"I heard you visited Physician Wu a day before Wenxiu did."
Chengyi stiffened at his sister's question. The playful expression on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a sharp, predatory glint in his eyes. He sat upright and looked at his sister.
The silence stretched, and he didn't deny it.
Roujia's lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Brother's rot… it was your plan all along, wasn't it?"
It was not a question but a statement.
Chengyi chuckled. "Wenxiu is such a fool, Jiejie. He thought a normal plague was enough to get rid of elder brother and his legacy. So I just helped him a little," he shrugged.
Roujia felt a dark surge of pride, as if the snake she had groomed since young had finally learned how to bite.
"Be careful. Never let your guard down," she warned.
Chengyi nodded. "It's a pity. Yue Jingyuan won every battle in the royal court, only to lose the war in his own halls."
Roujia shook her head. Her eyes wandered outside the window to see the sun rising from the dark. "You think our elder brother didn't notice your schemes? I am sure, he does," she said calmly, then turned to look back at her brother.
"Wha… what?" Chengyi asked unsurely, hoping he had heard it wrong.
Roujia laughed at her silly brother. She took the soft pillow by her side and placed it at the head of the bed, preparing to sleep.
"Our elder brother is someone who would hold the rosebud through the thorns. He wouldn't mind watering them with his blood just so they bloom beautifully."
Seeing her clueless brother, Roujia chuckled again. "Brother doesn't mind it because all these flowers in the Yue household were planted by our father."
"That's why, even though he knew it was a pitfall, he willingly stepped in."
Without further words, Roujia turned her back to her brother, lay down on the bed, and closed her eyes. When she heard the door to her chamber closed, she opened her eyes. The room was no longer bright; Chengyi had snuffed out every candle when he left.
Accompanying her was nothing but utter silence and the thin grey light of early dawn.
Roujia stared blankly at the wall, her eyes gradually turning glossy as a drop of tears escaped. She made no effort to wipe it away.
"I am sorry, Brother," she whispered into the night, her voice trembling just enough to crack the mask she wore. "I am sorry that we are the thorns you refuse to cut away."
She knew the path was already set, and her elder brother's blood would not be enough to wash away what was coming.
And thus, on that day, a horn was blown for the battle of power in the Yue household.
...…
Yase carried the coffin away from the Yue household. By this time, every person in Yan State was aware of His Majesty's order to seal the former Prime minister, Yue Jingyuan, in a coffin for the sake of the subject's safety.
Though they knew it was the hour when the pallbearer would carry the coffin away from the capital, they were afraid to step out of their households to pay respect to the lord, afraid that the rot would take hold of them.
As the saying goes, honor is the crown for the fallen, but survival is the instinct of the weak.
The people of Yan State were not ready to trade their lives for a final bow.
Carrying the coffin on his shoulder, Yase observed the people watching him through their windows. Some shed tears, some showed pity, and some guilt, yet not a single soul crossed their threshold.
All their emotions were as good as a stare cast from afar at green scenery—passive, beautiful, and utterly useless.
Ignoring them, Yase steadily carried the coffin, careful with every step.
When he reached the outskirts of the capital, the sun had already risen, its light brightening the land. An old, unadorned carriage stood waiting beneath the shadow of a tree with a tall, sturdy white horse harnessed to it.
Yase maneuvered the coffin and slowly settled it inside the carriage. The interior was swathed in heavy, ink-black silk, purely meant to restrain the sunlight and ensure that no rays penetrated the stillness within.
The man had already layered the carriage with cotton pillows, creating a soft, padded bed for the fallen lord. When he set the coffin down, it settled with a muffled thud. In the dark, sunless interior, the coffin lay secured, protected from the violent swaying of the carriage.
Yase lingered outside for a long time, his gaze locked on the wood that held the lord. After a slow, reverent bow, his rough hands tugged the curtains until every gap was sealed.
He would not allow the world's prying eyes, nor the sun's reach, to disturb his lord's rest.