[Next day]
Morning light seeped gently through the sheer curtains, brushing Suyin's cheeks like the soft stroke of a painter's hand. Yet whatever tranquility the dawn offered was quickly drowned beneath the growing storm of noise outside her chamber.
She stirred, her brows knitting as the clamor sharpened—hurried footsteps scattering across the wooden floors, the anxious shuffle of skirts, hushed voices rising and falling in frantic bursts
.She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, blinking at the space beside her.
Qin Fuhua wasn't there. The absence of his quiet warmth made the air feel strangely hollow.
Suyin sat up slowly, a faint chill brushing down her spine as she swung her legs off the bed. She dressed with quick, practiced motions, smoothing her clothes before stepping into the corridor—only to find a stream of maids and servants rushing past, their faces pale, their hands trembling with urgency.
"What's the commotion?" Suyin questioned, her head tilting in confusion.
A servant skidded to a stop at the sound of her voice. His expression shifted immediately—worry, fear, and the faintest thread of desperation.
"There's a commotion going on in one of the shops. A couple of the servants and maids' children are missing."
Suyin's eyes lit up, worry etched on her face.
Her heart clenched, beating harder with every word that left his lips.
"We're trying to work for some of the people that had to leave after hearing their kids didn't get back," he added, voice quieter now, almost trembling as if speaking the truth out loud made it heavier.
It was no wonder that Qin Fuhua had disappeared. He had likely heard the news even before everyone fully awoke—had already moved with that sharp, unwavering resolve of his to investigate the situation.
Suyin gathered her skirts, her pulse racing. She immediately hurried back to finish dressing properly, fastening her outer robe with brisk, determined fingers.
The cold morning air seeped into her bones, but her steps were already carrying her forward.——————————————————————————
"Where did you think yours went?"
The voice—frayed with fear—hung in the chilly morning air.
The dumpling soup shop sat near a narrow pathway that wound toward the mountains, its familiar warmth now overshadowed by the crowd huddled outside. Parents pressed together, voices trembling, eyes wide with sleeplessness. The scent of broth and steam drifted faintly from within, but it could not soften the sharp bite of panic gripping the street.
"I thought that it was just mine, but it seemed like there were more people who had taken our children."
An older man spoke, his eyes filled with worry, the lines on his face deepened by a night of anguish.
Han Suyin descended the pathway with steady but urgent steps. She had been searching for the shop, but even before she reached it, she could feel the uneasiness swarming the air like a rising storm.
The closer she drew, the clearer the sight—clusters of families clutching one another, the sound of muffled sobs, whispers that trembled on the edge of breaking.
"Is there a problem? I heard that some of the children were missing from yesterday to a couple of days ago."
Suyin asked gently, her voice threaded with concern as she faced them. A mother lifted her red, puffy eyes and nodded shakily, her lips quivering as though every word tasted of sorrow.
"Our children had been missing. Even though some of the ages ranged from six to sixteen, they may have kidnapped them."
The despair in the crowd deepened, rippling outward like waves striking the shore.
Some parents clung to each other in desperation; others stood frozen, staring into the mountain path as if searching for shadows of their vanished children.
Suyin stepped forward, her voice steady.
"Have you seen a man this tall, dressed in a darker attire, more formal and elegant with sharp eyebrows?"
Her description was precise—the closest she could offer without revealing Qin Fuhua's true identity.
Around her, murmurs continued, grief and confusion blending into an indistinguishable hum. Then one man turned, his eyes darting toward Suyin. He nodded quickly.
"He was here even before the sun was up."
Suyin's breath stilled. She faced him fully, listening intently.
"He had gone up the mountains. He said it wasn't pure coincidence."
A chill ran through her—not of fear, but recognition.
Qin Fuhua had already sensed something amiss. He had taken action before the day had even broken. Suyin bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you." Her voice was soft, respectful.
She knew Qin Fuhua wouldn't reveal himself here as the Prince of Qin—not in Liaoping, not amidst frightened townsfolk. He was still Tienzheng to them, the citizen with sharp eyes who often minded his own business in the village. Some of the people who lost their children belong to some of his workers.
She lingered only a moment longer, listening to the restless conversations, the parents' pleas to the heavens, the fragile hope that their children might still return. Then she gathered her robes and stepped toward the mountain path.
The trail climbed upward like a winding serpent disappearing into mist. Suyin inhaled once, steadying her heart.
And then she ascended—carefully, swiftly—following the same path Qin Fuhua had taken, toward the mountains that held the answers hidden somewhere beyond the trees.
————————————
Han Suyin carefully ascended the mountain path, the world around her shifting with every step. What had once been a clear, breathtaking view of rolling hills and shimmering sky was now swallowed by a dense sea of bamboo.
The towering stalks leaned inward like silent sentinels, whispering softly each time the wind threaded through their leaves. Shadows mingled between the trunks, and every rustle felt like it held a secret—or a threat.
