In My Guardian’s Shade

The morning sun bathed the streets of Xiányáng, the capital of the empire, enveloping the city in a golden glow that filtered through the dust motes suspended in the air. The houses, with dark wooden roofs and dry clay walls, rose on either side of the main street, their shadows casting over the uneven cobblestones. The bustle of the market filled the central square with a symphony of sounds: vendors shouting out their goods, the clinking of metal, the creaking of poorly oiled wheels, and the hurried trot of horses.The amber and crimson awnings of the Yùnzhōu market fluttered in the gentle breeze, casting golden spots that danced over the ground. The air smelled of burnt wood, freshly cut ginger, candle wax, and the new silk that still held the scent of the loom. Among the stalls, paper lanterns swayed to the rhythm of the wind, as if whispering ancient stories between the folds of the centuries.Among the crowd, Wen Meixin moved alone, like a figure not fully belonging to the present. She walked with ethereal grace, her slender figure wrapped in a translucent white hanfu. The garment, adorned with silver thread embroidery that glistened like frost under the sunlight, had wide sleeves that fluttered with each step. A pearl-gray silk belt cinched her waist with understated elegance. Her long black hair, as shiny as a raven's wing, cascaded perfectly down her back, partially gathered with a jade comb carved into the shape of a plum blossom.Her almond-shaped eyes, dark brown almost black, silently scanned the stalls. She did not speak. She did not smile. She did not mingle. She walked as if floating among the living, yet belonging to another world.She stopped in front of a stall where lace from the south was displayed, exquisitely handmade. One piece, in particular—ivory, with tiny knots forming intertwined lotuses—caught her attention. Her fingers barely grazed the edge, as if the delicate fabric awakened a buried memory within her.Then, a child's voice broke the calm.—Grandmother, look! Horses!A second later, a scream.—Get out of the way!The hooves struck the stones violently. The crowd erupted in chaos: screams, fruit rolling, overturned baskets, clothes flying through the air. A lacquered wooden carriage came barreling down the street, pulled by frantic horses with wide, terrified eyes. The coachman, unconscious, hung to one side like a ragdoll.Meixin turned. A few meters away, an elderly woman with her hair tied in a low bun and a small child, no more than five years old, were frozen in the middle of the path. No one reacted. No one dared.She didn't hesitate.She ran toward them, her white dress fluttering like a moonlit flame, and her hairpin fell to the ground with a soft snap. She first grabbed the child, pushing him to the edge of the street—someone caught him in their arms—and then, with unexpected strength, pushed the elderly woman aside. The carriage was nearly upon her.—Watch out!A body slammed into hers. She was violently pushed aside, and both of them tumbled to the ground. The screech of the wheels, the creaking of the wood tearing through the air, passed inches from her face. Then, a sharp thud. And silence.Meixin struggled to rise. Her face was covered in dust, her lips slightly parted from the exertion. Her chest rose and fell quickly.Beside her lay the man who had saved her. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle, bleeding. He had an angular face, hardened by a scar that ran from his right eye down to his jaw. His hair, tied in a high ponytail, swayed in the breeze. He breathed heavily.He wore the uniform of a low-ranking guard, a dark gray linen tunic fitted to his body, covering his arms up to the elbows. His pants, also made of thick linen, were darker than the tunic, and his boots were tall and black leather. On his left wrist, hung a small jade amulet that swayed slightly with each movement.—Is... he okay? —he murmured, trying to sit up.She looked at him in silence. A long, deep gaze. Her eyes stopped at the scar crossing his face: a groove in the skin, reddish and slightly raised, giving him an intimidating and fierce look. However, the way he looked at her contradicted that harshness; in his gaze, there was warmth, a serene composure, that of someone willing to protect their own at any cost.Meixin, with no emotion, shook the dust from her sleeves, picked up the hairpin, and responded with a cold voice like marble:—I didn't ask for you to save me.He blinked, confused.—I'm sorry?—You got hurt unnecessarily. Don't do it again.And without another word, Meixin turned away. She walked through the crowd, which was gradually returning to the rhythm of the market as if nothing had happened. No one helped him. No one looked at him. Only he remained there, lying on the hot stones, his leg broken, his breath shallow, his gaze fixed on that white figure fading into the distance.—Meixin... —he whispered, before losing consciousness.