The night was heavy over the military camp. Torches burned low along the palisade, their flames swaying in the restless wind. The sound of boots crunching over gravel echoed faintly from the distance as soldiers changed shifts. Inside Mr. Su's tent, the air was thick with smoke from the brazier. Its flames cast shadows that seemed to twist and coil along the canvas walls like restless spirits.
General Gao Zian sat stiffly, his posture straight as a blade, though his eyes betrayed a storm raging within. His lips pressed into a tight line, and his hands—hidden in the wide sleeves of his robe—were clenched hard enough to draw blood.
Mr. Su sat across from him, his expression weary yet firm. His tone was calm but edged with urgency.
"General, you saw her with your own eyes. She is drowning in fear. Her mind clings to nothing—no name, no past, no anchor. Medicine can mend broken bones and torn flesh, but it cannot heal a soul without roots. If this continues, her spirit will wither before her body recovers."
Zian's jaw tightened. His voice came low and dangerous, like thunder before a storm.
"You speak of healing, but the method you suggest is poison. To mend her with lies—is that your idea of mercy?"
Before Mr. Su could reply, the tent flap burst open. A soldier dropped to one knee.
"Doctor Su, a man has arrived at the gate. He says he is an old friend and insists it is urgent."
Su's brows furrowed. For a moment, his face was unreadable. Then recognition dawned, and his voice grew quiet.
"It must be… He Yan."
Zian turned his sharp gaze toward him.
"The same He Yan you spoke of before?"
Mr. Su gave a grim nod.
"The very same."
Moments later, He Yan entered. His robe was dusted with travel, and the night dew clung to his sleeves. The years of burden had carved deep lines into his face. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but the moment his eyes found Mr. Su, the fragile control holding him together shattered. He fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground with a hollow thud.
"Brother Su… please… help me!" His voice cracked, torn by desperation.
Mr. Su rose instantly. "Brother He, please—rise!"
But He Yan shook his head violently, refusing to be lifted. His body trembled as he spoke.
"My wife… her illness worsens with every breath. The physicians have given up hope—her time is short. And her last wish, her only wish…" His voice broke, and tears stung his eyes. "Is to see her daughter again."
Zian's dark eyes narrowed.
He Yan continued, voice hoarse, broken.
"You know the truth already. I was weak. I stood silent as my first wife and my mother cursed the child. They called her a bringer of misfortune, claimed she would destroy the family. They drove her out like a stray animal. And I… I did nothing. I let them tear my second wife's heart to pieces."
His voice cracked further, rising to a ragged cry.
"For years I lived with that regret. And when her illness grew worse, I thought Heaven finally gave me a chance to right my sin. I sent men to bring her daughter back—but the girl… the girl was slain by bandits before she could reach home."
The brazier hissed, sparks leaping upward like fleeting souls.
He Yan's body shook as he pressed his forehead harder against the floor.
"How do I tell my wife? How do I tell her that the child she longs for with her dying breath is already gone? If Heaven would allow me one more sin to give her peace, I would bear it gladly."
Zian's expression was unreadable. His gaze, sharp as a drawn blade, cut across the kneeling man. His voice was calm, but carried the weight of steel.
"So you would take another, drape her in your daughter's name, and hand her to your wife as though Heaven itself had returned her? You would build peace on lies and call it mercy?"
He Yan's fists dug into the ground, knuckles white.
"If a lie can ease her heart, then let the heavens strike me, not her. General Gao—please. If you refuse, my wife will leave this world in despair."
Mr. Su turned to Zian, his eyes pleading.
"General, perhaps this truly is fate. You brought back a girl with no name, no memory. He Yan's wife yearns for her daughter. One name—just one name—can heal two wounds at once."
Zian gave a cold, humorless laugh.
"Do you know the old proverb, Doctor? 'Falsehood builds a house of sand. When the storm comes, it collapses without trace.' A lie may soothe for a moment, but when truth surfaces, it will destroy not only her, but everyone around her."
His words reverberated through the tent, heavy as thunder.
Mr. Su's voice sharpened, frustration bleeding through.
"Then what do you propose, General? Keep her here nameless, adrift? Each day she wakes asking who she is, with no answer. That is not healing. That is torment."
Zian's eyes blazed, and his voice rose, sharp with suppressed fury.
"I nearly lost my life to save her! Do you think I risked everything just to deliver her into the hands of those who once declared a child cursed? You ask me to put her fate in the same house that abandoned their own blood!"
He Yan flinched as though struck, but he did not lift his head. Tears fell onto the ground, darkening the fabric beneath.
"I know my sins. I failed her once. But if Heaven grants me this chance, I will not fail again. I will protect her, shield her, give her the life she was denied. General, if you refuse… you condemn not only my wife's last breath, but the child's chance for peace as well."
Silence pressed down, heavy as stone.
At last, Zian moved. His boots struck the ground, each step like the toll of a drum, until he stood before the man kneeling in the dirt. His voice cut like a blade drawn in the night.
"You beg for your wife's peace. That is noble. But what of her? The girl herself. She who wakes trembling, lost, and alone—what right have you to bury her beneath a false past? To chain her to a life that is not hers?"
The words struck the tent like thunder.
Zian's voice dropped, quieter now, but filled with memory and weight.
"When I was a child, my world burned before my eyes. My home reduced to ash. My family slaughtered. I too was left with nothing but fear. Do you know what saved me?" His gaze grew distant, softened by something long buried. "Not lies. Not false hope. But the truth of a stranger's kindness."
A jade pendant glimmered faintly in his mind's eye. A girl's hand reaching for his. A name whispered softly.
His fists tightened.
"I will not strip her truth from her. A blade without memory is dangerous. But a blade wrapped in lies will one day shatter. And when it does, it cuts deeper than steel."
His words fell like a final judgment.
Mr. Su lowered his head, lips pressed tight. He Yan's shoulders shook, his tears staining the earth.
For a long moment, Zian's gaze was cold, immovable. But then—the image of her face returned. Mei, eyes wide, trembling, gasping for breath as she tried to push him away. Stay away from me! she had cried, as though he were the very shadow of death.
The memory struck deeper than any sword wound.
His eyes closed briefly. When they opened, the storm within had not calmed, but shifted.
"…Very well."
The words fell like stones into a silent lake.
He Yan's head jerked up, disbelief flooding his face.
"General… you mean… you will allow it?"
Zian's voice was low, hard, but it carried fire.
"I will allow it. If this gives her peace, if it steadies her heart, then so be it."
He Yan dropped fully to the ground, bowing deeply.
"General Gao… you have saved not only my wife, but me. I owe you—"
"Do not thank me." Zian's tone sliced the air, sharp and final.
He turned, the brazier's flames painting his figure in bronze and shadow. His voice, calm yet heavy, cut through the tent.
"I will permit her to bear this name. But only on one condition."
The brazier hissed, sparks bursting into the air like fleeting stars before fading into darkness.
He Yan froze, breath caught in his throat. Mr. Su's eyes widened, tension etched in every line of his face.
But Zian said no more.
The silence was suffocating, the night pressing against the canvas walls as though waiting, listening.
And in that silence, one truth remained: the girl's fate now hung suspended—balanced on the edge of a condition yet unspoken.