A Love Laid To Rest

Vela tossed her brush aside and stood in her chamber. The lantern light trembled on her face. She dragged in a shaky breath and stepped toward her father.

“What about my dreams?”

“You promised me a place at the herbal school. Where I could learn, become someone.”

“Everything a lie?” She raised her voice.

Tears split down her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why? You’re going to marry me off to pay a debt I knew nothing about!”

“Why did you choose me to pay your debt?” She trembled. “Did you ever think about how I feel about this? Did you?”

She looked at him, eyes full of pain. Her fingers clutched his sleeve for a moment… then slowly let go, as if even that touch hurt too much.

“Leave me alone, Father! Leave me!”

“I want to crawl into the ground. "I mean nothing to you just a thing to settle your debt!” Her voice cracked. She dropped to the floor, crying.

Her father reached for her. She slapped his hand away. He froze. Then he sank to his knees in front of her. His lantern flickered.

“You won’t understand, Vela.”

His throat moved. He tried again.

“I did try. I sold... everything.”

“Our ancestral jade seal. Your mother’s silk robes from her dowry. My sword, memories of old battles. I sold those to gather the money.”

“Your mother…..” his lips quivered, “she... she was attacked as she delivered the first payment. You were only ten. She died before she reached the gates.”

“I didn’t want this. I fought it.”

His chest heaved between sobs.

“After she died, you and I were all I had left. No way to finish the debt. Grand Chancellor Talin, he’s not a man you can bargain with.”

He reached out, trembling. “I had no choice. You mean everything to me. Not an object. I’m crushed you think that.”

Two quiet tears fell from his cheeks.

Vela stared at him. She blinked. Memories flickered. Of her father kneeling beside her in the dawn garden, teaching her how to mix herb pastes. His soft voice telling her one day she would heal people across the empire. How he lifted her onto the guqin stool and whispered of school, of study, of her own future.

Now it shattered.

The lantern light showed the wooden floor beneath the tatami mats. Faded red paper walls. A low silk cushion her mother gave her. A small lacquer table where her brushes still lay. Her father knelt nearby. Rags draped over the sword’s empty scabbard tied by the side door. An open frame where the jade seal used to hang.

She slid off the cushion and lifted the brush. She smoothed the stroke she nearly finished: the shape of a root, entwined with a leaf. Her hand shook.

“I lived my life here,” she whispered.

“In this compound, I tended the wounds of guards and servants. Treated small cuts with comfrey and mint. I played in the courtyard with Kelen, my servant .”

She stood, picking up the brush like a dagger.

“You held me back because of this marriage. You hid me. But I was happy. I didn’t need the outside world. I just needed this.”

She pressed the brush to the table.

“Now it’s gone.”

Her father’s voice was low. His head bowed.

“I’m sorry, Vela. I wish—”

She shook her head.

“Why pay your debt with me? Did you ever think of me?”

He didn’t answer. Tears fell into his robe.

“I promised you a future. I saw you in that school uniform, notebook in hand. I saw the students bow to you, learning from your gentle hands.”

He reached to touch her face.

“I sold that dream to keep us alive. And I lost my wife. I lost... so much.”

He fell silent. The clock’s soft tick filled the room.

Vela opened her mouth, but no words came. Her anger cooled into something heavier. A sharp ache.

He tilted his head.

“I will always love you. I can’t... I can’t stop loving you.”

He swallowed hard.

“I know I’ve broken you. I know it. But darling girl... you saved me.”

She stared at his hand, trembling. Her heart thundered.

She didn’t take it. She didn’t let him touch her.

Then, a soft knock at the door frame. The voice of their servant.

“Mistress, it’s late. You should rest.”

Vela stood rigid. Tears are still wet.

Her father’s face crumpled.

He whispered,

“I’ll be waiting. In the morning”

But Vela shook her head. She climbed onto her mattress and curled up, back to him. She pulled the quilt up under her chin. Her breath came fast.

His feet dragged as he walked away from her door. The weight on his chest was heavy. He sat on the edge of the wooden bench outside, his eyes wet, his heart breaking.

He looked up at the night sky. No stars. Just darkness.

He covered his face with his hands and cried like a man with nothing left.

“I used to be someone,” he whispered. “A hero. A name people feared. Now look at me.”

His voice broke. His chest heaved. “I’m sending my only daughter away. To a house with no warmth”. He remembered the battlefield, the blood, the wound on his side that wouldn’t heal. The pain had almost taken him. He needed help. He needed money.

Then he remembered how the chancellor’s men came. They brought a chest. Heavy. Filled with gold strings and jade bars. He thought it was kindness. A gift to honor an old warrior.

But when he was healed, when he could walk again, the chancellor came.

“I didn’t give you that money,” Talin said. “You borrowed it. And you will repay.”

“I should’ve died there,” he whispered to himself. “If I knew it was a trap, I would’ve never taken it.”

He sold the horse. The calligraphy table. His wife’s gold hairpin. Everything.

His wife went to deliver the last payment.

She didn’t come back.

He wiped his face, his hands shaking. “Now it’s just me. No wife. No honor. No daughter.”

Silence wrapped around him. Cold. Empty.

He stood. Weak knees. But he walked.

He stopped at Kelen’s door. Took a breath.

Knocked twice.

“Kelen,” he said, voice low, rough, “rest well and get set. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Then he walked away. Slow. Silent. Like a man already buried.

Kelen sat cross-legged on the thin straw mat. Shadows from the rough wooden walls played across his small servant’s room. The single lantern burned low, its light tired. He stared at the strange device in his hand, a  small carved box with wires and bits of glass inside. He touched it softly, a smile on his lips. Long‑awaited day is almost here, he thought. Tomorrow they leave.

He packed in quiet some clean clothes, his carved comb, his favorite tunic. He folded each piece slowly, fitting them carefully. Then he placed the little box into a hidden pocket of his belt pouch, shut it, and tucked it into his bag. He touched the pouch as if that alone held all the hope and fear mixed inside him.

His bed was simple. A wooden frame, thin straw mattress, coarse grey blanket. No pillow, just a folded cloth at the head. A small window looked out toward Vela’s courtyard. He paused, breathed it in, then lay down, pulling the blanket close. His heart pounded in the dark. He closed hi