The days that followed were tense. Li Xian continued to tend the wounded,
lead supply routes, and train younger medics in foraging. But whispers from
Chang'an crept into the camp like cold air.
Emissaries bearing the Li family crest came on horseback, delivering scrolls
lined with false concern and veiled threats.
> "Your uncle fears for your reputation, Lady Xian." "The family needs you
to secure your place in court." "A match with the Crown Prince would seal
our legacy."
Li Xian burned every letter without reading past the first line. Ren Xu would
watch silently, sometimes tightening the grip on his blade.
One dusk, Sky returned from a short scouting flight with a tightly bound
scroll tied to his leg. Li Xian untied it and froze.
The handwriting was her mother's — elegant, delicate strokes. A lullaby
verse, written exactly as she remembered from the bedtime scroll tucked in
her childhood pillow.
But her mother had been dead for over a decade.
Li Xian's hands trembled. The poem ended with five chilling words: "Return
home, or be forgotten."
Ren Xu stepped close. "Forgery. Someone from your uncle's circle. Playing
with your memory."
Li Xian gritted her teeth, threw the letter into the fire.
> "Let them twist my mother's hand. I will not dance for ghosts."
General Yuwen stormed in that evening. "Your uncle now spreads rumors.
Says you've consorted with enemy spies. That your bird is bewitched."
Li Xian laughed coldly. "Then let them fear me. A girl, a bird, and truth
sharper than their lies."
Ren Xu stepped forward. "We need to prepare. They won't just send letters
next time."
Li Xian turned toward the hills.
> "Let them come. And when they do, I'll be standing. Sky above me. Steel
in my hand."
That night, Sky perched above her tent and softly croaked: "Li Xian. Brave.
Free. Fly."