When Lord Jingyuan removed the veil covering his face, the people who had pitied him until now couldn't help but retreat in fear. The maidens of the noble families gasped at the mess the rot had made of the handsome man they once admired.
The scales of the disease didn't look like any normal illness; they appeared jagged, an oily sheen forming over healed wounds, shimmering like sick pearls. Deep blue-green veins popped up near the temples and along the side of his jaw.
Lips dry as withered flowers in frozen land, his iconic pitch-black hair had lost its shine, matting into faded whites here and there. The eyes that were once filled with divine foresight and calm strategist's resolve now stood hollow, heavy dark bags hanging beneath the lids.
People could see a monstrous beauty, where the deadly nature of the disease highlighted the perfection of the features it had consumed slowly.
"Return to your chambers!" Third Lady Su urged her two children back to their rooms. She was afraid that breathing the same air as the lord would infect them with the nameless, creeping rot.
Lord Jingyuan silently observed everything unfolding before his eyes.
When the chief nodded his head at the old men who had carried the coffin into the Yue household, they stepped forward, ready to close the coffin once the lord stepped in.
Yue Jingyuan didn't delay the people, partly because he didn't want to make them uncomfortable or frightened, and partly because he no longer sensed any belonging to the living world. His body had already accepted the rot inside him, and all he wanted now was to rest in the coffin and slowly wait for the rot to fully eat its way from skin to bone.
But deep inside… he knew it would not come anytime soon.
The rot that resided inside his body was no common plague. It was something that felt meticulously crafted—a concoction born of cruel intelligence and forbidden art, suggesting it had been designed specially for his blood alone, a deliberate malice.
And the mastermind behind it…
He calmly closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, those ashen eyes had lost whatever light remained in them. Lord Jingyuan lifted his robe and stepped inside the coffin, slow and steady, not hurried, and rested his head flat on the soft pillow.
"Brother!"
The last words he heard were the cry of his younger brother, Wenxiu, and the sounds of people restraining him from approaching the coffin before the lid covered the wooden box, blocking all light from the outside world.
The people inside the main hall bowed one last time, paying their respects to their former Prime minister of the Yan State. The chief stepped forward and laid the golden-threaded silk mourning cloth over the coffin, a sight that made the people admire Lord Yue even after he was sealed inside.
Wenxiu's eyes were bloodshot. His knees gave out as he dropped to the ground, his gaze refusing to stray from the coffin in which his brother had been sealed.
"Summon him inside," the chief ordered.
One of the men immediately rushed outside the Yue household, only to return shortly with another figure in tow. The nobles inside the hall wrinkled their noses in open disgust at the man.
The chief scrutinized the man from head to toe. The young man was not tall or broad like generals on the battlefield; rather, he appeared lean and compact, his strength resting quietly within him, like a stone shaped by flowing water over years.
He nodded in satisfaction. "State your name," he demanded.
The young man slightly lowered his head. "Yase… Yase Shouming," he replied, his voice low and steady, carrying no deference yet no challenge either—only quiet certainty.
"Yase, here rests Lord Jingyuan. Carry him to the foot of Mount Shanyin and bury him deep…far from the living."
The chief spoke and pulled out a small jade vial from his sleeve, handing it to the young man. "And when the final shovel of dirt is turned, drink the contents of this vial. You are the final guardian of the Lord's sickness. Hence, do not let it outlive your duty, and you must not walk among the healthy again."
"And…beware of the nights," he warned, his voice a thin silver of sound meant only for Yase's ears alone.
Yase wasted no time and took the vial, tucking it beneath his sleeve. He lowered himself and slid one shoulder beneath the coffin's edge, lifted the heavy burden, and rose in a single, measured motion.
The people in the hall couldn't help but marvel at the young man's strength.
Yase settled the weight against his shoulder without a hitch of breath, as if it had always belonged there.
No chant was spoken. No talisman burned.
The hall plunged into utter silence as the young man carried the coffin out of the Yue household. They silently witnessed the shining sun of the Yan State departing on his final journey of land.
Yase's steps never slowed until his feet crossed beyond the Yue household gates. He stopped and carefully adjusted the weight on his shoulder, as if afraid to disturb the person resting inside.
His eyes looked into the distance as the dark night slowly shifted and the sun on the horizon showered the land of Yan with its first morning shine. His calm gaze returned back to the dark timber on his shoulder.
His lips traced the shape of the words before sound even followed. "My humblest greetings…"
Inside the coffin, after the lid had closed, it blocked every sound outside the wooden enclosure. Yue Jingyuan felt the shifting of the coffin he rested in, but strangely, every movement was careful and not exaggerated, as if the person carrying him was worried about his comfort.
Even through the dark timber, he could tell the sun was cresting the horizon. It was time for the world to wake, and for his monotonous form to descend into deep sleep.
Just as his consciousness slowly faded, a low greeting pressed faintly against his ears—not so much heard as felt, reverberating through the stillness of the coffin.
He fought to remain conscious, trying to hear what the person was saying, but then darkness folded in, and his awareness thinned, drifting like smoke into oblivion.