She tread lightly, mindful of her steps. Instead of walking directly on the worn path, she kept to its edges, weaving between bamboo roots. If bandits, traffickers, or whoever had taken the children were nearby, she needed every advantage she could get. Her heartbeat was steady, but her senses sharpened—attuned to every shift of sound, every flicker of movement.
As she ventured deeper, the air thickened with tension.
Then—faint but distinct—a glimmer of red pierced the woodland gloom.
A flame.
A small fire flickered in the distance, the glow painting the bamboo stalks in shades of crimson.
Suyin quickened her pace, breath tightening in worry. When she broke through a cluster of stalks, the sight before her stilled her steps.
The children.
They sat in a circle around the small fire, their small faces illuminated by its eerie light. Their eyes were hollow, staring fixedly at the flame as though entranced or lost in their dread.
When Suyin rushed forward, the youngest ones flinched, shrinking back with wide-eyed fear.
"What are you guys doing here?" Suyin spoke, her eyes staring at the younger children.
The eldest among them—likely around sixteen—lifted his gaze. His face was pale, exhaustion shadowing his features.
"Are you here to take us back home?"Suyin blinked, a frown tugging her brows together. Confusion rippled through her.
"What do you mean? Were you expecting someone to pick you up?"Her tone wasn't harsh, yet she immediately sensed their distrust—a natural instinct for children who had been lured away from safety.
"I, heard that you guys have gone missing, even a couple of days ago." She kneeled beside the boy, lowering herself to eye level to ease his fear. "Tell me, what's going on?" she said softly. "I promise you, you aren't punished for this." She exhaled, worry pulling at her heart. "I had come because I'm looking for my husband."
The children exchanged glances. Then one of the younger ones whispered, voice trembling:
"You mean... that man?"
Suyin's attention snapped toward the child.
"He's taller, really... stern on what he does? Looks quite intimidating?" She tried to soften her wording for the little one, offering the faintest smile. The smaller child gulped and nodded.
"He had gone to get us from the abandoned little house not too far from here."
Relief flickered through Suyin—Qin Fuhua was here.
But it was laced with unease. What had he found? Who else was involved?Suyin moved closer to the older boy, kneeling again.
"Did you come all the way here to hide?"
"There was a man who had told us that we could work for them to help with our family. They promised to provide us money for my family since my mom and dad are struggling to put food on the table."
The sixteen-year-old's voice quivered at the edges. "The other younger ones were offered different things, but it seems like they wanted to meet us at that house."
Offers.
Promises.
Different things for different children.
Suyin bit her lips, her mind racing.
Something was deeply wrong. This wasn't simply abandonment or runaway children—this was a targeted scheme. And the thought of what motives lay beneath chilled her to the bone.
Worry etched onto her face—worry for Qin Fuhua, for the children, for whatever darkness lurked deeper in these bamboo shadows.
"I'll get you back home. Your parents have been worried sick."
Her voice was gentle yet firm, a promise woven into every word. She reached out, placing a steady hand on the nearest child's shoulder.
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After Suyin had returned back to the village with the children, the once-tense streets erupted into a flood of emotion.
Families surged toward their little ones, pulling them into trembling embraces. Mothers wept openly, their shoulders shaking as they pressed their children's faces into their chests, while fathers who rarely shed tears wiped at their eyes with calloused hands. Relief rippled through the crowd like a warm tide finally returning to shore.
People thanked her again and again, bowing deeply, some even falling to their knees in gratitude.
Many were astonished—how had she found the children so quickly, so far into the mountains?
Suyin kept her explanation simple, her voice steady despite the pulsing worry in her heart.
She told them "that her husband had found them as he was up there," never revealing the deeper truth—that Qin Fuhua had gone ahead to investigate, that danger still lurked among the bamboo-covered slopes.
The crowd murmured blessings and thanks, yet Suyin lifted her hands gently. She could not stay long—not when Qin Fuhua remained somewhere in the mountains, facing the unknown.
"I need to return to find my husband," she told them, determination glimmering beneath the softness of her tone.
Several men—and even a few women—stepped forward anxiously. They warned her not to go alone, insisting that whatever had taken the children could still be watching, still waiting.
Fear clung to their words like morning frost.
But Suyin smiled, a calm, confident expression blooming across her face despite the storm twisting in her chest.
She reassured them, "I've gone through worse. I'll find him, surely."
Her smile comforted them, but it didn't hide the truth she held close: her heart was racing, not with fear for herself, but for him.
And so she ascended back into the mountains—faster this time, urgency burning in her steps. The shadows between the bamboo seemed longer now, the wind carrying a faint, eerie whisper. Every crack of a twig beneath her feet made her pulse quicken. She was in a hurry.
She was afraid.
Afraid that Qin Fuhua was still there—alone, confronting whoever dared to steal the children.