After dragged roughly from the imperial hall, the guards threw Mingzhu into the cell hidden in a guest building at the front of the palace. Bamboo bars divided the room, creating an inescapable prison in one half and a collection of torture weapons on the other. Blood stained the floors and Mingzhu wondered how much of it belonged to Jiang and Disung.

While counting down the seconds until the execution, Mingzhu experienced many horrendous things. Every few hours, someone – either Xiaoli’s minions or a noble desiring the emperor’s favour – tortured her. She withstood all of it, falling into a trance like she did at a young age during her father’s punishment. He hit her harder if she cried or screamed so she learnt how to curl inside herself and become an empty puppet instead. A few councilmen spat threats when knives rested against her throat, some women scratched her face, while other visitors purposely beat her stomach, intending to eliminate the claimed child. None broke her.

Sleep offered no salvation though. In her mind, memories stirred and prepared for a grand, terrifying performance. Most were unpleasant, always linking back to her father. Fear of seeing him kept her awake for a while but as the moon rose higher, her eyelids grew heavy. The weight of them felt unbearable. Yet, she fought it, too scared to revisit the past in her dreams. To combat reliving certain events, she forced her mind to drift towards Disung. For some reason, he was easy to conjure up and imagining his carefree smile gave her comfort.

Does he ever brush his hair? She wondered. It always looked tangled. His mother used to scream at him about it in the mountains. It amazed Mingzhu it fit into a semi-respectable bun. His dress style hadn’t changed over the years either; he preferred neutral tones to avoid indulging vanity, just like his father. They were so similar to the extent of continuing stroking their head when anxious. Mingzhu wondered if Disung would behave more like him once age gave him more wisdom. Without meaning to, she fell asleep thinking of this.

Master sat on his old cushion outside the cave, bald head gleaming in the sunlight. It was a pleasant day, ‘perfect for tea’ he explained. A fallen log, smoothed at the top, formed a table they cherished since it provided signs of civilisation in the wilderness. On this, Mingzhu ground tea leaves and stirred them into a boiling pot of water. Finally, after straining it, she served it to Master. He sipped from a chipped bowl, a hidden smile twitching his lips.

“You cannot brew tea,” he resigned and ran a hand over his bald head. “It is a pity.”

“If you don’t like it, you make it!” Mingzhu said, her outburst caused by the disappointment she felt.

Every single day, she tried hard to make it the way he liked. This originally stemmed from the need of approval and attention but developed more as the mountain clan became involved in their lives again. Childishly, she held onto the belief that a well-brewed tea would entice her master to stay longer rather than return to the new mountain village. It was selfish but after losing Juan, she clung onto him like a weening babe. He had been there in her time of need and she feared losing him.

“You still have your old temper. The mountain clan won’t accept a character so similar to your father. Reflect and balance yourself.”

“Everything is about balance or incorrect proverbs.”

Master grinned and made a new batch of tea instead. “Tea is all about perfect balance. You need to control the strength of the fire, the amount of water and the use of the tea leaves provided. Otherwise, the tea will not be as you anticipate. How is this?”

“Disgusting!” Mingzhu lied but continued to subtly drink the offered tea. Master chuckled, seeing her true emotions bubbling under the surface. He read her with ease like an open scroll.

Tea is different in the palace, Mingzhu thought to her master, stirring from a brief slumber. Someone extinguishes your fire, another steals your water and the leaves are poison to weaken you further. On this bitter note, Mingzhu attempted to hum one of her mother’s tune to lift her spirits. It did nothing.

“Visitor!” The guard announced, banging his sword on the bamboo.

A woman entered, looking beautiful like the sky at twilight but Mingzhu felt like a child, whose despair grew about the approaching night. The deep violet robes veiled the floor around the woman’s feet as she entered the dark room, and curved up around her slim figure. Jewels blinked in her neatly styled, oak hair. There was enough for a bird nest, as always.

“It must be tragic. You look like a bird locked in a cage, singing out your sorrow. It is so pitiful. I wonder if your crying out for justice or revenge on Song Meifan,” Xiaoli said with a wicked smile.

Mingzhu scoffed but this took too much energy. It sounded like a strangled cough. “If I remain quiet, I am pitiful. If I sing a tune, I am pitiful. There is nothing that will make me look less pitiful to you. If I am disgusting to your eyes, why are you here?”

