Piece

LUO FAN

— ✦ —

A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness of the afternoon. I glanced up from the herbs I was sorting and made my way to the entrance. Opening the door, I found a young woman standing there, her hands neatly clasped in front of her.

"Priest Luo," she greeted me politely with a small bow. "Chief Li has sent me to fetch you. He would like to see you immediately."

"Of course," I replied with a nod. "Let me grab my robe."

I turned back inside, retrieving the light robe I had draped over the back of a chair. As I slipped it on, I thought about the last time I had seen Chief Li. It had been on my first day in the village, when I paid him a visit out of courtesy. He had struck me as a wise and fair man, much like his sister, Li Ai. I had also learned then that their elderly father, the half-blind and nearly deaf old man who had greeted me with curiosity, was the former village chief.

Before stepping outside, I raised my voice to be heard over the faint chopping sounds coming from the backyard.

"Feng'er, I'm stepping out for a while. Stay here and don't wander off."

No sooner had the words left my mouth than I heard the hurried patter of feet against wooden floorboards.

"Gege, I'm coming with you!" he called out as he appeared from behind the house, hastily pulling on his robe as he moved.

I turned to protest but stopped myself. His eagerness was plain in the wide-eyed determination on his face. I couldn't bring myself to deny him.

Lan Feng had grown restless after days spent indoors. Lately, he had insisted on doing chores around the house—sweeping the floor, fetching firewood, even chopping logs in the backyard.

He was clearly desperate for something, anything, to break the monotony.

I sighed inwardly. The last thing he wanted was to be left behind again. "Fine," I relented. "But stay close."

His face lit up with a radiant smile, and together, we made our way to the village chief's house.

The chief's home was modest but welcoming, with a large central room where villagers often gathered for important discussions.

Chief Li was already seated at the far end of the room, his back straight, his hands resting on a low lacquered table. His expression was unusually grim, and the moment we stepped through the doorway, his gaze found mine and held it.

Something was wrong.

"Priest Luo," he said, gesturing toward the empty cushions before him. "Thank you for accommodating my sudden request."

I cupped my hands and bowed low in respect. "You and your village have done so much for us. I'll be at your beck anytime you need me."

He nodded faintly but didn't return the pleasantry. "Please sit down."

I helped Lan Feng settle first, guiding him gently to the cushion at my right, then took my own seat beside him.

Chief Li drew a slow breath before he spoke again. "The first time we met, you said you and your brother had fallen from a cliff near the Southern Summit."

Brother?

I remembered clearly—I had introduced Ruan Yanjun as my friend. But it seemed that somewhere along the way, that word had been replaced. Perhaps Li Ai or the villagers had made that assumption, and I had never bothered to correct it.

In truth, it had seemed easier that way.

Two unrelated grown men, living alone under the same roof, with one caring for the other as tenderly as I did, would have raised more questions than answers.

I gave a polite nod. "That is true."

"There are two small villages around that mountain," Chief Li continued. "Why did you not seek help from either of them? Instead, you chose to cross the sea and come here."

I faltered, caught off guard. "I…"

Chief Li's voice sharpened slightly, though his tone remained steady. "Tell me the truth, Priest Luo. Are you two on the run?"

A flush of heat rose to my cheeks.

Lan Feng turned slightly toward me, his gaze flicking between us. His lips parted as though he wanted to ask something, but no words came. His eyes lingered on the chief with visible confusion, clearly trying to piece together the meaning of what he'd just heard.

I took a breath, grounding myself. "I may have withheld some information," I said slowly. "But I assure you, I came here only to find a quiet place for my brother to recover. His injuries were grave. I believed this village would be the safest place for him to heal before we face whatever... consequences may follow."

Chief Li was silent for a long moment. His eyes searched mine, weighing my words. At last, he reached behind him and retrieved a rolled parchment. With deliberate care, he unfurled it across the table, its aged surface catching the flicker of lantern light.

My heart dropped.

There, staring back at me in stark ink, was my own face—drawn with unmistakable likeness.

A wanted poster.

