Zhen Xue stepped outside into the frosty winter morning air, tired of standing around. Nobody slept last night with death hanging over everyone’s heads. He gripped the front of his fur coat that he’d pulled over his old clothes, holding the fabric close to himself for warmth. With everything going on, he didn’t bother changing into something fresh. Plus, doing so now felt wrong. Not when the dead would no longer have that luxury.

Before him, the palace garden, usually in full bloom with white chrysanthemums, had frozen blood dripping from flower petals into the dust of snow covering the ground, depicting a tragic sort of beauty. Beyond that difference, though, the royal guards had removed all signs of the six hundred perished servants, as though they were never there. However, Zhen Xue wouldn't forget. 

He swore that when everything was quiet, he could still hear the soft crunch his shoe made when he’d accidentally stepped on a corpse’s hand. His stomach twisted horribly at the thought, but not as rough as the first time.

“Why are you out here alone?” a voice asked, breaking him from his thoughts. 

Zhen Xue looked up to find Xu Yang walking towards him. There was a tentative look furrowed on his brother’s face and bags under his eyes. He wore a cloak much like himself, thrown over old clothes that he hadn’t changed since the incident. 

Xu Yang has done most of the work, instructing the royal guards where to take the bodies beneath the palace. Once they’re made presentable, the guards will distribute them to their families, though according to Ming Yi, that won’t be possible for all the victims.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Zhen Xue mumbled, blinking away the dryness in his eyes from staying awake too long. He’d offered to help Xu Yang, not wanting him to shoulder the burden, but received a deepened frown and got turned away. And perhaps because of the guilt writhing in his gut, that technically the whole thing was his fault for allowing the sorcerers inside the palace, Zhen Xue had listened and returned to his room.

“You look even worse than I feel,” Xu Yang answered with half a smile, one that was honest but heavier than it looked. When Zhen Xue stared blankly in response, Xu Yang took off his coat, wrapping it around his shoulders. The fabric drowned him slightly, but he felt warmer and a touch less numb. “Go get some sleep,” Xu Yang nudged him towards the palace entrance. “I don’t want to handle another corpse today.”

Maybe because of his choice of words, Zhen Xue doesn’t argue with him. Shoulders slumping forward with exhaustion from a sleepless night, he sauntered inside onto the wood floor, feeling that tiny ball of frustration in his chest expand like it would consume him whole. Guilt gnawed at him endlessly, latching onto his very essence as though trying to pull him under to some place dark and nasty. 

The chandelier glimmered overhead as he continued through the lobby, illusionary voices slowly chanting over and over, “this is your fault” and he doesn’t stop them because he knew they were right. It was maddening to think that six hundred lives got taken, gone in a blink as though they never existed. 

Tonight at the memorial, when he would confront the families who lost a loved one, how could he say their grief wasn’t real? 

No longer did the people of this world seem like imaginary story book characters. Fifteen years too late, he realized what he should’ve known when honest, hard-working people weren’t dead.

As he walked, mind numbly, through the labyrinth-like hallways and up the familiar staircase, he could recall some faces that were missing. 

What had their names been? He never even thanked them for their work. They’d always just been there in the background, caring for his normalcy.

“Will you bring me a cup of wine, down from the Northern Mountain?” a woman sang, sitting on the floor some feet ahead by a broken vase. Her voice echoed through the empty hallways like morning dew falling onto a blade of grass.

Visibly shaken by the song’s lyrics, as if intended for his ears, Zhen Xue paused, breathless, to listen. The ball of tension in his chest tightened significantly, growing to a point he could no longer ignore.

She continued, seeming oblivious to Zhen Xue’s discomfort or perhaps didn’t care. “Oh, my dear,” she sang with a mournful smile. “Don’t fear when I can’t fill your cup anymore. No matter the years, I’ll await your return. So, won’t you please bring a cup of wine when you come down from the Northern Mountain?”

He was walking before he realized, his feet moving mechanically. The only thought in his mind that carried him forward was the need to be alone before he broke down. 

Every step he took was a blur, moving without actually seeing anything. The memories of Tianshi and Zhi flooded his mind behind a door he long since closed. “Get a hold of yourself,” the voice in his head snapped at him, only making his breathing grow worse. 

“Just shut up,” he wanted to yell back, but he swallowed the words, finally arriving in the hallway with his bedroom door. Instead of going inside, he surprised himself, sidestepping to the window nearby. Without delay, he threw the panels open wide. 

A chilly breeze swept across his face, through his hair, and tossed the curtains about. 

Only when the wind stilled, filling with the scent of snow and pine, did the oppressive weight within his chest settle and he could breathe again. 

His eyes closed as he sunk to the floor, giving into his exhaustion. As hours passed, he stayed there, watching the sunlight reflect across the floor and grow darker, his mind no longer in turmoil.

When the time came for him to get up, his limbs felt heavy as he tried to lift them. 

He noticed the moisture in his eyes was nearly gone from staring for so long and forgetting to blink. As he did so, the friction felt like sandpaper against his eyeballs. He pushed himself off the ground, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he traveled down the hallways once again, knowing the memorial would start soon.

Tick, tick, tick... a clock resounded within the silence, much like a minute hand that was stuck. 

Zhen Xue looked up, emerging from his daze, only to find nothing amiss.

Yet what was this sense of unease?