Rebellion! Jinhsi Defies Changli, the Mysterious Letter Writer

Changli looked at Jinhsi's flushed face and the hurt and panic nearly spilling from her eyes. Her brows drew together slightly.

"Jinhsi," she said, her voice growing lower, "what on earth is wrong?"

Jinhsi's chest heaved. Her lips moved several times, but no sound came out.

Her gaze darted between the letter in Changli's hand and Changli's face, as though searching for somewhere to rest but unable to find it.

At last, as though all her strength had been drained away, her shoulders slumped, and she murmured:

"I'm sorry, Teacher Changli."

Her voice was hoarse, with a barely perceptible tremor.

Changli said nothing, only watching her quietly.

"I came to tell you..." Jinhsi took a deep breath, trying to restore her usual composure, but she couldn't manage it. "I'm going to Rinascita next week too."

Changli's gaze sharpened slightly.

"You're going to Rinascita?" Her disapproval was unmistakable. "Jinhsi, you are the magistrate and the Sentinel's resonator. How can you leave Jinzhou so readily without a reason?"

"I have one."

Jinhsi raised her head and met Changli's gaze. Her eyes, usually clear and gentle, now held a stubbornness and defiance Changli had never seen before.

"What reason?"

"I..." Jinhsi opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat.

What could she say? That she had received a letter from a man and wanted to find him? That his letters had been with her for twelve years, and she couldn't wait to find out who he was?

Perhaps she would have dared say those things on any other day. But now, facing Changli, who had received the same letter, she couldn't say a word.

"I'm going to discuss some cooperation with the Montelli Family." She lowered her head and chose the flimsiest excuse she could find.

Sure enough, Changli refused without a second thought. "Discuss cooperation? I can handle that myself. There is no need for you to go."

"You're not allowed to go!!!"

The words nearly burst out of her, so sharp that even Jinhsi startled herself.

A dead silence fell over the corridor.

The wind swept across the dry landscape garden, sending a few fallen leaves spiraling over the flagstones.

Changli looked at the child she had raised from a young age, her eyes full of disbelief.

Jinhsi had been with her since childhood. The girl was bright and gifted but frail and often ill. Changli had taught her to read and write, guided her through spells and strategy, and watched her grow from a timid little girl into the magistrate of Jinzhou City.

All those years, Jinhsi had never defied her. Not once.

"Jinhsi," Changli said, her voice sinking, her tone filled with an indescribable complexity, "you are the magistrate now. How can you be so childish?"

"I don't care! That's final!"

Jinhsi practically shouted the words.

Then she turned and left without looking back. Her steps were quick and hurried, as though she were fleeing something.

Changli stood where she was, watching her leave, and did not move for a long time.

The water in the tea kettle had boiled dry, giving off a burnt smell. She finally came to her senses, put out the fire with a sweep of her sleeve, and sat back down in the corridor.

"In all these years, this is the first time she has defied me," Changli murmured to herself.

She looked down at the letter in her hand. Her gaze fell on the name "Montelli," and she suddenly remembered how Jinhsi had stared at the letter just now-there had been shock and anguish in her eyes, as well as a sharp hurt, as though something had struck her hard.

Jinhsi had only begun acting strangely after seeing the letter.

Changli rubbed the letter paper gently between her fingertips, and a thought surfaced that surprised even her.

Could Jinhsi also... she also...

Changli fell silent for a long time.

Meanwhile, Jinhsi hurried through the corridors and across the courtyards. Only when she was sure no one was watching her anymore did she stop, lean against a pillar, and gasp for breath.

Her fists were clenched tight, her fingertips digging deep into her palms and leaving pale marks.

But she felt no pain at all. The place in her chest hurt a hundred times more than her palms, as though something had been forcibly crushed to pieces.

"Why?"

Her voice was low and hoarse, as though the word had been forced through her teeth.

"Why does Teacher Changli have a letter from him?"

She closed her eyes, and the letter appeared in her mind.

The envelope bore the Montelli Family's wax seal, identical to the one on the letter she had received.

There could be no mistake. She had been magistrate for three years and had reviewed thousands upon thousands of documents. She could recognize the pattern, color, and texture of that wax seal at a glance.

Teacher Changli had received a letter from him too. The person who had written to her since she was five, who had encouraged her when she was lonely, guided her when she was lost, and made her laugh when she was tired-the person she had thought belonged to her alone-had written to Teacher Changli too.

"Someone I love..."

Jinhsi suddenly remembered what she had said to Sanhua not long ago and couldn't help letting out a bitter laugh.

