The trio ate dinner as they normally would—talking, making light of the incident, and discussing their plans for the road. However, Xuan Che was tense. Nervous. He did not know how to ask what just happened.
Lǎo Wáng, emboldened by their protection and seeking a permanent solution to his daughter's infatuation, approached their table. Though intimidated by Li Wei's icy presence, he mustered his courage.
" Xuán Chè," he began. But noticing his clothing was much finer than he had worn when had worked for his family and his present company, he changed how he addressed the young man. "Young Master Xuán Chè," he said bowing nervously.
Xuán Chè was taken aback by Lǎo Wáng calling him Young Master.
"You see how my daughter adores you. You are a fine, strong young man. As a show of gratitude, I... I would be honored for you to marry my daughter. She would make a devoted wife!"
Xuán Chè didn't hesitate. He set his chopsticks down with a definitive click. "Thank you for the offer, Lǎo Wáng, but I am not looking for a wife."
"You would not have to marry into our family. You're the only one I can trust to take care of my daughter."
Xuán Chè's face usually held a certain charm, even when nervous or confused. However, all that remained on his face was calm fury, as if it had been caged for far too long and was looking to escape. However, he maintained his composure.
"Lǎo Wáng, I will not say it again. I do not want to marry Màn'er. She is lovely, but I am not the one for her. Let this be the last of this discussion."
The finality in his voice left no room for argument. Màn'er, serving a nearby table, heard everything. Her face crumbled.
Later, as the group headed up to their rooms, Màn'er intercepted them on the dimly lit landing. "A'Chè gēge," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Please, just a moment. Alone. I need to understand."
Li Wei and Qianyi exchanged a look, but it was Yisha who gave a slight, wary nod. "Make it quick," she said.
Xuán Chè reluctantly followed Màn'er to a small, empty storage room. "Màn'er, this isn't—"
"Why?" she pleaded, cutting him off. "Why don't you want me? Am I not pretty enough? Is it because my family runs an inn? You've found wealth and are looking for a worthy match?"
"You're lovely," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but we are not compatible. Our paths are different. I am leaving, and I will be traveling for a very long time."
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I see," she murmured. Then, a strange resolve hardened her features. "Then... let me at least wish you well on your journey."
She produced two small cups from a shelf and a hidden flask, pouring a clear liquid. "Remember this wine? You made for me to cheer me up. Let us toast to your future and going our separate ways."
Feeling cornered and wanting to end the encounter, Xuán Chè took the cup and drank. The wine was sweet, but it had a bitter aftertaste. Almost immediately, a strange warmth spread through his veins, followed by a terrifying numbness. His limbs grew heavy; his tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth.
"The... drink..." he slurred, his legs buckling. "Nǐ…"
"I'm sorry," Màn'er whispered, catching him and half-dragging him toward a cot in the corner. "I just... I just need you to understand how good we could be."
He collapsed onto the thin mattress, his body refusing to obey his commands. He tried to scream, to shout for Li Wei, but only a faint, breathy whisper escaped his lips. "Bù... Yào...Don't… Bù yào…"
Màn'er climbed onto the cot to straddle him, her movements clumsy and desperate as she fumbled with the ties of his robe. "A'Chè gēge. You do not think you love me now, but you will see. You will thank me later—when we are wed and you are a father."
As she leaned in to kiss him, a surge of pure panic gave him one last burst of strength. He jerked his head forward in a clumsy, desperate motion, headbutting her square in the nose.
She cried out, clutching her face as blood began to trickle slowly from her nose. The pain seemed to shatter what was left of her sanity. "Why?!" she sobbed, scrambling back on top of him, her tears and blood dripping onto his tunic. "Why can't we be together?!"
The door to the room splintered off its hinges with a deafening crack.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light, was Yisha. Her eyes showing both slight amusement and annoyance as she took in the scene: the numb terror on Xuán Chè's embarrassed face, Màn'er atop him, the discarded flask.
She took one step into the room, her voice slicing through the tension like a honed blade.
"Because he's with me."
Màn'er scrambled off the cot, her face a mess of blood, tears, and fury. "Get out! This is none of your business!"
Yisha didn't even look at her. She walked over to Xuán Chè, checked his dilated pupils with clinical detachment, and then finally turned her sights to Màn'er. The amusement was gone, replaced by a cold, pitiless disappointment.
"Desperation is not attractive," Yisha snapped, her words as sharp and final as a judge's gavel. "And no man is worth ruining your self-worth for. Look at yourself. You are pretty. You could have any man in this town who actually wants you. So why? Why are you trying to bind yourself for life to a poor wanderer who clearly does not like you? You want to be poor and miserable?"
She gestured to the flask. "And you drugged him. Let me be clear: in our world, killing a man is one thing—it's a clean end to a conflict. But this? Forcing someone? It's pathetic. It's despicable. Maybe he saw through your pretty facade and saw how ugly you are on the inside."
From the cot, Xuán Chè felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Relief, yes. But also, a sting of humiliation. The way she called him 'poor'... And her casual mention that killing him was a more acceptable alternative made him feel like a piece of livestock. Does she still hold a grudge from the market? What kind of cultivator is she?
"If he's so poor," Màn'er spat, clutching her bloody nose, "then why are you with him?"
Yisha let out a short, derisive scoff. "We're not together," she clarified, her tone implying the idea was absurd. "He's with me, as in he's my people. My responsibility. We have business. Important business that doesn't concern you, business you just tried to permanently derail with your little scheme."
She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "The only reason you're still conscious is because I find you more pitiful than threatening. Now get out. Clean yourself up. And if you ever come near him again, I won't be nearly so... gentle."
Yisha's final glance wasn't one of anger, but of dismissal. Màn'er was no longer worth her attention. The real problem was the drugged, helpless young man on the cot, and the long night of recovery ahead.
"That was gentle" Xuán Chè asked himself while being helped up onto his feet.
Yisha dragged Xuán Chè up to the room he would share with Li Wei. Qianyi was waiting inside. As Yisha dragged Xuán Chè inside the room, she held out one hand to Qianyi demanding payment.
Qianyi placed a full coin purse into Yisha's hand, wrinkling her face in defeat. Yisha had bet Qianyi that Màn'er would drug Xuán Chè. Qianyi bet that it would be the father who would poison Xuán Chè
"Poison or aphrodisiac," Qianyi asked.
"Aphrodisiac with a numbing solution."
Just then, Li Wei entered the room, calmly wiping a smear of blood from his hands with a white handkerchief. In one fluid motion, he snatched the coin purse from Yisha's belt.
"No!" Yisha shouted. Come on!"
"The bet was the father would convince the daughter to drug him," Li Wei stated, his voice calm as he tucked the purse into his own robes. "Not that she would act alone. He was in the kitchen, pressuring her to 'secure her future.' He thought our 'Young Master' Xuán Chè had come into a fortune with his new friends."
Xuán Chè laid on the bed, watching and listening to them casually argue and discuss him being drugged as if it were a normal, family affair.
"No, I didn't kill him. He accidentally cut himself on a cleaver while I was... discussing the error of his and his daughter's ways. He's fine."
The three of them then turned to look Xuán Chè, who was now wondering what kind of terrifying and utterly insane people he had bound his fate to.
Tomorrow. They would be back on the road.
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© 2025 Kiesha Richardson, writing as QiXia. All rights reserved.
Death Blooms for You is an original work of fiction by QiXia. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or adaptation of this story in any form is prohibited. All characters, events, and settings are created for entertainment purposes and bear no intentional resemblance to real persons or situations.