Chapter 57
"Then tell me," he said after a pause, his voice calm but carrying a strange weight beneath it, "do you remember who stayed near me the most?"
Wei Zhi thought for a moment, her brows knitting together as she tried to recall. "Lady Yin Fu, of course… and sometimes the servants assigned to you. Why?"
Wuming's steps slowed.
He did not look at her.
"Not sometimes," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Someone else."
Wei Zhi turned to him, confusion clear now. "Who?"
He stopped walking.
For a moment, he said nothing at all.
Then, without turning, he spoke, his tone returning to its usual indifferent calm, "Nothing important."
Wei Zhi narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced, but she didn't press further. Instead, she walked beside him in silence for a few steps before finally circling back to what she had originally asked, her voice softer this time but no less persistent.
"What did Lady Meihua say to you?"
Wuming exhaled lightly, as if the answer itself held no real weight to him, though his eyes remained distant.
"She talked about fate."
Wei Zhi frowned. "Fate?"
"Yes," he said simply. "And about things that cannot be changed."
She studied him for a moment, trying to read something from his face, but as always, there was nothing to grasp.
"…And what do you think?" she asked.
Wuming looked ahead, toward the far edge of the estate where the trees grew denser, darker.
"I think," he said calmly, "people say that when they've already given up changing anything."
Wei Zhi fell silent at that.
The wind passed between them again, quiet, carrying no answer—only the weight of something neither of them fully spoke.
Wei Zhi looked at him carefully, her eyes narrowing just a little as if trying to piece something together that hadn't been said aloud. "Did she tell you something… about you and him?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more cautious.
Wuming answered without hesitation. "Yes."
She exhaled lightly, her gaze drifting for a second before returning to him. "Then from what I know… you should probably ask Lady Yin Fu."
"It's nothing important," he replied, his tone flat, dismissive—too quick to close the topic.
Wei Zhi tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You sure?"
He nodded once.
A pause lingered, then she straightened. "We have to go back. Lin Yi shi fu called for us."
Wuming gave a small nod, turning in the direction of the training grounds. But his mind didn't follow his steps.
Humans are such isolated beings… he thought quietly, his gaze lowering just slightly. To be so dangerous… and yet so strangely safe at the same time… is that a crime? Half-mother… Meihua.
He said nothing more as they walked back.
A week later.
The same tree stood at the center of the training grounds, its shadow stretching long across the grass as the afternoon light softened. Beneath it, Wuming sat, his back resting against the rough bark, his breathing uneven, quiet but strained. His clothes were torn in places, darkened where blood had soaked through, his arms marked with fresh cuts and bruises. He didn't react to the pain outwardly—but it was there, steady, pulsing beneath his calm.
Not far from him, the clash of metal cut through the stillness.
Wei Zhi and Weiyang were sparring.
Both held spears.
Weiyang's weapon was long and elegant, its shaft a blend of deep orange and yellow hues, the metal tip gleaming as it cut through the air with controlled precision. His movements were powerful, grounded, each strike carrying weight.
Wei Zhi's spear was different.
Green, darker, sharper in design—less ornamental, more brutal. It was the kind of weapon used on real battlefields, the kind generals carried when they expected blood, not display. It looked heavy, unforgiving.
Yet she handled it.
Her movements were fierce, fast, her grip steady despite the weapon's size.
Wuming watched them silently.
How is she handling such a weapon…
Beside him, Yinghua sat quietly. Her legs were drawn up slightly, her hands resting on her lap, her posture relaxed but attentive. At some point, she had leaned her head gently against her knees, her gaze drifting—not toward the fight, but toward him.
Watching.
Always watching.
"Yinghua," Wuming said suddenly, his voice calm despite his condition, "did you make brownies?"
She blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts she had been lost in. "Ah—" she hesitated, a bit flustered, "I… I tried."
"But?" he asked, glancing at her briefly.
"You messed up the chocolate process, I assume," he added before she could continue.
She sighed softly, embarrassed. "Yes… I did. Sometimes they turn hard, then soft… sometimes too soft… and sometimes they taste bitter."
Wuming let out a faint scoff. "Making brownies is harder than it looks. It'll take time."
She nodded quickly. "Yeah… but I made them again today. Do you want to try?"
For the first time, he turned his head properly toward her.
She handed him a small box.
He took it, opening it carefully. Inside were neatly cut pieces—imperfect, but clearly made with effort. She passed him a toothpick, and he took it, picking up a piece and bringing it to his mouth.
It was a bit too sweet.
A bit too firm.
But he ate it without complaint.
Yinghua watched him closely, her eyes almost glowing with quiet anticipation. "I thought you hated sweets…" she said.
Wuming swallowed, his expression unchanged.
"Not chocolate," he said simply. Then, after the smallest pause—almost unnoticeable—"…I like it."
Her face lit up immediately. "Me too."
He didn't respond to that.
But as he took another piece—slowly, quietly—his thoughts drifted again.
Yeah…
Because I like it.
Lin Yi's voice cut through the space sharply, "Yinghua." She lifted her head at once, alert. "Come. Spar." Weiyang was already standing across from her, spear resting in his grip as a faint current of wind curled around its blade, humming softly.