The bitter smile had barely reached her lips before it was overwhelmed by a deeper ache.

The heat in her eyes could no longer be held back, and tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

Teacher Changli had said that person was very important to her. Teacher Changli had said he had once been someone she relied on.

Jinhsi tilted her head back and watched the last streak of sunset on the horizon gradually swallowed by the night. Her heart was a jumble of sourness, bitterness, and pain, like an overturned bottle of mixed flavors.

"How many people have you written to?"

She asked the empty courtyard in a low voice, her tone full of hurt and unwillingness to accept it, along with a trace of vulnerability she herself was unwilling to admit.

No one answered her.

Only the night breeze blew gently past, stirring a few fallen leaves into a whirl at her feet.

Jinhsi stood alone for a long time, until the setting sun sank completely below the horizon.

She looked down at the red marks her nails had left in her palms, then suddenly clenched her fists and wiped the tears from her face.

"I don't care."

Her voice was so low that only she could hear it. But the determination in her tone was firmer than ever.

"I'm going to Rinascita, no matter what."

"I'm going to find out who you are-and just how many people you've written to."

A beautiful girl wearing a little blue hat and black stockings stood by a bridge, playing the bamboo flute in her hands. The lilting melody sounded as though she were missing someone.

A bird carrying a letter in its beak fluttered down onto Yangyang's shoulder, tilted its little head, and affectionately rubbed against her cheek.

The melodious flute stopped abruptly.

Yangyang eagerly opened the envelope. As soon as her gaze fell on the familiar handwriting, the corners of her lips lifted.

"Yangyang,

It's been a long time. How have you been?

As I write this, I can picture you standing by the bridge.

You're wearing that little blue hat and playing your favorite bamboo flute, with water flowing beneath your feet and the people of Jinzhou City coming and going behind you.

I've imagined that scene for a long time. Whenever I pass that little bridge in Ragunna City, I instinctively glance over, even though I know perfectly well you won't be there.

Strangely enough, I've heard flute music in all sorts of places over the years.

Sometimes, when I'm on the manor's terrace, the wind carries a distant flute to me, faint and intermittent.

Sometimes a few notes suddenly drift around a corner in the city's streets, but by the time I follow them, they're already gone.

Whenever I hear a flute, I think of you. Although I've never actually heard you play, I've always felt it must be the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

I've heard that you're always helping people in need in Jinzhou City.

When wandering children can't find their way home, you take them somewhere safe.

When elderly people can't carry their loads, you quietly lend a hand. Even when you find injured little animals, you care for them until they can fly and run again.

Perhaps not many people know about the things you do, but I do.

Whenever I hear about them, I find myself wondering how a girl can be so kind.

So kind that, compared to you, all the pretty words I write seem far too light.

Yangyang, the irises at the manor are in bloom, and they're more beautiful than ever this year.

I'd like to invite you to Montelli Manor to see them, to show you this sea of flowers.

Oh, and if you can, bring your flute. I haven't heard you play yet.

Montelli"

Yangyang pressed the letter to her chest, unable to hide her smile, though her eyes stung a little.

More than ten years had passed since she received her first letter.

Back then, she had still been a timid little girl who understood nothing.

When the first letter appeared before her, she had thought it had been sent to the wrong person.

But her name was written on it, every stroke carefully formed, and there was even a crooked little smiley face drawn on it.

She remembered that smiley face for a long time.

After that, the letters never stopped. Sometimes they offered encouragement, sometimes they showed concern, and sometimes they simply rambled about trivial things: the flowers had bloomed today, the cat had run off yesterday, or the cook had made a delicious pastry the day before, and he'd find a way to bring her a piece next time.

She kept all those letters in a small wooden box, hidden in the place she treasured most.

In her spare time, she would take them out and look through them, watching the handwriting change from crooked to neat, then from neat to flowing and free, as though she were witnessing someone grow up before her eyes.

And she was growing up too. The little girl who had needed others to protect her had become someone who could protect others.

But the feeling of having those letters with her had never changed.

Yangyang reached out her index finger and gently rubbed the little bird's head. Smiling, she said, "Little one, help me send a reply."

The bird tilted its head and looked at her with its bright, dark eyes.

"Tell him-" Her eyes darted about, and a faint blush rose on her face. "I'll come. And I'll bring my flute."

The bird gave a chirp, spread its wings, and flew away.

Yangyang watched it fly into the distance, then suddenly spun around. Her skirt flared out like a flower bursting into bloom.

She brought the bamboo flute back to her lips.

This time, the tune she played was not one of longing, but anticipation.

"You play well, Yangyang."