Days later, an unexpected token appeared tucked within a scroll case, nestled amongst the fresh, unsullied paper Jian Li used for his calligraphy. It was a slip of mulberry paper, folded thrice with careful creases. “Might Minister Jian grant a moment of his esteemed time in the dormant pavilion before the morning assembly?” For a flicker, Jian Li considered its implication. Yet, the Imperial Court, though rife with undercurrents, maintained a rigid facade. Such overtures were unheard of, especially towards one like himself, burdened with the care of Lord Xuan. He dismissed the notion, a ripple of unease swiftly smoothed over. By the time the fourth gong sounded, signaling the proximity of the morning assembly, the memory of the note had all but faded. He had just finished donning his outer robes, preparing to head towards the main assembly hall, when the message resurfaced in his mind. A mild curiosity stirred. Who among the myriad of court attendants and junior officials might seek his presence in such a secluded place? Setting aside his brush, Jian Li altered his course, veering towards the lesser-trodden path leading to the dormant pavilion. He assumed it held little consequence. Yet, the figure awaiting him beneath the aging cypress proved to be one he recognized, if only vaguely: Scholar Ming, a junior scribe known for his timid demeanor, his black hair smoothed down, head bowed over fidgeting hands. “Scholar Ming?” Jian Li’s voice carried a faint tremor of surprise. The young man’s head, previously lost in the contemplation of his fingernails, snapped up. A familiar, almost too bright smile bloomed across his face – the same guileless expression he’d worn when first assigned to the Imperial Scriptoria months ago. Jian Li’s brow furrowed, a prickle of annoyance rising. “What matter compels your presence here, and so suddenly?” Scholar Ming’s plump fingers twisted, a nervous habit. He glanced about the deserted pavilion, his gaze skittering from the weathered pillars to the quiet pond. “Ah, I… I have words I wish to speak…” “Speak them, then.” Jian Li’s desire to depart intensified with each drawn-out moment. He wished for no eyes to fall upon them, not here, not now. The court thrived on whispers, and Jian Li had always meticulously maintained a distance, offering just enough guidance to appear morally upright to those beneath him, never more, never less. Association with a junior scholar, especially one so prone to anxious jitters, could invite unwelcome scrutiny. Unaware of Jian Li’s mounting impatience, Scholar Ming continued to worry his thumb, his gaze flitting around the dusty corners of the pavilion. His face was a shifting canvas of indecision and fleeting resolve. Each time he seemed on the cusp of utterance, his lips clamped shut, a silent struggle playing out. Jian Li’s breath hitched in his chest, a wave of irritation washing over him. From their first encounter, the young scholar’s timidity had grated on his nerves. Every hesitant movement, every drawn-out pause, amplified his growing discomfort. The ceaseless motion of Scholar Ming’s small mouth, a gesture that might have appeared endearing to another, only fueled Jian Li’s exasperation. He suspected his own sensibilities were frayed, stretched thin by the recent burdens of Lord Xuan’s convalescence. “Forgive this one’s haste, but the assembly awaits. State your purpose, Scholar Ming.” Adding to his internal turmoil, a dull ache throbbed behind Jian Li’s temples. His mind felt like a jumbled pile of disordered scrolls. Perhaps his sharp words stemmed not from genuine anger towards Scholar Ming, but from a desperate urge to direct his frustrations elsewhere. His stomach had been a knotted mess for days, a constant, low-burning stress. As these unwelcome thoughts churned, Scholar Ming finally seemed to steel his resolve. His voice, when it came, was a barely audible stammer. “Uh, Minister Jian… I… you see, I…” “Yes?” Jian Li responded with a clipped syllable, his hand rising instinctively to rub the back of his neck. The morning assembly was imminent. He yearned for the young scholar to simply *speak*, to release the words that seemed to choke him. A dark, fleeting impulse seized him: to pry open those hesitant lips and extract the confession himself. At that precise moment, a sudden creak of aged wood announced the pavilion door’s reluctant swing inward. Both Jian Li and Scholar Ming turned, their eyes locking with Minister Lin, who stood framed in the morning light, chest heaving. No, Minister Lin’s eyes were not on Jian Li. They were fixed, with an almost predatory intensity, on Scholar Ming. His labored breaths echoed in the quiet space, betraying his frantic rush. Jian Li’s chest tightened, a suffocating ache blooming as he pictured Minister Lin tearing through the court grounds, searching for his junior scholar. Minister Lin exhaled a long, ragged sigh, then strode purposefully into the pavilion. Jian Li’s hand, still at his neck, fell unconsciously to his side. Minister Lin’s gaze, sharp and accusatory, flickered between Scholar Ming and Jian Li. His expression was fierce, a storm gathering behind his eyes. “Why do you stand here with him?” His voice was a low growl, directed at no one in particular, yet piercing the stillness. Minister Lin’s hands clenched into fists, then relaxed, then clenched again. Beneath Jian Li’s practiced calm, his insides felt bruised, as if repeatedly struck by a mallet. After a protracted silence, Minister Lin’s eyes finally settled on Jian Li. The weight of that gaze was unbearable, a condemnation Jian Li could not meet. “By the heavens, Minister Lin.” *Please, do not look at me so.