It was a quiet night, the moon hanging in the dark sky and surrounded by a spray of glimmering stars as it watched over the capital. The second day of Ming Quan bearing the curse finally drew to an end.

Yin Xue walked silently as he made his way back to the courtyard and to his young master. As he neared the bedroom, he could see lamplight spilling from within.

Was the young master still not asleep?

Like a ghost, Yin Xue entered the room without making even the smallest whisper of sound. He was greeted with the sight of Ming Quan sitting at the desk, his straight back turned towards the entrance. His slender figure trembled while the soft sounds of choked cries echoed in the room. Yin Xue could smell salty water.

He very logically came to the conclusion that the young master was crying. But considering everything, Ming Quan couldn’t really be blamed for it after all he had to go through till now added to the knowledge of his painful death looming over his head.

Though Yin Xue wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave the human youth to his sorrows, he was after all charged with making sure the young master spent his final days in comfort. So, letting out a soundless sigh, Yin Xue walked silently towards Ming Quan. But finally seeing what his young master was doing, Yin Xue halted in his tracks.

Unlike what he’d assumed, Ming Quan was, in fact, not crying at all―he was writing letters.

By now, the swirls of curse marks had turned black up to his wrists, which meant that he must be in serious agony as he wrote. Not only had he ground his own ink, he had also already finished writing a stack of letters that were neatly placed at the side to dry. The pain must be excruciating by now.

Ming Quan’s eyes were focused as he stared intensely at the paper. His fingers incessantly shook due to the severe pain, splattering droplets of ink over the page. He had his jaws clenched as he choked down the raspy cries of pain. The salt water Yin Xue had smelled was in fact sweat from exertion.

Ming Quan had not yet noticed the silent white shadow that had crept up beside him, so Yin Xue took the time to read the letter his young master was writing to see just what information was so important that he labored even under this much pain. But the more Yin Xue read, the more confused he became.

The current page of the letter read:

…which is why I moved to Mother’s courtyard. The chrysanthemums are blooming brilliantly as if still being guided by mother’s gentle hands. The breeze was especially refreshing today. The warm sunlight felt comfortable on my skin as I closed my eyes and listened to the peaceful sounds of leaves rustling. When I opened my eyes again, I was greeted with the magnificent sight of the garden in full bloom. I hope you will come visit me and mother in the garden every now and then. Who knows, you might even meet our ghosts…

This was a letter meant to be read by Ming Quan’s father after his death.

Though Ming Quan looked as if he was going through unbearable torment to write out these barely legible characters, the contents themselves were peaceful and pleasant as if in comfort. Ming Yan was no fool though; he would surely understand the trouble his son had undertaken to finish each word. And therein lay the proof that his son loved him. He loved him enough to go through all this suffering so that he could grant him some measure of peace after his passing.

Yin Xue felt that faint ache returning to his chest. An unwelcome thought suddenly popped into his head. Could it be that…

…this young master was a masochist? After all, why else would he keep putting himself in so much misery?

Setting this startling discovery aside for now, Yin Xue looked at the crumpled face of the young man. He should probably try to stop him.

“Young Master, what are you doing?” he asked in his soft voice despite already knowing the answer.

Ming Quan jerked in his chair with surprise. “Y-Yin Xue? What… When did you return?” The pain somewhat blurred his consciousness, making him sound incoherent.

“There is no need to force yourself to write letters. You can simply dictate them and order me to write in your stead.”

Shaking his head, Ming Quan spoke, “It would lose its meaning then.”

Yin Xue didn’t say anything more.

Seeing that Yin Xue had no intention of dissuading him, Ming Quan breathed a sigh of relief and continued writing page after page at a turtle’s pace. After addressing several of the pages to his father, he wrote to his friend who was traveling outside the capital now. He wrote to the two seniors who took care of him the most when he had been at the academy. He wrote to his childhood nanny.

At the side, Yin Xue simply stood and watched his young master’s struggles. After a while of seeing Ming Quan blinking away the stinging drops of sweat as he grimly continued his efforts, a strange sense of discontentment and restlessness overcame Yin Xue. Unable to bear it, he left for a while and returned with a basin of cold water and a washcloth.

He sat beside Ming Quan on a wooden stool, slightly wetted the soft cloth, and began wiping away the sweat on Ming Quan’s forehead, cheeks, and neck.

