The Azure Phoenix Blade

Loom in the Rain

First Night in the Old House, Riverside Town

The river lane was deep, its bluestone slabs glistening with moisture. White walls stood quietly on both sides in the twilight.

Scattered lantern light reflected on the walls and in the water, creating a layer of gently swaying glow.

Quentin Mo led them through two turns before stopping in front of an unremarkable small courtyard. The wooden gate was old, its edges darkened by dampness, but still sturdy. The stone steps, though worn, had no weeds growing in the cracks—clearly not an abandoned house.

Quentin Mo took out the key. The lock gave a slightly rusty click before opening.

Damien looked up from behind. “Can people really live here?”

“It can block the wind and close the door. That’s enough,” Quentin Mo replied.

As the gate opened, the musty smell of a long-closed house washed over them. The courtyard was small, with a thin bamboo in one corner. An old wind lantern hung under the eaves, its cover cracked but still intact. There were two main rooms, a small kitchen beside them, and a narrow backyard.

In the past, this place would have seemed miserably small. Now, standing at the entrance, everyone felt a long-lost sense of solidity—as if they had finally stepped from mud onto firm ground.

Sylvie was the first to spot the small window under the eaves facing the river. Her eyes lit up. “There really is a window!”

Eleanor Su followed her gaze and saw a faint reflection of water outside. When the night breeze blew, the river surface rippled gently. Her steps paused, as if only now did she truly believe the comforting words she had told the children had not been empty.

She said softly, “Yes. Your window has arrived.”

Celeste helped Sylvie inside first, then ran her hand across the table. There was only a thin layer of dust—not the accumulation of years of neglect. She said nothing, simply settled Sylvie in the inner room before returning to carry the bundles, working nonstop.

She was only ten, with narrow shoulders and slender wrists, yet after this journey she already carried herself like someone who could truly hold the family together.

Julian didn’t sit down immediately after entering. He inspected the door bolt, the window gaps, and stood between the two rooms before asking Quentin Mo, “Can the back door be locked too?”

“Yes. I’ll check everything later,” Quentin Mo replied.

Damien wanted to go to the backyard to help, even though he was exhausted. Eleanor Su glanced at him. “Sit down first. No one is allowed to push themselves tonight.”

Damien sat down sullenly. The moment his body touched the stool, the tension he had been holding finally gave way and his shoulders slumped. Celeste quietly pushed a low stool under his legs so he could rest them.

Damien wanted to refuse, but his feet obediently went up anyway.

Hazel Qiu had already rolled up her sleeves and gone into the kitchen. She soon poked her head out. “There’s still half a jar of water and some old rice left. The stove hasn’t been used in a while, so it’s a bit dusty.”

Eleanor Su said, “That’s enough. Heat some water first, then cook porridge.”

Hazel Qiu answered and returned to the kitchen. Soon, firelight glowed warmly in the corner.

Eleanor Su opened the bundles layer by layer, separating dry clothes, valuables, and documents. When her fingers brushed over the long sword wrapped in coarse cloth, she paused briefly before placing it deep inside, out of the children’s sight.

Celeste poked her head out from the inner room. “Mother, I’ll help Sister Hazel Qiu.”

“Go ahead, and wash the small pot too,” Eleanor Su nodded.

Sylvie wanted to follow but was gently pulled back by Eleanor Su. She puffed her cheeks but didn’t make a fuss, simply sitting back down beside her mother. After a while, she said softly, “I want to help too.”

Eleanor Su stroked her head. “Your biggest help tonight is not falling over.”

Sylvie thought about it and nodded obediently.

Julian stood by the window, looking at the river’s reflection. “There’s the sound of water at night here.”

Eleanor Su asked, “Don’t you like it?”

Julian shook his head and continued, “No. Hearing the water means there are still paths outside.”

Eleanor Su’s eyes flickered with emotion. She straightened his collar and said softly, “Don’t think about paths tonight. Just think about sleeping.”

Soon, a faint aroma of rice drifted from the kitchen. It was only plain old rice porridge, but it made all the children lift their heads unconsciously.

Then Damien’s stomach growled loudly. The room fell silent for a moment before Sylvie giggled.

Celeste came out carrying bowls of porridge and smiled. “Who was it that said they weren’t hungry?”

Damien paused, then said stiffly, “I was just afraid there wouldn’t be any left after I ate.”