Yinghua stepped forward without hesitation, the veranda umbrella resting along her arm and the folded fan balanced between her fingers—an elegant yet dangerous combination that sat unnaturally well in her hands. The moment they faced each other, the air shifted, the wind no longer moving naturally but coiling, listening, responding.
Weiyang tilted his spear slightly, Yinghua's fan snapped open, and then they moved—wind formations rising together, currents spiraling and colliding as pressure filled the space, sharp and suffocating. Weiyang stepped forward first, his spear slicing through the air, "First form—" the words barely left his mouth before the wind obeyed, a violent arc tearing forward, fast and overwhelming. Yinghua reacted instantly, raising her umbrella, twisting her body—but it was too late.
The strike hit, and her body was thrown back, crashing straight into the tree with a heavy impact, a strained groan escaping her lips as her back slammed against the trunk. For a moment she didn't move, then slowly, painfully, she pushed herself up, her body trembling but her eyes still steady. Lin Yi clapped his hands once, "Enough. We start Tai Quan. Both of you—keep your mastery down. Use Tai Quan only. The first one to give up will starve."
Weiyang blinked, frowning, "Wait… is this some kind of test too, like the one you took last time?" Lin Yi looked at him blankly, "Yes. Correct. Forgot? So dumb after all." Weiyang's expression snapped instantly, anger flashing, "Why you—!!" but Lin Yi had already stepped back, keeping his distance as both Weiyang and Yinghua let go of their formations, throwing away mastery and launching at each other with bare fists, their strikes colliding with raw force instead of technique.
Wei Zhi came over and dropped beside Wuming, the soft rustle of her black and purple hanfu barely noticeable, the slight custom tailoring allowing her to move freely as she sat with one leg slightly open, a water bottle in her hand. She glanced at him. He didn't react. His gaze was fixed somewhere distant, unfocused, lost in thought.
I woke up this morning… told myself I don't give a fuck. Ate my food in peace—I knew I didn't give a fuck. Took a sip of tea—I still didn't give a fuck. It's a beautiful morning… and guess what? I don't give a fuck. And now I'm here… training under a kid… and guess what? I still don't give a fuck.
A pause lingered in his mind.
Then why do her words keep coming back…? Was it really true…? Did she actually feed me… save that body…?
Wei Zhi nudged him lightly, "If it's troubling you that much, just go and talk to Lady Yin Fu. She'll surely tell you about it." Wuming blinked once, exhaling faintly, "Yeah… I guess I should." A brief silence passed before he turned slightly toward her, "Tell me… how do you see Meihua?" Wei Zhi raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you ask that from your father and mother?" Wuming's voice remained calm, detached, "I know what my father thinks of her. A cunning, ruthless woman who is using her kids like tools to achieve power. She is a very ambitious woman… As for my mother, I have yet to ask."
Wei Zhi let out a small breath, her gaze drifting for a moment before returning to him, "Well… that's how she appears from the outside… from what I see," her tone thoughtful, almost careful, "but how I actually see Lady Meihua… it's complicated," her words slowing as she hesitated, the pause stretching just enough to be noticed, "She's the…" she stopped mid-sentence, brows knitting slightly, and Wuming's voice cut in, calm but direct, "Do you know… or can't say anything?"
Wei Zhi clicked her tongue lightly, shifting her grip on the bottle, "It's… confidential. I don't know if I can really tell you," and Wuming's gaze settled on her, steady, unreadable, "What?" She looked at him properly then, something in her expression firming, "It's different with you. You're not a kid… you're much older than us in the way you think. You know things… things we might not even understand, and you won't use this information recklessly,"
Wuming said nothing, only watched, his eyes calm, giving her no reaction yet somehow allowing her to continue, and she inhaled quietly, her voice lowering, softer now, "Meihua," the name resting heavily between them before she continued, "her real name is Fang Meihua… the only daughter of the late Prime Minister Fang… the daughter of the most refined and brilliant mind in the empire—Fang Meihua," her eyes flickering slightly.
She added, "I guess you must have heard… or known," and Wuming's response was simple, flat, "What?" prompting her to continue without breaking her rhythm, "That her marriage to Clan Master Katsuro… was nothing but political gain. Profit. Power," Wuming nodded faintly, "Yes. I know," his tone unchanged, and she watched him for a moment before he spoke again, "And? What about her father? You said 'late'… why?"
Wei Zhi didn't look away this time, her voice steady, almost cold in its clarity, "She killed him—the man who treated her like trash… who raised her only to use her for power," a brief silence followed before she added, "She killed the Prime Minister… in front of the emperor," Wuming's eyes narrowed just a fraction, "She has the power to do that ?" and Wei Zhi exhaled faintly, continuing, "After the wedding, Clan Master Katsuro and Lady Meihua went to the palace for blessings, and the emperor said to her, 'Since you've made such a great choice, Lady Meihua, I shall give you a gift,'" her lips curved faintly as she repeated the next part,
"And she said… 'Then may I take the head of a certain someone myself?'" the weight of those words lingered as she continued, "The emperor hesitated… but he had already given his word," her fingers tightening slightly as she spoke, "She took the sword from the clan master's side—the same sword her father had gifted him as a wedding token—and without hesitation… she struck," her voice dropped slightly, "One clean strike… and his head fell," the air seemed to still for a moment as she added, "that day… she was named the Reverend Phantom of the Xuan," her gaze steady.
End of 57