ZE ZHI WEI (萴智危)

  Day 15, 4th Month of the Lunar Calendar, 6000th Year of the Yun Dynasty, Taishan Province, Tian’an Sect

  “What are you doing here?” I said, stopping in my tracks as I spotted my brother standing in the middle of Taishan’s training yard like he belonged. He hated this place. I never thought he’d set foot here again, let alone dressed sharp like some court official.

  “And why can’t I be here?” he shot back, folding his arms.

  “Well, of course you can. I just—”

  “What? Just because you’re so high and mighty now that you’re a Captain, you think you get to decide who’s allowed in? Pathetic. You’re still just the Crown Prince’s little dog.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all.” My tone cracked halfway through.

  “Whatever.” His fingers brushed the bruise on his cheek like he’d forgotten it was even there. But I hadn’t. It’d been there last week too. And bruises shouldn’t stick around that long. Not unless someone how hated you, hit you really hard. How ironic that I was the one who caused that bruise.

  “You should let An Lingqi look at it,” I offered, trying to sound neutral.

  His reaction was instant. “Don’t ever say her name. Not now. Not ever. I hate it when you say her name.”

  "What is your problem? What exactly is going on in that brain of yours?” My hands clenched. “Is there anything in there at all? Is it really that hard to just think before you—!”

  “You pretend she’s our friend—act all nice to her and everything—but you're just going to throw her under the carriage because you failed to kill Yun Hui! She saved your miserable life more times than I can count!”

  He shouted the Crown Prince’s personal name out loud, which made my stomach twist. Idiot. Did he want the guards to hear? Did he want to die?

  “Yijun, think for once. Would you rather our heads be on the chopping block or hers?”

  He roared back, louder still. “A real man owns his crimes! A real man doesn’t let a girl take the fall! A real man—”

  “A real man gets a job and stops drinking during the day!” I shouted over him, too angry to be careful. “A real man protects his family. A real man doesn’t raise his hand against his own mother!”

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  That hit harder than I expected.

  He cursed me out, stomped like a child, his face turning blotchy red. His eyes glared hot enough to sear flesh, and I looked away before I said something I couldn’t take back. Again.

  But when I looked up, something had shifted. The fire in his eyes dimmed. His hands uncurled. His jaw slackened slightly like he wasn’t angry anymore—just…emptied out. Like someone had wrung the anger clean from his body and left only the hollow.

  I thought I saw my chance. I took a step forward.

  “I know you like An Lingqi,” I said carefully. “I know. But…” I pressed a fist to my chest, trying not to sound too rehearsed. “Family has to come first.”

  He stared through me like I wasn’t even there. “You…”

  “What?” I snapped, too tired for his cryptic nonsense.

  “You don’t get it,” he said, voice low. “You just don’t get it.”

  I flinched. Not because of the volume, but because he meant it. Because maybe he was right. “Then tell me,” I muttered. “What don’t I get?” I stepped closed and grabbed his collar with both hands. “I said: What don’t I get?”

  He swore and I shoved him into the ground. “Stupid.”

  He wiped his mouth slowly, not meeting my eyes. “Who cares.”

  That was it. I spun around, ready to walk away. It was just another fight between two stupid brothers. But there was something off in his tone. A softness. A shadow. Like the part of the wave that drags you under when you think you’ve made it to shore.

  I stopped. “Yijun…” I turned, stiffly.

  He looked different. My elder brother was well-known for his ferocious temperament that lashed out spontaneously to hurt unsuspecting people. But his arms were still. His shoulders squared. His chin tilted ever so slightly upward. Like someone waiting for judgement. Waiting for my reaction.

  “What did you do?” I asked, slowly.

  He smiled. But not like he was happy. It was this thin, warped thing that made my gut crawl. Like his mouth had forgotten how to form the real kind.

  The wind shifted through the courtyard, catching our robes and cutting into the silence. I didn’t want to hear the next thing out of his mouth. Every part of me screamed to shut it out.

  Maybe—maybe if I’d done more.

  Spoken less.

  If I’d listened better, if I hadn’t always snapped at him.

  If I’d been a more dutiful son to Mother. A more patient brother. If I’d just...been there instead of trying to keep the pretence of a nuclear family.

  But time doesn’t wait. Not for people like us.

  And now the words had already left his lips.

  I stood there, frozen like a stung mullet washed up on shore, my body sluggish and trembling, unable to move or breathe. The courtyard stretched between us—ten metres of stone and wind, yet it felt like a chasm carved by years of buried guilt.

  Yijun stood tall across from me, still as a statue, shoulders squared like he was about to receive a military commendation. His hands dangled loose at his sides, almost mockingly relaxed, as if he hadn’t just upended everything I thought I knew. His gaze was steady: two ink-black dots unblinking, merciless, not revealing a flicker of hesitation.

  When he spoke, his voice came out smooth like silken tofu sliding off porcelain. “I’m working with the Empress.”

  We could never go back.