When the first night of the long journey fell, the wheels of the carriage ground against the stone path, finally coming to a halt before the dilapidated temple at the border of Jinhe.
Yase descended from the carriage and looked at the ruins before him. The previous flood had stripped the former glory of Tianlu Temple, leaving cracked pillars and fallen roofs.
In Jinhe, wealth flowed faster than river currents, and the officials decided not to waste time repairing the ruins. Instead, they erected a new monumental temple in the heart of the town, preferring to appease the heavens with grand display.
Their misguided minds would rather pour money onto unseen gods than offer a single copper to the living poor who withered in hunger before their very eyes.
The rustle of bushes behind the temple did not go unnoticed by Yase. Ignoring it, he walked around the carriage, his hands rising to pull back the curtains that had shielded the coffin from the sun until now.
The padding around the dark timber had truly served its purpose, protecting the coffin from the roughness of the road. His strong hands slid smoothly beneath the edge of the wood, and he lifted it in one fluid motion without disturbing the person resting inside.
Carrying the coffin, his steady steps echoed in the haunting silence of the ruins.
Inside, the once vibrant murals had faded in color, and the statues of deities were beheaded by the flood, their heads buried somewhere beneath the debris. The halls of prayer had now succumbed to the squeaking of rats and the chirping of crickets.
He looked around, noticing the muddy floor and the dust-covered stone tables. He scrunched his nose and for a brief moment his gaze flickered to the coffin resting on his shoulder. Though it was a coffin, the lustrous timber, the intricate carvings, and the shimmering silk made it appear like a prized treasure chest that a king would hide deep within his treasury.
His steps drifted, unthinking, leading him to the vacant altar—the place where the holy god had once presided. Drawn forward, he carefully lowered the coffin, resting it upon the empty stone slab.
He stepped back. Beneath his deep, coal-dark eyes, a hint of satisfaction glinted faintly, much like the moonlight that was bleeding through the cracked walls of this ruined temple.
He slumped forward, his knees flat on the muddy soil. His forehead came to rest against the cold, polished lid of the casket. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep, ragged breath, and for a moment, a faint aroma of ink overshadowed the scent of wood.
So faint that he feared it might be washed away by the gentle night breeze.
His lips curved into a bittersweet smile as he whispered a string of words into the grain of the timber.
He waited and waited… but no reply came.
With a low sigh, he pushed himself up and turned back.
While Yase stepped out to tend to the horse that had dragged them through the day's blazing heat, the coffin rested quietly within the shell of the temple. Despite the leaking moonlight, the darkness of the sanctum remained absolute.
Amidst the skittering of rats, a faint rustle stirred within the sealed wood.
Lord Jingyuan slowly opened his eyes.
The first thing that greeted him was the pitch-black surface of the wood, while the cloying scent of resin and aged timber clung to his weak breath.
Though his eyes had remained closed since dawn, his body felt restless, as if sleep had been an absent guest that had lost its way. The veins in his hands throbbed in pain, partly from the rot within and partly from the day's hunger.
To Lord Jingyuan, glittering gold and fine delicacies were as common as the wild grass found along the roadside. Born into the boundless prosperity of the Yue family, luxury was not a prize but his birthright.
Whether the jeweled ornaments that adorned his mortal body or the golden praises that filled his soul, he had earned them through years of devotion and service to the people of the Yan State.
But he was also a man who had tasted the ache of hunger while serving at the cold border, but this new hunger born of creeping rot… it was unbearable. It felt like a jagged blade slashing at the inner walls of his stomach with a cruelty no battlefield had ever dared.
His hands clenched at his sides, the narrow confines of the coffin caging him in place. Every twist and pull of his stomach urged him to claw and splinter the wood until he was free to hunt—to soothe the aching cries within.
But he knew better.
He didn't want to scare him… the man outside.
He didn't want to scare him.