The simple, stubborn words suddenly revealed the deep fear they had all carried during the escape. Eleanor Su’s eyes softened. She took a bowl and gave him the thickest portion. “There’s still more in the pot. You don’t have to worry about going without tonight.”

Damien took the bowl and lowered his head without another word.

Sylvie blew on her small bowl again and again before drinking it in tiny sips. Julian ate slowly too, as if carefully counting every mouthful so nothing would be wasted. Celeste watched her siblings as she ate, refilling their bowls first and finishing her own last.

Quentin Mo sat by the door with his bowl, body half-turned, as if he still couldn’t fully trust his back to the room. Eleanor Su glanced at him. “Sit properly and eat.”

“I’ll keep watch for a while,” he said.

Eleanor Su replied, “Sitting like that in our new home doesn’t look right. If you collapse tonight, who will buy rice and charcoal tomorrow?”

Quentin Mo finally sat properly, though his eyes still drifted toward the door.

Halfway through the porridge, Sylvie’s eyelids began to droop. Celeste gently carried her to the bed and tucked her in. Sylvie grabbed the corner of the blanket drowsily and mumbled, “Sister, are we leaving again tomorrow?”

Celeste paused and looked at Eleanor Su.

Eleanor Su was quiet for a moment. “We’re not leaving tomorrow.”

Sylvie finally relaxed. She closed her eyes and soon fell asleep, her little face pressed against the thin blanket, her brows smoothing out as if she had set down all the fear from the journey.

But Celeste, Julian, and Damien didn’t fully believe it yet. They seemed to be waiting for the rest of the sentence.

Eleanor Su looked at them and completed her words: “At least not tonight.”

That was the truth. And for this family that had barely escaped death, it was already very precious.

The night deepened and the lamp dimmed. Outside, light rain fell on the river, soft as someone slowly turning pages beneath the window.

Sylvie slept soundly. Damien held on for a while longer before dozing off against the edge of the bed. Julian sat hugging his knees in the corner with his eyes closed—whether truly asleep or not, no one could tell. Celeste folded her siblings’ clothes neatly by the lamp before finally resting her head on the bedside and drifting off.

Only Eleanor Su remained awake. Beneath the deep exhaustion in her eyes was something she had to do tonight.

Midnight in the Inner Room

Once the children were sound asleep, Eleanor Su draped a coat over Celeste with movements so light they barely stirred the air. Quentin Mo stood by the window, his shoulder freshly bandaged, iron staff resting in his arm. Hazel Qiu brought in a small lamp and a charcoal basin, then gently closed the door.

The room fell very quiet, broken only by the occasional soft crackle of the charcoal.

Hazel Qiu kept her voice low. “Do we really have to do this tonight?”

Eleanor Su sat at the table. “It has to be tonight. The longer we wait, the harder it will be.”

She took out several items from the bottom of a bundle one by one: a golden phoenix hairpin, a jade buckle engraved with phoenix patterns, half a golden register, and several palace tokens. Each piece still carried traces of the old palace, looking glaringly out of place in the small room.

Hazel Qiu’s eyes reddened the moment she saw the jade buckle. “That’s the one you wore at your wedding.”

Eleanor Su gave a soft acknowledgment.

Hazel Qiu hesitated before asking, “Do we really have to get rid of all of them?”

Eleanor Su looked down at the old items, her expression calm. Her thumb paused as it brushed the edge of the jade buckle.

“Keeping them will eventually get the children killed,” she said. “No matter how valuable, we cannot keep them.”

Quentin Mo said in a deep voice, “We can destroy the tokens and register, but maybe keep one or two things. In the future, if—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Eleanor Su looked at him. “Tonight, let’s not talk about the future. Tonight we only care about one thing—whether we live to see tomorrow.”

Quentin Mo’s throat moved, but he fell silent.

Eleanor Su arranged the items neatly, as if giving the past one final arrangement. After a moment, she said, “Melt the hairpin, tear up the register, grind off the phoenix patterns, smash the tokens, and bury them separately.”

Hazel Qiu answered with red eyes, “Yes.”

She moved the charcoal basin closer, her hands trembling slightly. Eleanor Su picked up the half register first and tore the pages apart with both hands. The crisp sound in the dead of night felt like something truly being severed.

Next came the palace tokens. Quentin Mo took them and slammed one against the corner of the table, cracking it into pieces. Hazel Qiu flinched, but Eleanor Su didn’t even blink.