Surprised, Ming Quan looked up, only to be greeted with Yin Xue’s expressionless gaze while he drew the washcloth over the heated and damp skin, wiping away the perspiration meticulously.

“Thank you,” Ming Quan said, his voice hoarse. He received a stiff nod in return and went back to writing letters in a much better mood. A secret warmth tried to bloom in his chest, but Ming Quan ruthlessly squashed it. No, he shouldn’t hope for too much just because of this.

Meanwhile, as he continued wiping his young master’s sweat, Yin Xue reflected. He knew that his actions were too strange today, but he felt the restlessness subside only when he did this. And so, Yin Xue continued wiping away the endless streams of sweat as he pondered on these bizarre stirrings.

By the time Ming Quan had finished writing to all the people who would mourn him when he died, dawn was already beginning to lighten the distant horizon, inviting in the third day since he was cursed. Ming Quan’s eyes felt heavy and his throat thick due to strain. The pain was so bad that he had lost all sensation in his hands. But as long as they still moved, he would continue to use them.

Ming Quan struggled to think if he had missed anyone he should write a letter to. As he felt the cool cloth continue to wipe over his skin, Ming Quan suddenly realized something. “Yin Xue, enough. You must be tired. Why don’t you go and rest first?” he said.

With an impassive face, Yin Xue replied, “There is no need. I am not weary.”

Ming Quan showed a conflicted expression. “I need privacy for the next letter I’m about to write. Can I please have some time to myself?”

Yin Xue paused in his ministrations and wordlessly left with the washcloth and basin. Ming Quan sighed in relief. Taking out a new sheet of paper, Ming Quan pondered for a long time on what he wanted to write and how much he should reveal. Oh well, he was going to be gone by the time the recipient read it anyway. What did he have to be bothered about?

And so, Ming Quan unsteadily dipped his brush into the ink and began writing.

During this time, Yin Xue left him alone for the most part except for when he brought him breakfast. Ming Quan had panickily hidden the letter he had been writing by covering it with his body, not caring how obvious his actions were. But Yin Xue did not even glance in that direction as he put down a bowl full of thin soup and a hollow reed straw. Since using his hands brought Ming Quan pain, Yin Xue had thought to let him use the straw to suck in the soup without using his fingers. After Ming Quan expressed his gratitude for his thoughtfulness, Yin Xue left with his usual poker face.

Ming Quan sighed and continued, occasionally sipping the soup to sate his hunger.

Time thus passed and the sun climbed overhead, signaling noon.

Yin Xue came to deliver Ming Quan his lunch and saw his young master slumped over on the desk, sleeping with his head pillowed on folded arms. His face looked bloodless, contrasting greatly with the thick dark circles under his eyes. By Ming Quan’s elbow was a neat stack of letters. The topmost envelop was addressed to Ming Yan. These were the letters that Ming Quan had labored throughout the night and this morning to finish.

Yin Xue gazed at it flippantly before exchanging the empty bowl of soup for a fresh one. As Yin Xue was turning to leave, Ming Quan restlessly fidgeted in his sleep, his elbow lightly knocking into the stack of envelopes. The letters slid over the edge of the table and fell to the ground in disarray.

Walking up to the scattered envelops, Yin Xue sighed inwardly. As he bent down to gather the letters to put them back on the table again, a particular envelop caught his eye. The words on the envelope were fresher and darker than the others. It was clearly the letter Ming Quan had written most recently after asking Yin Xue to leave.

The envelope was addressed to Yin Xue.

Placing the other letters atop the table, Yin Xue picked up the one with his name and looked at it with a strange expression. He felt his long dormant curiosity rekindle. Even Yin Xue didn’t know why he found himself suddenly wanting to know more about this young master of his, but he also didn’t want to infringe upon his young master’s privacy.

However, this sense of morality didn’t last long.

Curiosity soon won and Yin Xue decided to open it. He could just simply reseal it again to make it look untouched. Rationalizing that what his young master didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, Yin Xue carefully opened the envelope and took out the folded parchment within.

However, as he read on, though his expression didn’t change, the color in his eyes darkened and swirled with increasing intensity.

Yin Xue,

I do not know if what I write here will have any import to you, but I still wish to leave you these words.

First of all, thank you for taking care of me. Though I know it was only by my father’s orders, I still feel thankful that I was able to spend time with you like this. No matter how much this curse plagues me, know that I have never once regretted or doubted my choice to set you free.

