Chapter Text
The crunch of frozen snow beneath Xie Zheng’s boots was the only sound in the desolate winter landscape. He was walking home after finally finishing his latest grueling commission from Ms. Chen, his muscles aching from the labor. It had been exactly a month since his parents’ tragic death, and his mind was heavy, entirely filled with thoughts of how to reopen his parents' old pork stall and start the family business again.
As he walked, his numb fingers counted the few copper coins in his palm, calculating the cost of grain and rent. Suddenly, a splash of color caught his eye near a cluster of frozen thickets. It wasn't firewood. It was a trail of fresh, stark crimson staining the pristine snow.
Following the blood, Xie Zheng stopped short. Slumped against a jagged snowbank was a young lady, her face deathly pale, clad in shredded dark silks. A deep, horrific wound tore through her shoulder, the fine fabric around it stiff and black with frozen gore. She lay there half-dead, her chest hitching in shallow, agonizing gasps, her lips tinted a dangerous blue.
Xie Zheng looked down at the almost dead lady. He was completely unsure of what to do. The lady looked like absolute trouble. He had only just finished the traditional month of deep mourning for his parents; he was simply not in a position to take care of someone else when he could hardly take care of himself.
Xie Zheng turned away, about to leave and pretend as if nothing had happened. But he stopped. He looked back at the lady again, and the sight of her shivering, bloody form suddenly reminded him of his own mother, who had been ruthlessly killed by bandits alongside his father on a lonely road. His mother had been a warm and affectionate person, and the thought of leaving another woman to die in the cold bit sharply at his conscience.
He let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Looks like I have to save you," he said softly to the unconscious lady.
Slipping his powerful arms beneath her, he effortlessly hoisted her into his chest, wrapping a corner of his thick, coarse cloak around her to shield her from the biting wind. He turned on his heel and rushed back toward the village.
Bursting through the doors of his modest home, Xie Zheng called out into the quiet evening. Within minutes, his frantic commotion brought his next-door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Zhao, running over, wrapped in their own warm shawls.
"Heavens, Xie Zheng! What on earth happened?" Mrs. Zhao gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she saw the bleeding, unconscious girl cradled in his arms.
"I found her on the path outside of town, Uncle Zhao," Xie Zheng explained breathlessly, carefully laying the young lady down on his own wooden cot. "Lying half-dead in the snow. I think bandits ambushed her." He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice dropping with genuine anxiety. "Auntie... I know we can barely manage right now, but I couldn't just leave her there."
Old Mr. Zhao closed the door firmly against the howling wind and rushed over, his face grim. "You did the right thing, boy. Money is temporary, but a life is a life. Let me see the wound."
For the next few hours, the cramped, cold house became a frantic sanctuary. Mrs. Zhao quickly boiled what little water they had left and brought clean linens, her hands gentle but efficient as she cleaned the frost and dirt from the stranger's pale skin. Mr. Zhao, who kept a small stash of dried mountain herbs, crushed a soothing, anti-inflammatory poultice to apply to the deep gash on her shoulder.
Xie Zheng stood back by the hearth, keeping the fire roaring with the wood he had managed to bring back, his eyes drifting heavily toward the mysterious young lady. To him and the Zhaos, she was simply a tragic, fragile casualty of a mountain robbery—a wealthy girl from a ruined family with nowhere else to go. He had absolutely no idea that the "helpless" woman his family was currently using their last resources to nurse back to life was actually Fan Changyu, the empire's most legendary missing General.
The next day, Xie Zheng was busy tackling his household chores, trying to clear his mind. That was when his close friend, Gongsun Yin, urgently entered through the front door.
"Xie Zheng. I have some news," Gongsun Yin said, his expression grim.
Xie Zheng nodded stiffly and told him to come inside the house.
"Xie Zheng, your uncle is trying to take your parents' business," Gongsun Yin revealed without preamble.
"And how exactly is he supposed to do that?" Xie Zheng asked, his hands steady as he continued sharpening his heavy butchering knives against a whetstone. *Scrape. Scrape.*
"He is trying to prove to the village elders that you are mentally unstable from grief, and that you couldn't possibly take care of the family business, and..." Gongsun Yin paused for a moment, hesitating.