Finally, the golden phoenix hairpin. Its detailed wings still gleamed coldly even by the firelight. Eleanor Su stared at it for a long time before placing it into the charcoal basin.

The fire hissed. The hairpin gradually turned red, its shine fading.

Hazel Qiu could no longer hold back her tears. She turned away. “My lady…”

Eleanor Su gazed into the fire. “From now on, don’t call me ‘my lady’ anymore.” She paused. “Not even in private.”

Hazel Qiu choked up. “Then what should I call you?”

Eleanor Su looked at the flames, as if setting a new path for herself and the children. “Mrs. Lin.”

Hazel Qiu repeated softly, “Mrs… Lin?”

Eleanor Su gave a quiet “Mm.” With that sound, it was as if the old identity had been shut outside the door.

She took out several household registration documents and spread them on the table. Her gaze lingered longest on the character “Lin.”

“These identities were prepared in advance,” she said. “From now on, we are the Lin family from Riverside Town in Jiangnan.”

She didn’t say much, but it was as if she had already spoken of the many years ahead: no more palace splendor, only firewood, rice, oil, salt, weaving, sewing, and ordinary, humble days.

Hazel Qiu looked at the documents and asked softly, “About Sylvie…”

Eleanor Su was silent for a moment. “Follow the documents for now. Once we’re settled in town, we can slowly make changes later.”

She turned to look at the sleeping Sylvie in the inner room. A deep pain flashed in her eyes for a moment before she suppressed it, leaving only calm.

“First, we survive,” she said quietly. “Once we survive, we can talk about the rest.”

She then looked at Quentin Mo. “What about your identity papers?”

Quentin Mo took out a stack of documents. “I’ve walked the world for many years and prepared travel passes and papers long ago. I’ll keep the surname Mo and say I’m the Lin family’s guard.”

Eleanor Su’s expression softened. “You’ve worked hard this whole journey. From now on, in front of the children, don’t use the old titles. Just say you were entrusted by an old friend to escort us south.”

Quentin Mo’s grip on his iron staff tightened. That title had followed him for too long, nearly carved into his bones. Letting it go left him momentarily unsure how to proceed. But when he looked at the small room and the children sleeping uneasily inside, he finally answered, “…Understood.”

With that word, he too severed a piece of his past.

Eleanor Su used the fire tongs to place the phoenix jade buckle into the charcoal. Jade wouldn’t melt like gold, but after a while it gave a crisp c***k and split in two.

Hazel Qiu’s tears fell faster. She turned away, unable to watch. Eleanor Su, however, kept her eyes on the fire, watching the jade split and the irretrievable past break with it.

After a long time, she spoke again. “Tomorrow morning, go buy needles, thread, coarse cloth, and an old loom.”

Hazel Qiu was startled. “A loom?”

Eleanor Su said, “We need to live. We can’t survive forever on the silver left in our bundles.”

Quentin Mo’s eyes flickered. He knew she wasn’t someone who clung only to past glory, but hearing her speak the word “loom” still felt like watching her step down from the heights into the dust—and stand firmly on the ground.

Eleanor Su continued, “If anyone in town asks, say I’m Widow Lin from southern Anhui who came south to escape trouble and makes a living through needlework and weaving.”

Hazel Qiu asked, “And me?”

Eleanor Su looked at her. “You are no longer a servant. You are my younger sister who came south with me.”

Hazel Qiu’s eyes reddened further, but she nodded firmly. “Alright.”

The rain outside grew heavier, pattering against the window paper. Eleanor Su set down the fire tongs and gazed at the dying embers in the basin, her expression as calm as deep water.

“From now on, the person from before no longer exists in this world,” she said. “There is only Mrs. Lin, raising her children and living on in Riverside Town.”

Quentin Mo slowly knelt on one knee. This was not the bow of the old court, nor a guard’s salute. It was one person’s promise to another—to remember and to protect until the end.

“Mo will remember.”

Hazel Qiu knelt as well, eyes red. “I remember too… Sister.”

Eleanor Su looked at the fire for a long time before replying softly, “Mm.”

Only a few dim red embers remained in the basin. The shattered jade, blackened hairpin, and torn register slowly sank into the ash. Outside, the dark river flowed silently, carrying away the past that could no longer be mentioned.

The house remained the same, and so did the people. But from this night onward, they had new names and had stepped onto a road from which there was no turning back.