My King of Flowers

CHAPTER TWELVE

For a moment, in the warm rays of sunlight casting light and shadows over Prince Cuilin’s scars, Yinuo felt at peace. She’d reclaimed a piece of her heart, even with the ache at her core. As fleeting as the discomfort, morning returned, and she knew what she risked as she brushed a lock from his face and gently kissed him again. Drawing herself away, she felt a grip on her wrist and looked to see the prince’s hand clutching hers.

He didn’t say anything, his eyes studying her own, a look filled with both desperation and longing. Of words at the tip of his tongue, but still he refrained. Yinuo brushed his cheek and then planted another kiss where she had gently stroked him.

“I have to go,” she whispered. She stood, but the grip did not leave her wrist. Inhaling slowly, she allowed the moment to be, just for a moment, just for all the moments that she’d given up when she had lost him.

And though part of her felt loss, the other felt a tug as he laid her across his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair and pressed his forehead to hers. “Stay,” he cooed.

Sliding her head against his, she felt the salt on his skin tugging a little at hers. Almost as if a manifestation that gently resisted the separation. She couldn’t stay. Yinuo pushed herself up and firmly gripped his hands before making her way to the stairs. She opened the door and peeked her head out to the hallway. Then, stepping out without bothering to shut it behind her or greet the servants whom she approached from behind, she moved silently. At the first window, she slipped through the screen and made her way back to her own room.

Her only focus was getting to her room without being discovered and changing into plain clothes—a sudden urgency gripped her heart, driving her to confirm the source of her unease. She’d spent the night with Prince Cuilin, embraced in passions that blushed her cheeks. But no, the act, for all its pleasures, failed to dispel her doubts. Yinuo quickly discarded her clothes and washed her body with the water at the basin before getting dressed to investigate her qualm.

The house slept, all except her and possibly Mingdan, but she had to confront the disquiet, so once again, she slipped out of her window and passed her brother’s room. At the wall, the General’s Baijiu barrels were still stacked high enough for her to escape—the same ones she had used the first time she left. Yinuo silently lifted herself onto the first when, from behind, her arm was grasped.

“Where have you been?” Mingdan’s voice rang clear.

“Let me go,” she said, unable to face him.

“Father has half the guests looking for you!”

“Let me go, Mingdan!” she demanded, ripping her arm from his grasp. Without looking back, Yinuo lunged to the next barrel, pulling herself onto the roof with Mingdan trailing close behind. A roof tile escaped its place as she rolled off the wall, punctuated by a loud crack as it broke.

“Wait!” Mingdan urged. He chased after her, quickly catching up to grasp her shoulders, but she sidestepped him. Rushing as fast as her legs could carry her, she didn’t care that he followed even when his breaths grew labored. At a crossroads, she stopped to reorient herself.

“Huff…huh, so where are we going?” he asked between breaths and clutching his chest.

Yinuo turned on him. “I have to confirm something.”

“Okay,” he replied. Yinuo’s expression softened. “I will accompany you. It is a beautiful morning for a walk—“Yinuo darted off. “Or run! We’ll run; just wait for me!”

Yinuo led her brother outside of the town, where the green fields were sprouting their first crops over the rolling hills. Without prompting, Mingdan asked a local farmer, who’d bought supplies from town, to allow them to ride on his cart to the village. The world was dampened with mist, creating a cool that drifted over them, manifesting into a silence as they sat at the back of the cart. Yinuo gripped her hands together, and slowly, he placed his own on top of hers in silent camaraderie.

She focused on the road, butterflies in her stomach, as her brother’s concern turned to watch what lay ahead. The cart pulled up to the edge of the village as the last of sunrise’s hues cleared to an endless blue sky. Yinuo hopped off before the cart came to a stop, and Mingdan followed, catching her arm to right her balance. The ochre wall of the village stood watch while Mingdan studied it, and Yinuo marched along a side path. Their uphill challenge, overgrown with weeds and laid with dirt, followed the wall’s outskirts.

Breaking through the overgrowth, the siblings came to an old, neglected home. The once proud gate was absent from its post, and the remains were splintered on the side. Yinuo stepped through the threshold, focusing on the whistling wind through the fluttering panels with their paper flaking from their rectangular grids. The walls were marred with cracks and crevices of a shifting foundation and mold that penetrated the home. Looking on, the black mouth opened where an interior door should have greeted them. The only sentinels that guarded the pavilion were patches of purslane, their fleshy leaves and reddish stems spreading among the gravel, displaying tiny yellow flowers that were overcoming the once well-maintained stone.

