The bandits had laughed when they left.
They had not bothered to check the flames twice.
To them, a burning farmhouse in the hills was enough.
Inside the collapsing wooden structure, smoke thickened by the breath.
On the ground, beneath a fallen beam—
Lady Lin slowly opened her eyes.
For a moment, there was no pain.
Only heat.
Crackling wood.
The smell of burning grain.
Then it came—
The sharp sting in her lungs.
She tried to move.
Her sleeve had caught beneath a broken plank.
The fire crept closer.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Embers scattered across the dry fields.
The guards who had accompanied her were nowhere in sight.
Scattered.
Dead.
Or fled.
She did not know.
She did not ask.
There was no one left to answer.
Lady Lin forced herself upright, ignoring the dizziness.
A beam collapsed nearby, sparks flying across her veil.
She tore the fabric away and wrapped it around her hand to shield against the heat.
Her palm blistered instantly.
She did not make a sound.
If she screamed—
No one would come.
Through the smoke, she saw the rear wall already weakening.
If she waited, it would bury her.
If she moved now, she might survive.
Or burn outside instead.
For a brief second—
A memory surfaced.
The morning she left the capital.
His voice:
"Take care of the estate."
Not "Take care."
Not "Be safe."
Just responsibility.
Her lips curved faintly despite the smoke.
"So this is what it has become," she murmured.
Not abandonment.
Not betrayal.
Just consequence.
The roof groaned above her.
Without another thought, she pushed forward.
The burning plank tore skin from her wrist.
She staggered toward the collapsing wall just as it gave way.
She fell into the dirt outside—
Coughing.
Gasping.
Ash covering her hair like grey snow.
Behind her, the farmhouse collapsed completely.
Flames swallowed what remained.
For a long time, she lay still.
Alive.
Alone.
No rescuers.
No distant cavalry.
No thundering hooves.
Only wind and fire.
She turned her head slightly—
And in the distance, she could still see faint smoke from the capital's direction.
Too far.
Too late.
Back in the city—
Regent Zhao stood in the outer courtyard, staring at the dark horizon.
A scout knelt before him.
"The farm estate was attacked. It was set ablaze."
His voice did not change.
"Her Ladyship?"
The scout hesitated.
"No body has been found."
The Regent's expression remained unreadable.
"Continue searching."
He turned away before anyone could see the flicker in his eyes.
But his hand, resting behind his back—
Was trembling.
Far from both palace and bandits—
Lady Lin slowly pushed herself to her knees.
Her world had burned.
Her marriage had already turned to ash.
Now even the illusion of safety was gone.
She looked toward the road.
Not toward the capital.
But toward the unknown hills.
And for the first time—
She did not think of returning.The night had grown colder after the fire died.
Smoke still curled faintly from the ruins behind her.
Lady Lin had walked farther than her injured body should have allowed.
Each step left a faint mark in the dust.
Her sleeve was burned.
Her wrist blistered.
Ash clung to her hair like mourning silk.
She pressed a trembling hand against her abdomen.
At first, she thought it was only exhaustion.
Then the pain came again.
Sharper.
Deeper.
Not from flame.
From within.
She staggered.
"No…" she whispered under her breath.
The child.
Another wave hit her.
She fell to her knees in the empty field.
The world tilted.
Breath shortened.
The sky above her blurred.
For a fleeting moment, she thought of the capital.
Of whether anyone had noticed her absence yet.
Of whether
Regent Zhao
had truly sent men to search—
Or merely issued the command.
A bitter thought.
Then another pain tore through her, stronger than before.
Her body folded forward instinctively, protecting her abdomen.
She bit her lip to silence the cry.
There was no one to hear it.
Hoofbeats.
Distant at first.
Then closer.
Not hurried.
Measured.
A traveling carriage, modest but sturdy, slowed near the edge of the field.
An older woman stepped down, lantern in hand.
Behind her, a young man followed.
They were not soldiers.
Not nobles.
Merchants by their dress.
The lantern light fell upon Lady Lin's collapsed form.
"Someone is there!" the young man called.
They rushed forward.
The older woman knelt immediately, experienced eyes scanning quickly.
"She is burned… and—" her gaze lowered slightly.
"She is with child."
Lady Lin forced her eyes open briefly.
The lantern light hurt.
She saw unfamiliar faces.
Not palace guards.
Not court physicians.
Just strangers.
"Please…" her voice barely formed.
"Do not… send word to the capital."
The older woman hesitated.
"You need a physician."
Lady Lin's fingers tightened weakly around the woman's sleeve.
"No capital."
There was something in her tone.
Not fear.
Not hysteria.
But decision.
Another contraction seized her.
This time she could not remain silent.
The young man looked panicked.
"Mother—"
"We take her to the carriage," the woman said firmly.
They lifted her carefully.
Lady Lin drifted in and out of consciousness as they carried her away from the burned estate.
The flames behind her finally faded into darknessThe rain did not stop that night.
Thunder rolled across the western hills as labor came too early.
Inside the small countryside house, oil lamps flickered violently in the wind.
Lady Lin gripped the edge of the wooden bed.
"It's too soon…" the midwife whispered under her breath.
Eight months.
The fire.
The shock.
The exhaustion.
Her body could not hold longer.
Another wave of pain struck.
Lady Lin bit down on cloth to keep from crying out too loudly.
She had survived flames without screaming.
But this—
This pain reached her bones.
Hours passed.
The storm outside grew heavier.
The old midwife's voice became more urgent.
"Madam, stay awake. You must stay awake."
Lady Lin's vision blurred.
Between pain and fever, she saw flashes—
The capital gates at dawn.
The study hall lit by candlelight.
A cold voice saying, "Take care of the estate."
Her fingers tightened weakly over her abdomen.
"Live…" she whispered.
She did not know whether she was speaking to herself—
Or to the child.