THE LETTER UNDER THE WINDOW
1407 Words
Yichen did not sleep.
He lay awake beneath the thin silk covers, staring at the ceiling while the events of the day replayed in his mind.
The assassin.
The jade.
His father's warning.
The western archives.
And Rui.
He couldn't understand why his brother had possessed the black silk thread.
Perhaps there was an innocent explanation.
There had to be.
Rui had never given him a reason to doubt him.
Not once.
When Yichen was seven and the other children in the household refused to let him join their games, Rui had been the one who quietly sat beside him afterward.
When servants laughed because Yichen had been ordered to carry water despite being a member of the Shen family, Rui had taken the bucket from his hands without saying a word.
When Zhaoyan confronted the older boys who bullied him, Rui had been the one standing nearby, silently watching to make sure no one went too far.
Rui had never asked Yichen for anything in return.
That was why Yichen trusted him.
So why had he lied about the thread?
Yichen turned onto his side.
Perhaps he hadn't lied.
Perhaps he really had found it near the western gate.
Perhaps Yichen was simply becoming suspicious of everyone because his father had spent the entire day telling him not to ask questions.
He closed his eyes.
His mother's face appeared again.
He remembered her hands.
Her voice.
The scent of jasmine.
And the jade hanging from her neck.
Yichen suddenly opened his eyes.
Jasmine.
He sat up.
The black silk thread smelled faintly of jasmine.
His mother had always smelled like jasmine.
But that didn't necessarily mean the thread belonged to her.
Jasmine was common in the palace.
Still, the coincidence bothered him.
He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out the thread.
In the candlelight, the small mark near its end was barely visible.
A flower.
The same flower carved into his mother's jade.
Yichen frowned.
He brought the jade closer.
For a moment, he thought he saw something beneath the flower.
A line.
He rubbed the surface with his sleeve.
Nothing.
He turned the pendant over.
Nothing.
He sighed.
Perhaps exhaustion was making him see things that weren't there.
A soft sound came from outside.
Yichen froze.
Someone had stepped on the gravel in the courtyard.
He quietly extinguished the candle.
The room fell into darkness.
Another sound.
This time, closer.
Yichen moved toward the window.
He waited.
Nothing.
He slowly opened it.
Cold night air entered the room.
The courtyard below was empty.
He looked down.
At first, he saw nothing.
Then something caught his eye.
A piece of white paper had been pushed beneath the window.
Yichen stared at it.
He hadn't heard anyone approach.
He reached down and picked it up.
There was only one sentence.
If you want to know what happened to your mother, come to the western archives tomorrow night. Come alone. Tell no one.
Yichen read it twice.
Then a third time.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
Whoever had written it knew about his mother.
More importantly, they knew that Yichen had begun searching.
He looked toward the courtyard again.
“Who are you?”
No answer came.
He closed the window.
Then he stopped.
Come alone.
Tell no one.
The words were simple.
But Yichen had learned something that day.
People who wanted to help him did not usually leave anonymous messages telling him to walk into sealed palace buildings alone.
He should tell someone.
His father?
Impossible.
Zhaoyan?
Perhaps.
Rui?
His hand tightened around the note.
He didn't know anymore.
Yichen folded the paper and slipped it beneath his robe.
He wouldn't tell anyone.
Not yet.
The following morning, Yichen woke before sunrise.
He dressed quietly and went to the courtyard.
Zhaoyan was already there.
He was practicing with a wooden sword beneath the plum tree.
Yichen watched for a moment.
“You're awake early.”
Zhaoyan lowered the sword.
“So are you.”
“I couldn't sleep.”
“I noticed.”
Yichen frowned.
“How?”
“You look terrible.”
Yichen laughed despite himself.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Zhaoyan tossed the wooden sword onto the bench.
“Come.”
“Where?”
“To eat.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“You're always saying that.”
Yichen followed him anyway.
They walked toward the dining hall.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Then Zhaoyan said, “You were serious yesterday.”
“About what?”
“Mother.”
Yichen slowed.
“You think Father knows what happened to her.”
“I know he does.”
Zhaoyan stopped walking.
“Yichen.”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“No.”
Zhaoyan's voice became quieter.
“You're curious. That's different from being careful.”
Yichen looked at him.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Zhaoyan hesitated.
“I don't know enough to tell you anything.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Zhaoyan looked away.
Yichen studied him.
“You know something.”
“I know that Father doesn't like talking about your mother.”
“That's all?”
“Yes.”
Yichen wasn't convinced.
But before he could press further, footsteps approached.
Rui entered the courtyard.
He carried several books beneath one arm.
His gaze immediately fell on Yichen.
“You're awake.”
“So are you.”
“I had something to finish.”
Rui looked between the brothers.
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” Zhaoyan answered.
“Then come.”
They walked together.
For a brief moment, Yichen felt like everything was normal.
Like they were simply three brothers walking toward breakfast.
He almost forgot about the note.
Almost.
At breakfast, Rui sat across from him.
Yichen watched him carefully.
Rui noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Rui smiled.
“You've been staring at me for five minutes.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you're interesting.”
Zhaoyan laughed.
Rui shook his head.
“That's a first.”
Yichen smiled.
For a moment, the suspicion disappeared.
This was Rui.
His brother.
The person who had stood beside him when everyone else had walked away.
Yichen lowered his gaze.
Maybe he had been wrong.
Maybe he was letting the palace frighten him.
Then Rui reached for the tea.
His sleeve shifted.
A faint scent drifted through the air.
Jasmine.
Yichen's smile disappeared.
Rui didn't notice.
Or perhaps he did.
Yichen couldn't tell.
He looked down at his bowl.
His mind raced.
The silk smelled like jasmine.
His mother had smelled like jasmine.
And now Rui's sleeve carried the same scent.
But jasmine grew everywhere.
It meant nothing.
It couldn't mean anything.
“Yichen?”
He looked up.
Rui was watching him.
“You stopped eating.”
“I'm fine.”
Rui studied him for another moment.
Then he nodded.
“If you say so.”
Yichen forced himself to continue eating.
But the question remained.
Where had Rui been yesterday?
And why did he smell like jasmine?
Later that afternoon, Yichen returned to his room.
He took out the note.
The western archives.
Tomorrow night.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he burned it.
The flame consumed the paper slowly.
Yichen watched until nothing remained but ash.
He smiled faintly.
If someone wanted him to walk into a trap, they had made one mistake.
They had assumed he would obey blindly.
He wasn't going to the western archives tomorrow night.
He was going tonight.
Yichen opened his wardrobe.
Behind a stack of old clothes was a dark cloak.
He pulled it out.
Then he stopped.
A second thought entered his mind.
If someone was watching him, they might expect him to leave through the main gate.
So he wouldn't.
He would find another way.
Yichen slipped the jade beneath his clothes.
Then he looked toward the window.
The sun had begun to disappear beyond the rooftops.
Night was coming.
And somewhere inside the Imperial Palace, a secret waited for him.
Yichen had no idea that by entering the western archives, he would not simply uncover a piece of his mother's past.
He would discover something that would make him question the very family he had spent his entire life trying to understand.
And this time—
there would be no one there to pull him back.
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