I might not be able to faithfully convey the depths of my gratitude and thoughts in these meager words and with my limited capability, but I will try.

I like you. I have liked you for a very long time.

I am ashamed to admit that I was just like the others at first. Faced with your icy countenance, I was very afraid as a child. I was scared and intimidated by you, since to a child, you are the very definition of an imposing and unapproachable adult. However, I cannot deny that I was also endlessly fascinated with you even then. And eventually, you also became my first love. Do you know how it came to be? I suppose you wouldn’t be interested, but I still want to selfishly tell you, so bear with me.

You were in my mother’s courtyard accompanying my father as he came to spend some time there to reminisce about and mourn my mother. I suppose you didn’t want to intrude or simply didn’t care to see my father’s miserably sobbing appearance, for when I found you, you were in the chrysanthemum garden at the back.

I don’t think I have ever seen you that peaceful before or since then. It seemed you were fond of chrysanthemums, since your fingers were ever so careful as you touched their petals. The shine of your hair under the sun almost blinded me, but what was even more blinding was your warm smile. I do not know what you were thinking of then, but I have been smitten with you ever since.

I thought of how it would feel to be looked at with such a gentle gaze, to be touched as delicately as if I were that flower, to be smiled at with so much warmth by you. I realized I wanted that. I realized I liked to see you like that. Though my cautiousness against you hadn’t disappeared, with me even beginning to grow more nervous in your presence since then, I didn’t fear you as much anymore. I liked looking at you, trying to catch a glimpse of that warm smile. But you never showed it to me again.

Maybe I should feel embarrassment for being so forthright, but I will be gone by the time you read this anyway. So I might as well tell you.

You might be asking yourself why I would refuse to let you bond with me and take me as your mate since I had such a good chance to make you mine after all. The simple answer is: Because you yourself didn’t wish to. You wanted your freedom and it was within my means to grant it. As someone who loves you, how could I not give you at least this much? I hope you have already been set free when you are reading this. I hope I was able to grant your wish.

I tentatively confess that another reason why I didn’t accept to bond with you that day is that for the first time in a long while, I felt fear towards you. It wasn’t because I was afraid you would hurt me physically. But having to share my body with you in such a circumstance where you are unwilling, where even if our bodies are intimate, your gaze would still remain detached and cold―such a situation would hurt me more than anything. It was not what I wanted. That was not how I wanted to have you.

I’m aware that you might not be concerned about what a silly human like I might be thinking or the reasoning behind my actions, but perhaps I’m hoping that in some small corner of your heart, you do care a tiny bit…

Well, I’ll end my rambling now. I’m thankful that though I couldn’t see your smile, I was at least able to monopolize your attention for a few days, even though you were only following orders. I am content enough to be able to spend this time with you.

By the way, the soup you brought me for breakfast doesn’t seem to be made by the cook. Did you make it yourself? I’m drinking it right now and it’s delicious. I’m glad I could taste your cooking. I wish I could live longer just so that I can taste your cooking every day.

―Ming Quan

Yin Xue stared at the contents of the letter. The faint stirring in his heart had bloomed into violent churning. For the first time since he’d bound himself to the Ming bloodline, he was stunned and confused, not knowing what to feel.

Except for Ming Quan’s soft snores, the room was quiet. The rays of the afternoon sun set alight the motes of dust dancing by the window, making them seem like they were glowing. Still and silent, the room seemed frozen in time, as if neither the past nor the future could touch this moment stretching in the present.

Yin Xue exhaled a soft breath. Carefully folding the letter again, he resealed it into the envelope and placed it along with the other letters. He made sure to reposition every envelope exactly the way it had been before it fell.

With a complex gaze, he looked at Ming Quan.

Sunken in an uncomfortable sleep, the young man’s lashes trembled faintly, fanning over his overly pale cheek. His complexion wasn’t very good and his brows remained fixed in a frown as if he was burdened by distress even in his dreams. His pale and slender fingers, now covered in the black swirls of curse marks and patches of ink, twitched every so often restlessly. His slightly opened lips were cracked and dry.

Yin Xue’s chest ached. He frowned. After deliberating, he carefully picked his young master up and settled him on the bed, tucking him under the quilt.

He left the room while carrying the empty breakfast bowl in one hand as he lightly rubbed his chest with the other, his thoughts unknown.