"One of our villagers went to the city yesterday to purchase supplies," the chief explained, his voice calm but weighty with meaning. "He brought this back."

I took the poster from the table, its coarse parchment rough against my fingers, the weight of its implication heavier than anything physical.

There was no doubt—it was me.

The marquis hadn't relented. Even after everything, even after all this distance, my supposed crime had followed me here.

I lowered the poster and cupped my hands, bowing my head respectfully toward the chief. "I apologize for keeping this matter from you," I said, my voice steady despite the unrest rising inside me. "I will explain everything."

Chief Li gave a single nod, his expression unreadable but open—ready to listen.

I inhaled slowly, then began recounting the events that led to that drawing. The marquis's vile attempt to violate me, my frantic struggle to fend him off, and the injuries I inflicted in self-defense.

"I didn't kill him," I concluded. "But I mutilated him. That was my crime in the marquis's eyes, and the reason I'm wanted."

Chief Li said nothing.

I let my gaze drift around the room.

Li Ai stood quietly to the side with the young woman who had come to fetch me. A few other villagers had slipped in during my explanation, now lingering near the doorway and along the walls, silent witnesses to my confession.

Ruan Yanjun—no, Lan Feng—sat quietly beside me, his gaze flicking between faces, brows knit in visible confusion. He understood just enough to sense the tension, but not enough to grasp its cause.

"I understand," I said, my voice lowering, "if our presence here now puts the village at risk. If we are no longer welcome, we will leave immediately."

Silence.

For a breath, maybe two, I thought that was the answer. That the pause itself was their decision—unspoken but firm.

I began to rise, but Chief Li lifted a hand to stop me. So I remained seated, heart caught between hope and dread.

The chief bowed his head, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, before he finally looked up and met my eyes. "Priest Luo, I see no trace of malice in you. The villagers speak well of you. Since your arrival, food has been plentiful, and the sea has yielded more fish than usual. Some believe it's heaven's blessing."

I inclined my head, acknowledging his words, but they weren't the ones I was waiting to hear.

He studied me a moment longer. "I see no reason to doubt your story. And I've heard rumors of Marquis Kong myself. Let's just say… he does not have the cleanest reputation."

I exhaled, the breath shaky despite myself. There it is. The words I had hoped for, a reassurance that we would not be cast out.

I bowed deeply. "Thank you, Chief Li. I swear to you, I've spoken only the truth."

He smiled then, not with politeness but with something close to amusement. "Then you should be hailed a hero instead," he said with a low chuckle.

I blinked.

He laughed outright now, a warm, booming sound that seemed to pull some of the tension from the room.

"Priest Luo, in this village, we do not tolerate any form of abuse, especially not the kind you described. A man who tries to force himself on another deserves far worse than a scar. In fact, our laws demand death for such an act. If anything, you were merciful."

From behind him, I heard Li Ai and several of the other women giggle softly.

Strangely, it didn't bother me. In fact, it reassured me. They weren't whispering in fear or judgment—they weren't looking at me like I was dangerous. If anything, their mirth was warm. Accepting.

"Rest assured, Priest Luo," Chief Li said, his grin still lingering. "No one here will sell you out. You are safe among us."

"Thank you," I said, bowing again, my voice thick with gratitude.

Li Ai stepped forward and stood beside her brother. "You've been through enough," she said gently. "Stay as long as you need. The ocean's been generous since your arrival. So I, too, believe the heavens may have sent you."

I smiled faintly, though a quiet discomfort lingered beneath the gratitude.

To be seen as sacred… as heaven-sent…

That was a weight I wasn't sure I deserved, but I was thankful all the same.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

As we walked back home, I noticed Lan Feng's unusually quiet demeanor. His pace was slow, his gaze distant, as though his mind had wandered far from the present moment. The usual childlike energy he'd exhibited in the past days was conspicuously absent.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, my voice soft so as not to startle him.

He didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the horizon. It was as if he hadn't heard me at all.

A pang of worry stirred in my chest. Every time he acted strangely like this, I feared something might be happening with his brain—some complication from the injury that had left him in this state.