“To offer a deal,” Xiaoli replied. “You claim treachery against Song Meifan and I will help punish her. If you do this, I will grant you a comfortable life as a noblewoman at the Lotus Palace.”

“Is this a trick?” Mingzhu didn’t believe her; the emperor wanted her head and no lover could stop it from happening.

“I kept my promise to Song Meifan. I gave her a position as a personal maid for the imperial concubine, may her soul rest, and all she had to do was betray her closest friend. I wanted to ask you how that felt when your only companion blamed you. Do you hate her? Isn’t it fair to do the same to her? Do you want revenge?”

Mingzhu looked away, unwilling to make eye contact. The betrayal stung deep in her bones and she battled between wanting to cry or hurt Meifan. How naïve and stupid of her to trust someone without clear intentions. Joaolong, on the other hand, made his goal clear and even let her have insight to his treachery. He was a better choice to relay on. Then again, he watched the trial without a word. The only person that sacrificed their reputation and defended her was Disung, who should hate her the most.

Despite the undeniable hate and rage at Meifan, Mingzhu refused to show it to Xiaoli. “This offer is nonsense. You would not ruin an execution you set up so well and simply want me to make Meifan fall too. Then, there is no threat to you. Everyone is dead. Aren’t you tired of these schemes and evil games? You bully Song Meifan, I taunt you, you punish me and then Song Meifan betrays me. Now you want me to seek revenge to continue our circle of drama. No flower can bloom in this condition. I won’t accept your filthy hand to help.”

“You are filthier than I! You proved to be quite the whore today!” Xiaoli snapped.

“Least I do not kill others for their position!” The angry eyes of the mountain clan appeared in Mingzhu’s head, expressing their loathing, and she flinched. “There is no royal blood on my hands.”

Xiaoli had the decency to look shocked. “Y-you are the criminal! Not me!”

“I said royal blood. It is true that greater amounts of blood are smeared onto my soul,” Mingzhu whispered and shut her eyes, ready to rest again. The small amount of strength she had was fleeting and all the painful emotions felt too overwhelming to handle. “Least I did not kill the empress.”

“You dare accuse me—”

“I am not accusing but stating fact. If I am truly the Fox, then I should know who killed the past rulers in a heartbeat and you should know the mountain clan watches you because of it.”

“Everyone knows the Fox is rogue and has no affiliation with the Masked Masters, if they are indeed true.”

“Ah but who said the Fox was rogue? The very same, gullible people who all believed your performance today? If I were you Miss Ju, I would be very careful. The Masked Masters are known to be ‘godly’ for a very dark reason.” Mingzhu smiled slightly, enjoying Xiaoli’s shocked expression. “Before you leave, answer me this one question. Why do you hate Song Meifan so much? Maybe then I will consider your offer.”

“Song Meifan is a horrible person. She is cowardly and desperate to please everyone. Remember this, she betrayed you not for freedom but for power. That should reflect the scum she is! You should seek revenge!”

“Aren’t you doing the same by marrying the emperor?” Mingzhu countered. “Do not waste your pretty face glaring at me. I lied. I will never accept any negotiations from pathetic people like you.”

In a huff, Xiaoli left without another word, nor attempt at torture. Alone again, Mingzhu slipped on the floor while attempting to lie down and a splinter imbedded into her fingertip. A bead of blood appeared. In the dark, it reminded her of ink used in the mountain clan. In a history lesson, they learnt the original Masked Masters wrote with ink instead of carvings. They changed their methods due to the ‘ghost’s fire’. Mingzhu wondered which took longer; using liquid to write or charcoal, which she trialled on the map during her palace arrival.

An epiphany suddenly struck her. Mustering up any strength left, she sat up, ripped part of her dress and found more sharp edges around the cell. Blindly, she cut her fingers and then smeared the flowing blood onto the fabric. It spread across the threads but as she tried again, the word she intended to make could be deciphered. She smiled and full of renewed determination, tried to write a letter. The process took a long time and by the time she finished, her fingers throbbed and she fell asleep.

Another bang awoke her. The guard announced a new visitor arrived and Mingzhu groaned. It had been awhile since a new torturer came. What would they do now? Rip out her hair, poke an eyeball until bloody or slice at her stomach? No, Mingzhu realised. They haven’t come for my tongue yet. This must be it.

