’s head. “You… you’ll pay for this!”

“Han Quan, close the gates!” Her brother’s voice was icy as he turned away.

“Yes!”

“Master!” Huamei shouted, rooted to the spot despite Zhuyun and Nongmo’s attempts to pull her forward. Dropping to her knees, she kowtowed three times, tears streaming down her face. “Huamei… I’m no longer pure… I no longer have the right to enter this house…”

“Aunt Mei! Purity of heart is what matters. Don’t overthink it—come back with us.” She reached out, her eyes pleading.

Huamei shook her head, slowly rising to her feet. Her gaze shattered as she took two quick steps backward. “Young mistress… Huamei… is dirty…”

“Aunt Mei!” Her brother roared.

Biting her lip, Huamei forced a bitter smile. “Young master, I’ve come back just to see you and the young mistress, just to see this house one last time.” She looked up, her tear-filled eyes lingering on the plaque above the gate.

The despair in her eyes sent a chill through her heart. Frantically, she turned to Zhuyun and Nongmo, shouting, “Quick! Stop her!”

But it was too late. With resolute determination, the gentle figure charged toward the stone guardian by the gate.

“No!” She screamed, tears cascading down her face.

By the gray stone guardian lay a slender figure. Thick blood flowed along the curve of the stone lion, darkened by the night. Her brother’s body stiffened, and she slid from his arms, crawling desperately toward Huamei. Leaning against the stone, Huamei’s forehead was a mess of blood and tears. She raised her trembling hand, lips parted, gazing at her with lingering affection.

“Aunt Mei!” She wailed, throwing herself into her arms. “Don’t die, don’t die! Qinqin doesn’t want… you to die!”

“Young mistress…” Huamei’s voice was barely a whisper, her icy fingers brushing her cheek weakly. “Take… care…”

Her eyes lost their light, and a final tear fell to the ground, leaving a dark stain.

“No! No!” She shook Huamei’s lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably. “Aunt Mei… Aunt Mei… Wake up! Please wake up!”

“Huamei!” “Huamei!” Zhuyun and Nongmo cried out, collapsing beside her.

Memories flashed before her eyes, finally settling on this image: at the doorway of the study, Huamei stood, holding her hand, smiling softly yet sorrowfully, lifting her skirt to step over the threshold. That gentle bow of her head, that slow step, that graceful turn—replayed endlessly in her mind.

Kneeling there in a daze, a single phrase echoed in her ears: “Now that the general and madam are gone, Huamei only wishes to stay with the young master and mistress. Even in death, I belong to the Han family.”

Aunt Mei, Aunt Mei, why did you do this? Why?! She screamed in anguish, her heart shattering.

“Hmph! Ungrateful wench!” Amidst the grief, a cruel voice cut through. She snapped her head up, nails digging into her palms, wishing she could transform into a monster and tear him apart.

The beast glanced disdainfully at Huamei’s corpse. “Like master, like servant! Remember in Qianzhou, when Han Baiqing couldn’t bear his wife becoming a whore and killed her himself? Hmph~”

Something inside her snapped. Eyes wide, fists clenched, she lunged at him. “Beast! I’ll kill you!”

Before her blow could land, a pale figure flew past. Her brother kicked the toad to the ground, elbow crashing down on his neck. A sickening crack echoed as the toad twitched and went still.

“Master!” The servants gasped, hesitating to approach. Her brother turned, his gaze murderous, radiating an aura of death. They froze, retreating in fear before fleeing in all directions.

Her brother grabbed the beast’s hair and slammed his head against the ground—once, twice, thrice…

Blood splattered, brains scattered. She knelt there, watching the scene unfold, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Dong… dong! Dong! Dong!” The night watchman’s gong rang out, echoing through the empty streets.

It was the fourth watch of the night, past midnight. The eighth day of the eleventh month had arrived.

The glazed tiles froze and cracked. The oriole bled and fell from the cold branch.

Chrysanthemums withered, winter arrived.