The wind that drifted through Mei Lin's garden no longer felt like a whisper. It felt like a summons.
The words spoken by the injured traveler echoed in her mind, refusing to quiet. "Tell her I kept my promise." That single sentence unraveled threads she had spent so long tying into knots.
Her breath came shallow each time she passed the wooden crane resting on her table. She had carved it once for comfort, but now it stared back like a question she could no longer avoid.
Could it truly be him?
Could Commander Ren have sent word—after all these years, after silence and distance and the cruel twists of war?
She spent the next morning in a haze, moving between tasks in the garden as if sleepwalking.
She trimmed back herbs, rewrapped drying bundles of dang gui and chen pi, fed the hens, and swept the front step. But her hands never stilled.
Her heart had made a decision before her mind could catch up.
That afternoon, she packed.
She left her cottage in the care of Aunt Lin and walked down the same road she had once taken away from the capital, only this time, she walked toward it.
---
The journey was quieter than she remembered. The forests had thinned since the last monsoon, and where thickets once crowded the path, now wildflowers grew unbothered.
It was midmorning when she crossed the boundary into the outskirts of the city, her steps uncertain but steady.
The city had grown.
Stone walls were freshly reinforced, and new market stalls crowded the southern gate.
Colorful flags hung from balconies, and the air buzzed with activity. She kept her hood low, blending easily into the stream of merchants and travelers.
Mei Lin moved from stall to stall slowly, partly from curiosity, partly to gather her bearings. She needed balm ingredients—camellia oil, beeswax, crushed perilla—and hoped to purchase them discreetly.
She paused at a stall selling medicinal teas when she heard two women talking behind baskets of dried mushrooms.
"Did you hear? The wedding is this week."
"The Commander?"
"Yes! Back from the border just days ago. He returned victorious—drove off the rebels completely. They say his unit didn't lose a single man in the final battle."
"He's to marry the general's daughter, I heard. Quiet girl. Refined. A good match."
"Not like that woman he once chased through the capital," the other added with a scoff. "What was her name again?"
Mei Lin froze.
She hadn't expected to hear his name aloud. Not in such certainty. Not tied with marriage.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
She took her parcel from the vendor with a shaking hand and turned away, ignoring the sudden pounding in her ears.
Shen Liyan—Commander Ren—was getting married.
That week.
And yet—he had sent word. Or had he? Had he known the messenger would find her?
She shouldn't have come.
But her feet moved before her resolve could settle. She followed the curve of the street, past the temple gates, through the crowds gathering for market day, until she reached the edge of the upper court district.
There, a ceremony was underway.
From behind a low wall lined with flowering bushes, she saw him.
He stood in uniform, the embroidered red-and-gold coat bearing new insignias she didn't recognize. His hair was longer now, tied with a dark ribbon.
His stance was proud, posture unflinching, but his eyes—his eyes searched the crowd too often for it to be mere ceremony.
Beside him stood a woman in soft lavender silk. Mei Lin could only see the side of her figure, her hair pinned in a neat coil, her face turned partially away.
Her profile was delicate, with a sharp jawline and elegant bearing—but no more than that. Nothing more was revealed.
Mei Lin stayed hidden in the shade, behind the lilac bush that had once bloomed outside the summer kitchens. She watched as the woman spoke softly. Commander Ren nodded.
But his smile didn't reach his eyes.
Mei Lin clutched the edge of her sleeve. A thousand words perched on the tip of her tongue, but none took flight.
What would she even say? That she had waited? That she still carried the wooden crane? That his name never truly left her heart?
Would it matter now?
A round of laughter erupted from the noble guests nearby. Wine was being poured, silk sleeves fluttered, and musicians began to tune their instruments.
She turned away.
There was nothing for her here.
She walked back down the path she had taken, feet moving faster now, her breath sharp. The market sounds faded behind her. The crowds thinned. The city gates came into view.
She did not cry.
She did not pause.
She simply left.
Without looking back.
---
By the time she reached the foot of the hills, night had fallen. Crickets chirped in the grass. A soft fog clung to the fields.
The road home felt longer this time. Or perhaps it was just heavier.
She lit a lantern outside her cottage and placed her pack gently by the door. The wooden crane sat where she had left it, unmoved.
She picked it up and turned it once in her hand.
He kept his promise.
But not all promises were meant for staying.
Some were meant to be remembered.
Some were meant to be released.
And so, without ceremony, Mei Lin took the crane to the edge of her garden and set it gently into the river stream that cut across the path.
She watched it float until it disappeared from view, swallowed by the bends of the mountain.
Then she went inside.
And closed the door.