“Save yourself precious time and do not beat my stomach. Many have already done so. Instead, cut my hair. I’ll be so relieved that you removed the matted tangles that I will tell you everything about my great assassinations!” She shouted, mustering up courage to face more pain.

“That is a strange way to greet a friend,” Disung replied and grinned down at her. “You look terrible.”

“I could say the same about you,” she sputtered and took in his bright, dancing eyes, wild hair and bulging body. He looked handsome and fierce. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Maybe the torture had got to her.

“Can I talk to the prisoner alone?” Disung asked the soldier on duty.

“The emperor ordered the prisoner to be guarded under all circumstances especially if…” you came. They all knew how he meant to finish the sentence.

Without a word and obviously fearful of Disung, the guard returned to his station at the door. Disung ignored him and when he turned back to Mingzhu, his eyes landed on her hands. Gently, he inspected the crusted, dried blood on each fingertip.

“How many times did they torture you?” The protectiveness in his voice surprised her.

“It is not your concern,” she replied but didn’t push him away. His touch felt cool and pleasant.

The more he looked at her, the greater his brows furrowed. It must have looked like someone stuck needles into her hands. Did they torture Disung that way? She recalled he broke a finger but she saw no wounds on the top of his fingers. Just when she opened her mouth to lessen his worry, his hands moved up her arms. He inspected her, like a mother did with a dirty child.

“Stop touching me or I will hurt you.”

“You did not mind touching the other night,” Disung replied and raised his eyebrows in a provoking way. The cheeky grin made the guard uncomfortable as did Disung’s wink. “I’m surprised you could walk afterwards. You didn’t hold anything back. I honestly confess a woman has never done those things to me.”

“Shut it, Liu Disung. Stop giving the wrong impression to others,” Mingzhu scolded lightly.

In spite of everything, she secretly appreciated the humour and foolishness. It felt more comforting than the pitying looks or false words of hope that others overused. Whenever Juan and her were in difficult times, they both remained silent, neither wanting to lie or admit the hopelessness of their predicament. This lack of communication led to Juan’s secret marriage with Cheng.

“Call me Disung. There is no need for formalities now,” Disung added. “Especially since you carry my child.”

“I wish I could say the child will be born deformed after the visitors I had today but with your appearance, it never had a chance at beauty.”

Disung raised his eyebrows, a half-smile tugging his lips. “Was that a joke? Did the short, angry beast make a joke for me?”

“Keep it pleasant for the Pheasant.” Master loved saying that to Mingzhu. Perhaps he wanted to remind her that her blood was mixed with some good.

“Damn it!” Disung slumped down against the cell, defeated. His face scrunched in a mixture of anger and pain. “They must have hurt you bad if you cannot curse at me for teasing you. I vow to make sure the guards let no one else in without my permission.”

“Will you threaten them?” The idea seemed comedic and Mingzhu could envision the soldiers whimpering at Disung, whose cheery expression wouldn't match his words.

“Maybe I already have.”

“The baby will still be born deformed.”

“That will make him a more terrifying warrior than I! They will write ballads about the Liu Monster.”

Mingzhu smiled and weakly leaned against the bamboo. The idea of babies made her think of Juan. She would have been an amazing mother; kind, compassionate and wise. Yet, someone stole that life from her. They stole her life and for months, Mingzhu did nothing to avenge her sister. Guilt rained down on her. Since entering the palace, she kept quiet and avoided questions because of the mountain clan’s mission. Now, she awaited her execution with no closure.

“Did Juan ever expect?” Mingzhu asked, dreading the answer.

Beside her, Disung stiffened. “She did not.”

Good. “I heard she was an assassin. Is that true?”

Disung gulped and looked towards the guard. “Ah.”

“If you’re worried about the guard, tap my hand once for no, twice for yes. Please.”

Seconds ticked by and finally, Disung shuffled in his spot and reached for her hand. One tap. Mingzhu bit her lip, waiting for the next contact. Her stomach dropped. Then, when Disung moved his fingers away, relief washed over her, like a cool bath in the springs. I knew it.

“Was she happy in the palace?”

“She was taken care of. Any fabric and jewels could be demanded by her. Every day, the maids served extravagant dishes. She loved the study and spent many days reading.”

“Was she happy?” Mingzhu repeated, a desperate airiness added to her words.

“For a time, she was.”

