The days after her departure felt longer than any campaign Shen Liyan had ever marched through.
The healer's ward returned to order. Soldiers resumed drills along the training field. The city began to breathe again, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—that the woman who had helped save it had slipped away before sunrise.
But for Shen Liyan, time stalled.
He carried on like a man haunted. His orders were clear, precise, even sharper than before—but there was something hollow in his presence now, as if every word he spoke left an echo behind it. One that never quite faded.
Every now and then, he would glance toward the hills. Toward the trail she had taken.
Mei Lin's silence had told him enough.
She wouldn't be writing letters. She wouldn't wait on messages or messengers. If she had agreed to wait at all, it would be with no promises exchanged. No assurances. No guarantees.
Just the words she had left him with.
"I won't wait forever."
He repeated them in his mind like a prayer.
And a warning.
---
Meanwhile, a telegram arrived from the provincial command bureau.
The Governor-General had summoned him to the capital seat.
Officially, it was to report on the containment efforts and submit a revised public health directive. But Shen Liyan understood the real purpose.
The higher council wanted answers about the alliance he had disrupted. They wanted to reinforce his loyalty, to remind him that his rank was not a shield from political obligation.
And they wanted to know why Jiang Yuyan had returned without him.
A commander of his stature, especially one from the Eastern Division, was not free to follow personal sentiment.
Not without scrutiny.
Not without consequence.
---
A commander of his stature, especially one from the Eastern Division, was not free to follow personal sentiment.
Not without scrutiny.
Not without consequence.
---
The capital had not changed in the months since he'd last marched through its gates, and yet it felt different beneath his boots—grander, colder, and somehow more distant.
The red banners of the Governor-General fluttered with ceremonial pomp, but Shen Liyan saw past the veils of honor. He knew well enough that gold-trimmed halls could hide steel-edged traps.
At the gates of the Bureau, he dismounted with practiced grace. A waiting escort bowed.
"Commander Shen," said the attendant, expression unreadable. "You're to report directly to the Inner Assembly."
No time wasted. No time to prepare.
That, in itself, was the first test.
Inside, the corridors echoed with the whisper of slippered feet and the low murmur of bureaucrats. Shen Liyan kept his gaze forward, posture disciplined. At the doors of the Assembly chamber, the guards knocked twice before ushering him in.
The room was dimly lit despite the hour, with half the Council seated in shadow. At the central dais sat the Governor-General—a sharp-eyed man dressed in ceremonial crimson, rings of authority glinting from every finger.
"Commander Shen," he greeted coolly. "You've been away."
"I was stationed in Linzhou, Your Excellency," Shen replied, bowing deeply.
"And now returned. Without incident, I hope?"
A pause.
"Linzhou was secured. The quarantine held. Civil unrest was minimal."
The Governor-General tapped his knuckles against the arm of his seat. "We've read the reports. But some matters… were omitted."
A rustle of silk and parchment. One of the advisers unfurled a second scroll. A name, written boldly near the heading: Mei Lin.
"You left your post for her," one of the ministers said, blunt and cold. "You undermined the diplomatic agreement between her court and the Council."
"I acted to preserve civilian lives," Shen said. "The initial terms of the alliance were compromised. Lord Yue's envoy misrepresented their stability."
"Convenient," another muttered. "And yet, it is the woman who vanished—who fled the city at dawn."
The Governor-General's gaze narrowed. "Did you assist her escape?"
Shen Liyan lifted his eyes. "No."
Not with his hands. Not in words. But his silence, his failure to stop her—he could not deny it in his heart.
"She left of her own will."
The chamber was quiet for a beat too long.
Then: "And yet, she left you behind."
The words hit harder than they should have. Shen held still.
"She was never mine to keep," he answered evenly.
Another minister leaned forward. "Tell us plainly, Commander. Are your loyalties with the Eastern Division or with Mei Lin?"
"I serve the Council," he said.
But inside, something rebelled against that truth.
---
Later, he stood alone in a quiet antechamber, stripped of armor and formality. Outside the windows, the city glowed like a mosaic of burning lanterns. But Shen Liyan saw none of it.
His thoughts circled back to her—her silhouette framed against a rising sun, the last glance over her shoulder, the taste of parting left on the wind.
She had asked him nothing. Demanded nothing. Yet she had made it clear: Do not come unless you choose to. Unless you are willing to leave everything else behind.
And he hadn't been.
Not then.
Footsteps approached. A figure in plain robes entered—a friend from long ago, now an officer within the capital's intelligence branch.
"You're lucky," the man said, pouring tea without asking. "They're not stripping your title."
"I expected worse."
"You should have. They were considering reassignment. Demotion. At one point, even confinement."
Shen raised a brow. "What changed?"
The man smirked. "You've got loyal soldiers, Liyan. And one hell of a reputation. The Council may enjoy control, but they aren't blind to public favor. Too many families owe their sons' safe return to your command. The people whisper your name with respect."
"A dangerous thing, sometimes."
"Only if you forget what to do with it."
Shen took the tea. Its warmth settled briefly in his hands.
"What would you do," he asked quietly, "if everything you'd sworn to protect came at the cost of someone you…" He stopped, then rephrased. "Of someone who mattered more than you were prepared to admit?"
The man gave a long, thoughtful hum. "I'd ask myself which promise I regret breaking more."
---
When Shen Liyan returned to the Eastern Division camp weeks later, it was dusk.
The soldiers saluted him with the same discipline as before, but there was something in their eyes—concern, curiosity, maybe even caution.
He rode past them without a word, dismounted, and stepped into his quarters.
They had kept the space neat. Maps were rolled in their shelves, reports stacked with care. But her absence lingered like a missing note in a melody.
On the desk lay a sealed envelope—his own handwriting scrawled across it.
He picked it up.
A letter he'd written and never sent.
He opened it now, unfolding the creased parchment.
Mei Lin,
I wanted to say that I understand.
That I know why you left, and I know you gave me every chance to follow. But I wasn't ready to let go of everything else.
It shames me to admit it. But it would shame me more not to.
If there is still a road that leads back to you, I will walk it. Even if it is long. Even if I must walk alone for a while.
Wait for me, if you can.
—Liyan
He closed his eyes.
Then, slowly, he reached for fresh parchment.
This time, he would send the letter.