For the rest of the day, his silence persisted. Even during dinner, he ate absentmindedly, pushing the food around in his bowl more than he actually consumed it.

"Feng'er," I said gently, watching him from across the table. "You've been like this since this afternoon. What's bothering you?"

He shook his head, still refusing to speak, though his expression betrayed a deep and troubled contemplation.

Later that night, as I unrolled the mattress on the floor in preparation for sleep, he suddenly rose from the bed. His movements were deliberate, as though he had come to some great revelation.

"Gege," he said, his tone carrying a note of triumph. "I finally figured it out."

I looked up at him, frowning. "Figured what out?"

"That 'piece' you were accused of mutilating," he said, his voice matter-of-fact. "They were referring to the marquis' private parts, weren't they?"

I froze, caught off guard by his blunt statement. Of all the things he could have been brooding over, it was this? For half the day, he'd been racking his brain to solve the mystery of what part of the marquis' body I had supposedly mutilated?

"Why didn't you just ask me earlier?" I said, exasperated.

He hesitated, his brows furrowing in thought. "For courtesy," he finally replied. "I didn't think it was proper of me to ask Gege about such a thing."

I raised an eyebrow. "And yet, in the end, you brought it up anyway. What's the difference between asking earlier and waiting until now?"

He pondered again, his face a picture of earnest contemplation. This version of Lan Feng—or young Ruan Yanjun, as I sometimes thought of him—had an endearing tendency to overthink even the simplest matters.

"Gege," he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. "Did you really mutilate that man?"

I drew in a deep breath, suppressing the sharp retort that threatened to escape. If you hadn't betrayed me, none of this would have happened. But I stopped myself. He wasn't Ruan Yanjun—not yet. Right now, he was just Lan Feng, an innocent teenager who knew nothing of the events that had led us here.

"Yes," I admitted softly.

His expression grew more serious. "Did he do something to you?"

I nodded, averting my gaze. "Regardless, it was probably wrong of me to do such a thing. I should have just escaped. But for some reason… I went back. And I did the unspeakable."

He tilted his head slightly, studying me. "Do you regret it?"

His question gave me pause. For a moment, I considered how to answer. Did I feel regret? Or was my sense of justice stronger than any guilt I might have carried?

I thought of the words Ruan Yanjun had once spoken to me: Regretting one's past actions won't change a thing. We can only move forward. A faint smile touched my lips. Perhaps it was fitting to use his own wisdom on him now.

"A very old man once told me that regretting one's past actions won't change anything," I said. "We can only move forward. Do you think he was right?"

Lan Feng's brows knitted together as he considered my words. After a moment, he spoke with surprising conviction.

"It's natural to feel regretful," he said. "Otherwise, how can we realize when we've done something wrong? But regret doesn't mean living in the past. If we feel we've made a mistake, we can move forward by correcting it."

I stared at him, stunned by the depth of his response. Was this really the younger version of Ruan Yanjun? Before life had hardened him into the calculating man I knew, was this who he had been? A thoughtful, insightful boy with a strong moral compass, but childish nonetheless?

"You're right," I said, smiling softly.

"So, Gege," he continued, meeting my eyes with a sincerity that felt disarming. "Do you regret what you did to the marquis?"

I hesitated, weighing my answer. "Sometimes, I do," I admitted. "But when I think about it, I realize that I probably did the right thing. That marquis was a vile man—he hurt others for his own pleasure. By mutilating him, I ensured he would lose the desire to harm anyone else. If I were to relive that moment, knowing what I know now, I think I would do the same. Even if I had to face the consequences all over again."

Lan Feng didn't speak immediately, but the way his eyes sparkled told me he understood.

"You're a good person, Gege," he said quietly.

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I could only stare at him. Despite everything I had endured—despite the betrayals and the suffering—he saw something in me that I often struggled to see in myself.

I smiled faintly. "Thank you, Feng'er. That means a lot."

His serious expression lifted, and he gave me a small, genuine smile.