Yinuo took a step forward when her brother caught her arm. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. She shook him off and then knelt in front of the home with clasped hands. “Dehai. I’m sorry.”

Knees in the mud, Yinuo begged for absolution. The house, believed to be cursed, once homed the gardener and his son, as evidenced by the unruly peonies that sprawled from their original beds. Their crimes had invoked a cruel order, extending their torture to having their remains laid out in the open and their spirits to wander as èguǐ.

From where Mingdan stood, he saw a board and a rectangle that he wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for his sister. It took him a moment to understand; these were makeshift graves, a silent protest against the Emperor’s cruel decree. Yinuo had constructed them to honor the gardener and his son with this simple memorial, preventing their spirits from wandering. Occupied with these revelations, he didn’t have time to react when Yinuo slammed her head into the ground and lifted it with tears in her eyes.

Mingdan rushed to her side, taking her shoulders and carefully embracing her. He pulled her chin up and saw the patches of mud on her face and redness from striking a stone. Cautiously, he took the hem of his sleeve and wiped it away. Then he brought her close, stroking the back of her hair—but otherwise, standing in silent solidarity. He never knew, no one knew, she’d done this for them. A deep sense of regret and guilt washed over Mingdan for not being there for his sister. “Tell me what happened.”

Yinuo shook her head. “I’m an idiot. I tried to get back something that had been taken from me by replacing it. He’s not Dehai. He’ll never be him. Why? Why am I tortured like this? Why did I like it? Why did it feel right!” she shouted, breaking down in her brother’s arms. “Dehai is dead! Dehai is dead! Dehai is dead!” she called her hollow refrain, clutching him. “I cannot have him back! I cannot make up for what they did to him! I cannot have him! I don’t deserve it! I don’t!”

Mingdan let the tears run their course. “Yinuo,” her brother said softly.

“He’s dead…” she uttered, her voice a bare whisper above the songbirds around her. Gently, she broke the contact with her brother, rubbing the side of her face and looking at the garden that had been neglected, but also filled with peonies so bright and vibrant. It almost felt like they were trying to comfort her. How could the world be so beautiful and disgusting at the same time? That’s what she felt. Disgusted.

For years and years, she had been susceptible during the season of peonies to these episodes of melancholy. However, they appeared as a passing thought in her head. One that could be pushed out and ignored, like an annoyance in the wind.

Prince Cuilin had changed that.

His presence had constantly reminded her of her wish—that Dehai was alive, but she knew the truth. She always knew it, and still…

Her brother put some distance between them, wiping down her face and tilting her chin to look at him again. “Yinuo? What do you need from me?”

“How can my wish be answered?” she asked, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness embedding itself in her heart. “How can I be with my king of flowers again?”

“I’m afraid I do not have those answers, but whatever happens, we’re here, Yinuo. We’ll get you through this.”

“I’m so reckless.”

“En, that is my jiejie,” he replied. With one last surge of pressure, he released her from his grasp. He stood before the graves, “I am taking my sister home now. Please return to peace, and know no matter what she does. She is always my sister. So please continue to watch over her.”

Mingdan took her hand and slowly walked towards the gate, where Yinuo paused. Looking back, a shaft of light illuminated a peony in the breeze. She swore she saw a glimmer, but Mingdan’s gentle tug pulled her from her thoughts. “It’ll be late when we get home. Perhaps we can stay in the village tonight.”

Yinuo shook her head, “Let’s go home.”

“Is your leg going to make the journey?” he asked.

“I’ve endured worse,” she replied softly. “But thank you for your concern. Mingdan, will you tell father about this?”

“No,” he replied. “Father doesn’t deserve it after making his only daughter cry.”

“And Prince Cuilin? What do I do about it?” she asked.

“My sister doesn’t open her heart to anyone, but when she does, she does so fully without thinking of the next moment. You live reckless, but you live true to your desires. I know you will do what your heart calls despite what other’s will desire. And I stand by my word; whatever comes, we’ll stand with you, Yinuo.”

Before she could respond, a distant yelling came from the ridge line. They looked up to the call and saw Weixin riding their father’s black steed at full pace. He wore his armor and, more shocking, had his sword at his side. “What is Weixin doing there?” she asked.

