Past the Waking of Insects, the warmth crept back into the land.
In the southern reaches of Western tael, the spring rivers swelled and the hillsides flushed green. Scholars and poets in these parts had a fondness for gardens—every mountain courtyard overflowed with mountain orchids and jasmine, great blowsy poppies nodding in the breeze, petals layer upon layer like scattered embroidery.
Noon. The sun hung high and bright as the carriage raced through the forested slopes.
Inside, a young woman in a green bijia pulled back the curtain. "Brother Wang, how much farther to Changwu County?"
The driver's weathered voice drifted back, cheerful. "Not far now! Over the next ridge, an hour at most."
Yin Zheng let the curtain fall and turned to study her companion.
The girl beside her was sixteen or seventeen, with features fine enough to catch any eye—skin like pale porcelain, dark brows, and eyes of startling clarity. Her dress was a worn indigo cotton patterned with seaweed, nothing remarkable, yet she carried herself with a strange stillness, cool and remote. At the driver's words, her lashes had flickered. Something shifted behind those dark eyes.
Yin Zheng sighed inwardly.
She had served Lu Tong for over half a year now, and in all that time she had never seen her mistress display much emotion. Whatever happened, Lu Tong met it with the same faint detachment—mountains could crumble and rivers reverse, and she would simply watch, unruffled.
Only as they neared Changwu County had Yin Zheng glimpsed something different. A spark of life, gradually kindling. Like a clay idol receiving offerings at last, taking on the warmth of a real person.
Of course. No matter how calm someone seems, coming home is bound to stir the heart.
Lu Tong sat motionless as the carriage jolted along the mountain road. The basket of apricots Yin Zheng had brought had tipped over, fruit rolling across the floorboards. Lu Tong watched them scatter, her thoughts drifting far away.
Seven years ago, she had left Changwu County in a carriage much like this one. Then, the journey had seemed impossibly fast—she had blinked and found herself in a strange town, a strange life. Now, returning, the road stretched endless. As if the way home would never end.
Seven years on the mountain with Yun Niang. Seven years of lessons and labor, silence and bitter teas. Then Yun Niang died, and Lu Tong buried her with her own hands, and the debt was paid. Freedom—such as it was.
She had written letters to her family over the years. Had they arrived? She had left so suddenly, a child sold into servitude. Perhaps they thought her dead. Perhaps—
The sun slanted westward. The carriage lurched to a halt.
"Miss, we've arrived at Changwu County!"
Changwu County.
Yin Zheng helped her down, paid the driver, and they walked toward the city gates.
Lu Tong raised her head and felt the world tilt strangely around her.
Spring had come to the streets. Visitors and townsfolk strolled in crowds; carriages and riders passed to and fro. Tea shops lined both sides of the main road, their stalls serving hot brews alongside orange cakes and sesame candies. Fortune-tellers had set up their tables under awnings. By the lake at the city's heart, new pavilions gleamed freshly painted, and willow branches trailed in the water, dyeing the surface in shades of green.
Everywhere she looked: people. Noise. Life.
"Miss," Yin Zheng said, her voice bright with pleasure. "Changwu is so lively!"
Lu Tong stood frozen.
When she had left, the plague was raging. Winter. The streets had been empty, the silence broken only by coughing and the rattle of corpse-carts. Now the little county had grown prosperous, bustling with strangers—a world reborn.
The sight unsettled her deeply.
"Let's go," she said quietly.
They walked on. The streets had been widened. Where mud had once sucked at shoes during the summer rains, fine gravel now paved the paths—smooth enough for carriages to pass without jostling.
The cloth shop and rice merchant she remembered were gone. In their place stood wine houses and tea houses, their facades unfamiliar.
Lu Tong navigated by fragments of memory. The old well by the eastern temple. The bronze ox before the ancestral shrine. Landmarks in a changed landscape.
They turned into a quiet lane. A few hundred steps more.
Lu Tong stopped.
Yin Zheng drew in a sharp breath. "Miss..."
Before them stood the ruins of a house.
The earthen walls were scorched black. The structure itself had collapsed into charred timber and ash; only the ghost of a doorframe remained, its outline burned into the debris. Even now, a faint acrid smell hung in the air.
Yin Zheng looked at Lu Tong with growing alarm. This was where her mistress had stopped. This burned-out shell was the Lu family home.
But where were the owners?
Lu Tong stared at the blackened doorframe. Her face had gone paper-pale. Her legs felt filled with lead; she could not make herself step forward.
A voice called out from behind. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
They turned. An old woman stood a few paces away, a carrying pole balanced across her shoulders, baskets of poria cakes hanging from either end. She regarded them with suspicion.
Yin Zheng recovered first. She pasted on a smile and approached, fishing a few copper coins from her sleeve.
"Auntie, my young mistress is a distant relative of the Lu family who lived here. We're passing through and hoped to visit. But it looks like there was a fire—do you know where the family has gone?"
The old woman accepted the coins and the explanation. Her expression softened, but only slightly.
"A relative of the Lu family?" She glanced past Yin Zheng to where Lu Tong stood motionless. "You'd best tell your mistress to turn back. There's no one here anymore."
"No one?" Yin Zheng's voice stayed light, though her eyes flickered toward Lu Tong. "What do you mean?"
The old woman shook her head.
"You haven't heard? The Lu family—all of them—died out a year ago. Not a soul left."