The sounds of crickets chirping could be heard in the dark and desolate forest. A dilapidated hut stood in the heart of the forest, heightening the forest's unsettling aura. In the dimly lit hut, a figure draped in flowing light blue robes lay on the wooden floor.
Their chest remained eerily still as if time itself had frozen in that moment. Crimson stains clung to the side of the mysterious figure. Suddenly, the figure's delicate fingers twitched, breaking the stillness, followed by heavy gasps that resonated within the dim confines of the hut.
***
As the morning sun streamed through the gaps in the battered walls, golden rays illuminated the figure's face. Half was shrouded in a cascade of dark, flowing hair, while the other half was obscured by an exquisite white mask adorned with intricate gold embellishments. The masked figure let out a pained groan, their body slowly rising as they held their side. The masked figure studied the tattered, faded hut, their dark eyes scanning for any signs of life.
Once satisfied that they were alone, they glanced down at the hand pressed against their wound. With no blood oozing through, they breathed a sigh of relief and pushed their injury from their mind.
Gripping the worn, rickety chair in front of them, the masked figure managed to pull themselves up. As they took a hesitant step forward, a sharp pain shot through them, and they instinctively clutched their side, wincing as they fought against the ache.
Eventually, the masked figure reached the dilapidated wooden door, its surface discoloured and riddled with termite damage.
With a push, the door creaked open, and the figure stepped out onto the dewy grass, the early morning sun casting a warm glow around them.
They removed their mask, inhaling deeply as they took in the sight of the rising sun. Half of their face was marked with intricate black etchings that appeared to be ancient symbols, while the other half bore ethereal, otherworldly features that seemed almost unreal. After narrowing their eyes against the light, the figure slipped the mask back on and continued their journey.
**Heng Yang County, Wu Family Mansion**
"Have you discerned the whereabouts of Wu Hengxui?" questioned the middle-aged gentleman clad in flowing silk robes, his voice reverberating with authority as he fixed an intense gaze upon the servant who knelt before him.
"Nay, Master Wu! The body of the young mistress remains undiscovered," the servant responded, his voice trembling with fear.
A dark cloud shadowed Master Wu's visage, and in a fit of rage, he seized his intricately carved jade inkstone, hurling it towards the servant with unbridled fury.
"I commanded you to locate her, not bring me news of death—" He paused, drawing in a deep breath to soothe the tempest brewing in his chest, before levelling a more composed gaze at the now-quaking servant.
"Attend to your wound, and summon Yi and Ling as you depart."
With a low bow, the servant scurried from the study. Moments later, two tall young men entered, their postures deep in reverence as they presented themselves. Master Wu surveyed the pair with a measured countenance and issued his decree with an air of gravitas.
"You are entrusted with the quest to discover my daughter's whereabouts or… fate, within the span of two weeks; should you falter…" His voice trailed, and he paused, letting the weight of his unspoken threat hang in the air as he fixated on Yi and Ling, both still kneeling.
Cold sweat trickled down Yi and Ling's spines as they clasped their fist in solemn acknowledgement as they swiftly exited the study.
Left to his thoughts, Master Wu sighed, casting his gaze towards the horizon where the sun began to paint the sky in hues of gold and crimson. With his heart laden with worry, he implored the heavens to shield his beloved daughter from harm's reach.
**Wu Family, Inner Quarters**
The air in the inner quarters buzzed with tension as a group of maids surrounded a woman in exquisite garb. She was the epitome of elegance, draped in a flowing shenyi robe crafted from rich silk brocade in a deep, royal purple. The wide sleeves of her attire bore intricate embroidery of peonies, and a delicate jade clasp cinched around her waist, accentuating her graceful stature.
Over her robe, she wore a light purple jacket adorned with shimmering silver wave patterns, radiating a sense of grace and nobility. Her hair was styled in a high bun, perfectly accentuated by jade hairpins with matching earrings and a necklace that caught the dappled sunlight.
Despite her majestic appearance, Madam Wu was the picture of despair. The maids, their faces etched with worry, tried in vain to console her,
"Madam, please, you must calm yourself! We fear you may fall ill again," one maid pleaded softly.
Another maid inclined her head in agreement, "Indeed, most wise, for if the young mistress were to behold you in such a state... ahh!" She sighed deeply, her thoughts drifting toward the solemn visage of Lady Wu Hengxui, whose countenance could quell even the most spirited of hearts.
As the soft morning light filtered through the delicate curtains, Madam Wu found herself enveloped in sorrow, her tears flowing like a river of grief. Suddenly, a youthful voice echoed through the chamber, "Does Mother still weep?"
The maids, startled by the innocent inquiry, turned swiftly, their movements graceful and respectful as they bowed low, exclaiming in harmonious unison,
"Greetings to you, Young Master!"
With a gentle wave of his small hand, the young boy dismissed them, and like shadows, the maids hurried away to attend to their duties. Madam Wu, still caught in the throes of her sorrow, cast her gaze upon her beloved son, her heart a tumult of emotions.
"Ah, Hanzi," Madam Wu's voice quivered, tears gathering in her eyes as her young son approached. His countenance closely mirrored that of his elder sister, a reflection cast in gentle symmetry.
Yet, while her beauty seemed to belong to the heavens, his bore a strength rooted firmly in the earth. His brows, bold and resolute, carried the same noble grace that marked his sister's features—a bond of kinship etched in their very flesh.
With a soft sigh, Wu Zhihan lowered himself gracefully to his knees before Madam Wu. "Mother," he murmured, his youthful voice steady yet tinged with quiet concern, "you must ease your sorrow. Should Sister return and find you like this, her heart will be burdened without end."
For one so young, Zhihan's demeanour spoke of a wisdom beyond his years. His small hands, firm yet tender, enveloped his mother's hand as his dark brows furrowed into a sombre expression.
Madam Wu offered a gentle smile, her sorrow-softened eyes glistening as she dabbed her tears with a delicately scented handkerchief.
"Yes, I know," she said softly. "Mother will calm down."
She reached out and rubbed Wu Zhihan's hand with delicate care, her touch radiating both reassurance and gratitude for her son's thoughtfulness as if to reassure both herself and her son.