* Jian Li’s unspoken plea resonated in the air. *Blame Scholar Ming for summoning me. Why fix such resentment upon me, your supposed court companion? I was merely drawn into this tangled web by his call.* Even as these thoughts raced, Minister Lin’s burning eyes remained, unwavering, upon him. Jian Li recognized that fire: not the glow of passion, but the searing heat of rage, jealousy, and a madness born of obsession. It was the face of a man twisted by a possessive devotion, a sight Jian Li found both pitiable and utterly repulsive. “Why do you stand with him!” *You appear pathetic, Minister Lin. So utterly wretched.* Jian Li met his stare with a frigid intensity. Yet, in that moment, the pitiful one felt not like Minister Lin, but like Jian Li himself. Before Jian Li could even process the transition, Minister Lin’s long strides had brought him directly before Jian Li. The world seemed to tilt as Jian Li met his gaze. A sharp, stinging blow landed across his cheek. “...!” His mind struggled to comprehend. His body toppled, a clumsy heap on the cold stone floor. Only then did the sequence of events replay, a horrific echo. “Impossible…” He had been struck. Minister Lin had struck him. Lying prostrate, Jian Li raised trembling fingers to his burning cheek. Disbelief warred with a crushing humiliation. *How could you… How could you do this to me?* “M-Minister Jian!” “You worm! I commanded you to address me as ‘Esteemed’! No, speak not my name at all, you wretched cur!” Scholar Ming, aghast, started towards Jian Li, but Minister Lin’s scream, feral and unbound, halted him. Witnessing Minister Lin’s incandescent fury, Scholar Ming’s face grew impossibly pale. “I-I beg your pardon, I am truly sorry.” “You gave your word! You swore an oath! Damn you!” Scholar Ming recoiled, a sheen of tears in his eyes. But no, *he* was not the one who should weep. Jian Li was. Tears welled behind Jian Li’s own eyes, threatening to spill. Mercifully, before he could fully break, Minister Lin cursed with a guttural savagery and stormed out, dragging Scholar Ming by the arm, as if the young man were a discarded rag doll. It all happened with the swiftness of a summer storm. Left alone, a solitary figure in the dormant pavilion, Jian Li stared at the half-open door. A sliver of morning sunlight pierced the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Something within Jian Li finally gave way. The dam, holding back a torrent of raw emotion, burst. Tears flowed freely, hot and bitter. He loathed everything. Scholar Ming, who had drawn him into this squalid drama. Minister Lin, who had dared to lay a hand upon him. He wished for both of them to vanish, to be erased from existence. A profound misery settled upon him, for being reduced to a mere bystander, a prop in their twisted, clandestine entanglement. Rising stiffly, Jian Li abandoned the thought of the morning assembly. His duties could wait. His face, already swelling and reddening, would serve as a believable excuse. He sought out the Chief Steward, requesting an early retreat to his residence. The Steward, seeing his distraught state, granted it without inquiry. --- Upon reaching his quiet residence, Jian Li collapsed onto his sleeping mat, seeking refuge in the oblivion of slumber. When he finally awoke, the bruising on his cheek had deepened, his face puffy and discolored. Out of habit, he reached for his message tablet. A new inscription awaited from Magistrate Shen. They did not typically exchange trivial pleasantries, but their paths often intersected due to Minister Lin’s wider circle. *Damn them all.* Were it any other, Jian Li would have ignored the missive. But Magistrate Shen was not ‘any other’. He held significant sway, a close confidant to Minister Lin and an influential figure amongst the junior court. Jian Li could not afford to dismiss him. “Minister Jian, where did you vanish?” Jian Li clicked his tongue, a soft sound of vexation. He composed a belated reply to the message, already hours old. “Ah, a sudden indisposition. Nothing grave.” He deliberately kept his tone light, evasive. He harbored no desire for the court to learn of his predicament, of Minister Lin’s violent outburst. The thought of such a humiliation, all stemming from Scholar Ming, was utterly unbearable. “Are you well?” Magistrate Shen, displaying concern? A strange disquiet settled in Jian Li’s gut. The unusual sentiment caused him to switch off his tablet. Hours later, a wave of profound sadness washed over him. Even Magistrate Shen’s message felt like a burden. Other colleagues had sent similar inquiries, but none offered the solace Jian Li truly craved. Not one of them included Minister Lin. *This is madness*, he chided himself. *Sheer folly.* Yet, he found himself clinging to a desperate rationale, a foolish belief that this was merely the fate of one consumed by a maddening, possessive love. Even knowing the bitter truth, he lay there, a fool on his bed, doing what he did best: closing his eyes, turning a blind eye to the stark reality. “...I am not the only one.” Perhaps Scholar Ming and he shared a similar plight. The thought, strange and twisted, grotesque in its implications, lingered. A selfish, wicked, childish hope intertwined with it. As he lay on his sleeping mat, staring at the painted ceiling, another message appeared on his tablet. An unknown number. “Minister Jian, do you feel greatly unwell?” Jian Li frowned. Who among his peers would address him with such familiar concern, yet from an unrecorded contact? Magistrate Shen? No, the number differed. Before he could ponder further, a follow-up message arrived, relentless and infuriating. “This one is truly sorry. Deeply sorry. All of this is due to this one’s weakness.” “This one is sorry.” “Please, forgive this humble one.” Whether three words or four, each hammered at his composure, making him yearn to scream. He hurled the tablet across the room, the wood clattering against the far wall. *How did this imbecile acquire my contact? And how does one who supposedly possesses no such device send missives?