Ying Lan moved through the trees as quiet as a mouse, her boots making no sound on the wet grass, her shape hidden by the mist that hung low over the ground. She felt the rhythm of the grove around her, the gentle waking of life and breath that stirred in every leaf and branch. But there was something amiss, a noise that jarred her ears. A discordant note in the harmony of the grove.
Ying Lan searched the fog, seeking the cause of the disturbance. She caught a glimpse of color, a form that moved with slow and weary steps along the path that cut through the grove. She crept behind a tree, her eyes locked on the form. The fog cleared, revealing a girl. Ying Lan felt a jolt in her chest. It was Miss Ding.
She was alone; no maid trailed her, no men guarded her. And she was crying, tears streaming down her face. She lifted a hand to wipe them away and Ying Lan saw a glint of something in her grip, something that shone in the sun. Ying Lan gasped and her eyes grew wide. My pendant.