"And?" Xie Zheng asked, pausing his movements. His voice dropped, becoming dangerously low.
"And that you're unmarried, living alone, and completely without heirs to secure the property line."
Xie Zheng forcefully put his knives down onto the wooden table and let out a long, frustrated sigh. Before Gongsun Yin could say another word to comfort him, the curtain pulled back and Mrs. Zhao hurried into the room.
"Xie Zheng, the lady has woken up," she announced softly.
Xie Zheng nodded immediately. He rushed to see the patient, leaving a thoroughly confused and blindsided Gongsun Yin standing behind in the kitchen.
Xie Zheng entered the small bedroom and found the lady he had rescued the night before. She was leaning weakly against the headboard of the bed, her dark eyes wide open and alert. Up close, stripped of the blood and dirt, the woman was breathtakingly beautiful, he had to admit.
He sat down quietly on a stool beside the bed.
"Are you the one who saved me?" she asked, her voice a fragile, raspy whisper.
Xie Zheng nodded. "Who are you, lady, and where is your family?" he asked gently.
"I'm Fan Changyu," she replied, her gaze distant and hardened by grief. "And my parents are dead." She looked around the sparse, rustic room. "Where am I?"
"Lin'an village, Qinping county," Xie Zheng answered.
Before Xie Zheng could question her any further about who had attacked her, she suddenly began coughing violently, clutching her bandaged shoulder as pain flared across her face. Mr. Zhao rushed into the room right behind them.
"She is still severely injured, Xie Zheng. Let her get some rest," the old man urged.
Xie Zheng nodded understandingly. He leaned forward and gently helped her to lie back down, pulling the heavy quilt up over her shoulders.
Downstairs, Gongsun Yin was pacing back and forth, waiting for him. The moment Xie Zheng stepped out, his friend confronted him. "You brought a woman home? At a time like this, Xie Zheng?"
Xie Zheng ignored him, walking past to tidy up his workspace.
"Mrs. Zhao told me everything on my way in," Gongsun Yin continued, his tone deeply worried. "Xie Zheng, in your current situation, you can't even take care of yourself properly. How can you bring another person into this house? Not to mention that her medicine will be incredibly expensive."
Xie Zheng didn't look at him, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "I will manage."
Gongsun Yin was about to open his mouth to argue further, but Xie Zheng cut him off with a sharp, piercing glare. "Don't let anyone else find out she's here," he warned sternly.
Gongsun Yin stared at his friend for a long moment before finally letting out a sigh, nodding in agreement. "Alright. My lips are sealed."
Upstairs, the room was quiet save for the whistling of the wind against the windowpane.
Fan Changyu lay perfectly still, listening to the fading footsteps of the men below. Her body ached terribly, but her mind was already moving with the sharp precision of a military commander.
A soft, familiar scratching sound at the window drew her attention. She turned her head weakly. Perched on the narrow wooden sill outside, blending almost perfectly with the falling snow, was a magnificent white falcon. It tapped its beak against the glass.
Holding her breath against the pain, Changyu forced herself to sit up. She dragged herself toward the small window and cracked it open, letting in a swirl of frosty air. The falcon hopped onto her wrist, its sharp eyes intelligent. Tied to its leg was a tiny, blank cylinder—a silent inquiry from her remaining hidden loyalists, asking a single, desperate question: *Are you alive?*
Changyu looked around the small room for writing materials, but found none. Undeterred, she reached over to the bedside table where a small bowl of cold tea sat next to a pair of cheap, burnt wooden chopsticks used to stir herbs.
Using the charred, blackened end of the chopstick as a makeshift quill, she hastily scrawled a single, decisive reply onto a scrap of lining torn from her inner sleeve: *Lin'an.*
She tightly rolled the fabric, slipped it securely back into the falcon's leg cylinder, and gave the bird a gentle push. With a silent flap of its powerful white wings, the falcon launched back into the gray winter sky, carrying the secret that the empire's greatest General was hiding in the home of a village butcher.