* Then, a realization, cold and sharp. *Oh.* He had sent Scholar Ming a brief message some weeks ago, a minor instruction regarding a misplaced document. His own idiocy. He cursed under his breath, a long, exasperated sigh escaping him. To vent his frustration, he pounded his fists against the mat for a while, until exhaustion claimed him and he drifted into a fitful sleep. Just before his thoughts completely dissolved, one last message, unread, echoed in his mind. “Please, bear no ill will towards this one.” *Humorous,* he thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. *This bitterness has settled for seasons, long before this day.* Morning arrived, finding Jian Li’s face swollen like a steamed bun, the bruise a purple testament to the previous day’s events. --- He avoided the court that day. No matter how diligently he performed his duties, he possessed not enough fervent devotion to his position to appear with such a countenance. His house steward, a kindly woman with knowing eyes, prepared a light luncheon for him. As he ate, she could not resist offering a gentle scolding, urging him to exercise greater caution in his daily affairs. The meal itself was simple: soft, unseasoned porridge, accompanied by limp, seasoned vegetables. He swallowed it without much chewing, a knot still tight in his gut. As he set down his spoon, reaching for a cup of warmed tea, the steward returned to clear the dishes. With a plate in one hand, she spoke. “Minister Jian, a caller awaits.” “A caller?” “Shall I permit entry?” A ‘caller’. His heart fluttered, a strange, hesitant bird trapped in his chest. Before he could even identify the emotion, his mind had already begun to conjure an image of who might stand beyond his gates. Could it be… Minister Lin? It seemed a wild, improbable fantasy, yet not entirely beyond the realm of possibility. Few from the court had ever visited his private residence. Among his circle, only a handful even knew its location. If it truly were he, then Minister Lin must have come to offer apologies, finally burdened by guilt for his unprecedented act of violence. Minister Lin had never, not once, raised a hand to him before. Yes, he must be troubled, perhaps even worried. The fantasy solidified into a certainty. Even as he chastised himself for such foolish naivety, a small, inexplicable warmth spread through his chest. Despite everything, he was still important to Minister Lin, in some way. The thought brought an odd solace. “Yes, permit them entry, if you please.” He quickly turned towards the front door, his pace quickening with a flicker of anticipation. But the person waiting there was not the one his hopeful imagination had conjured. “Yo, what misfortunes befall you this day, Minister Jian?” A sharp-featured countenance greeted him with a playful smirk, a small silk pouch of candied sweets in his hand. Magistrate Shen. As soon as his eyes fell upon Jian Li’s bruised face, however, his lighthearted demeanor vanished. He halted, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically serious tone. “By the heavens, what misfortune befell your countenance?” Jian Li’s knees almost buckled, a sudden, crushing wave of disappointment washing over him. *How came Magistrate Shen to know the location of my humble residence?* “A momentary stumble,” Jian Li replied, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. Magistrate Shen frowned, twisting his lips in a familiar manner before delivering a sarcastic barb. “A most clumsy scholar, are we not?” Jian Li did not bother to argue. He merely rubbed his swollen cheek, a dull ache reverberating deep within. Embarrassment, sharp and bitter, surged as he recalled his earlier, foolish hope. He truly was an imbecile. Minister Lin did not consider him important. And here he was, wagging his tail like a hopeful little dog—a complete and utter fool. “Here, Minister Jian, take this.” Magistrate Shen offered him a cool, sweet candied fruit from his pouch. Jian Li accepted it, his fingers brushing against the chilled skin, and immediately opened the pouch to examine its contents. “...This is longan fruit.” “Indeed? My palate distinguishes not such subtleties.” “Naturally. Such trivialities escape your notice.” “Damn, that’s harsh, Minister Jian.” “For what purpose do you appear here?” “Why else? To ascertain your well-being. Might I enter?” “Hold, I say!” Without hesitation, Magistrate Shen’s long legs carried him across the threshold and into the house. “Where does the esteemed Minister repose?” “Where do you think you are going?” “Where else? There is no other destination within your humble abode.” Jian Li had no retort. Magistrate Shen’s logic was unassailable. Residences, in their essential structure, were much the same. A wave of awkwardness washed over Jian Li as he followed Magistrate Shen, who seemed intent on inspecting the interior of his quiet home.

The Weight of Unseen Threads