Tears welled up in Mingzhu’s eyes. The lump in her throat returned. She bit her cheek hard, seeking pain as a distraction; it felt nearly impossible to stop crying. For hours, she had withstood torture but this broke her. Juan sacrificed herself for Mingzhu but found a slither of happiness. At least, not all was in vain. But she is still dead, a voice whispered in her head. And you live.

The guard cleared his throat. “The emperor calls you, Ànshù.”

Disung groaned. “He never lets me have fun! I cannot defecate in peace with him around!”

“Do not speak about our emperor in such foulness! He will have your head!”

“Hear that, my love. Maybe we could be executed together.”

Mingzhu laughed, finding delight in the dark humour, but the sound came out strangled. Her face felt wet and she reached up to mess the hot stream of tears. When had she started crying? Thankfully for her, the darkness shielded her shameful weakness.

“Joaolong and Little Wu could make bets whose head rolls the farthest,” Disung whispered, nudging her to encourage more jokes.

“Or who bleeds more.”

“No fair. Your already covered in blood.”

“I can help make it equal if you want?” Mingzhu offered with an evil smirk.

“You would never be able to land a single blow.”

“I beat you before—”

“The emperor calls you, Ànshù,” the guard repeated.

Disung rolled his eyes. “Give me a moment to say goodbye to my family before you take them from me!”

The time has come, Mingzhu accepted. “About that… Disung…”

He had given her closure about Juan and so, she had to returned the favour. With the execution set, he needed to learn the full truth of his past. This last minute should involve her groveling and begging for forgiveness. Yet, something made her hesitate. Again. The fear of losing him, after discovering a deep bond, ruined her determination. Instead of explaining the past and her part in ruining his life, she toyed with the bloody fabric hidden at her knees.

“Can I trust you? No. That is not the right question. Can you forgive me and grant one last favour?”

“You have given me no reason to doubt you. My trust is yours.”

Fighting dizziness, Mingzhu pushed up onto her knees. Disung mimicked, close to the cell wall. They stared at each other, their sad smile reflecting each other.

“This may be the last time we see each other. Let me give you a proper farewell,” Mingzhu loudly spoke, glancing briefly at the guard.

Aggressively, she grabbed Disung’s robes and yanked him forward. Before he had the chance to react, she kissed him through the bars. At first, it felt awkward but as his lips moved with hers, he coaxed her to be gentler. He tasted of wine and berries. Were they the same berries from the mountains? Did he save them? Now is not the time, she scolded herself. Instead, she focused on her original plan, struggling to ignore the heavenly coolness of his lips against her fevered skin. She snaked her hand towards him and stuffed her bloody fabric into his robes. Mingzhu broke the kiss and trailed her lips delicately across his cheek and towards his ear.

“I will whistle a tune when you leave. Copy it and a pigeon will come. Send the letter in your robes. It is my last request.”

Mingzhu slumped back on her heels, unsure if she felt dizzy because of the torture she endured or the kiss. Slowly and melodically, she whistled her mother’s famous tune, watching Disung walk away in a daze matching her own. Hopefully, the letter reached her master.

“Do not say goodbye just yet. Dawn has yet to rise!” Disung yelled and vanished from sight.

“Then, may you live peacefully, Disung.”

Unconsciously, Mingzhu raised her fingers to brush against her lips. It felt strange; the ghost of Disung’s lips were still there, his essence lingering. The kiss replayed in her head and her heart flipped at the sensation. Joy sparked deep inside her in a burst of energy. That was her first kiss. Juan would never believe it. Mingzhu didn’t. Among all the hatred and revenge, she still found sweetness before death.

Death. The word sent a shiver down her spine and triggered an awful feeling of helplessness. I will die tomorrow. In Mingzhu’s delusional mind, she saw her father laugh from the shadows of her cell. Are you scared of death? He mocked and although she tried to deny her father’s words, deep down, it rang true. Then, disappointed faces of the mountain clan replaced her father’s mirage, each shaking their head at her. Even the Panda, a huge, cuddly man, cringed at the sight of the woman. If she feared death, she couldn’t repay her debts to them. In this execution, a final task required her sacrifice.

You will do well to bring down the corrupted, Fa Biming, the Dragon, said in a calm voice. The illusion stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead. It sparked a fire of determination in her stomach and grew stronger when henchmen invaded the cell. She refused to let them win while she still breathed.