“Gege!” Mingdan flagged him down. The horse passed them in the gutter as Mingdan deftly maneuvered them out of the stamping steed. Weixin flung himself from his horse, letting it trot off, and threw his arms around Yinuo.

“Yinuo!” he cried. “Oh, thank heavens!”

“What? What is it, brother?”

“Are you unharmed? Why are you covered in mud?” he asked. “Never mind that! Mingdan! We have to return to father!”

“What is the matter?” Mingdan asked.

“Prince Cuilin has been accused of abducting Yinuo! He is going to be punished! We have to save him! Come!” he grabbed Yinuo’s arm and headed for the horse when she tore her arm from him.

“Why is he accused of that!” she demanded.

“Yinuo, we don’t have time!”

“Why is he accused of abducting me! How would he have the resources to do so! He’s just a prisoner of the Emperor and Father and everyone!”

“That’s why we must hurry! They found your ru and blood in his room this morning! The minister of justice has arrested him and is going to torture him to find your location! Please, Yinuo! You weren’t harmed by him, were you?” his face fell, and Yinuo fervently shook her head.

“No, I was not harmed by him. Now! Take me to him! We have to stop this!” she cried.

“Mingdan! Ask the village leader to lend you a horse with your seal! He’ll understand! I have to take Yinuo now!”

“Understood, go!” Mingdan called, rushing back towards the village. Weixin swept Yinuo into his arms and sat her in front of him. He pushed the horse hard, the labored breathing and racing heart against her thighs.

“Weixin!” she called, fearful of the hills and the force that made her feel as if she would be dislodged at any moment. She sat in front of her brother with nothing to grasp onto, spare for the horn.

“It’s okay!” Weixin reassured her. “We’re going to make it!”

“Weixin, why are you doing this for the prince?” she asked.

“He saved my life, meimei. When he was forced to join the front lines to defend both his country and ours, his brother ambushed and tried to capture him. I was with the battalion, among the men who had been taken with the Prince. He pleaded for my life when he could have easily let me be killed. His brother slaughtered my men in cold blood, but Prince Cuilin stood in front of the blade for me! That’s the reason for the scar across his face,” Weixin quickly explained. “It gave me enough time to free myself from my bindings and get him to safety. I won’t let him die now!” he shouted.

“He…he saved you,” she mused.

“Hold tight!” Weixin shouted. Yinuo gripped the horse as it leaped past a fence and sent it flying downhill. Her stomach lifted into her chest and forced the air from her lungs. She gripped the horn, closing her eyes, which made it worse, but they tore through the field and the gate that had swung open. They raced past their home, Weixin struggling with something on his belt.

“Where are we going?! The house is the other way!”

“We’re not going to the house,” Weixin called, his whistle cutting sharply through the air. Answering his summons, his men appeared beside them with raised spears as they charged toward a massive red gate. Yinuo’s heart lurched—she recognized the grandeur of the palace’s red walls.

Unyielding, her brother flashed his seal at the guards posted without so much as pause while his men barreled through them after. Led by a black stallion, fifty soldiers created a thunderous stampede through the palace’s gilded courtyard in a torrent of clattering hooves that announced their arrival.

In the direct path of their charge, her hair tousled by the force, Yinuo lifted her gaze to the immense palace reigning atop a colossal hill. Its imposing statue was further accentuated by the pristine, tiered steps leading towards it. The horse took the steps effortlessly, its heartbeat pulsing against her legs as her brother’s grip intensified at her waist.

The eunuchs at the door exchanged a brief, stoic look before pulling the main gate wide open, allowing the mud-splattered horse entry into the Great Hall. Yinuo’s breath hitched; the Emperor’s court was in full session, their proceedings shattered by their sudden intrusion. Murmurs escalated to cries as the horse reared, and Weixin expertly brought it under control.

But Yinuo could not take her eyes off the Emperor’s commanding presence, who sat upon a massive gleaming throne. His presence stood as the eye of the storm, adorned in golden, layered dragon robes. Weixin tore her from the saddle and marched her down the aisle towards the Emperor, past her father’s dismayed expression and the other court members, who were arrayed in rows according to their status and colored robes.

Around her, brows furrowed, and whispers of disgrace swirled through the hall, but Yinuo’s eyes met the Emperor’s own rich brown ones. She held his focus, a look of curiosity more than anger.