Nine Summers of Divine Punishment

That night, when everyone else would typically be asleep, the Saint’s residence remained lit, as if waiting for someone’s arrival.

The pastries on the table had grown cold. Senryu replaced them with a fresh plate and looked up at Miki, who was engrossed in a book. “Lady Saint, should I go and find her?”

Miki, who had just recovered from a serious illness, still appeared pale and indifferent, seemingly not in a hurry. “No need.”

Wakako was not one to break a promise. Since she had sent a message, she wouldn’t fail to show up. All that was left to do was wait.

However, Senryu noticed that the Saint’s attention wasn’t entirely on the book. Her gaze would occasionally drift towards the outside.

No one knows the master better than the servant. After a while, the guest arrived as expected.

Wakako was dressed in a simple dark robe, similar to that of an ordinary minister, her hair neatly tied up. It was a typically dignified attire, yet she seemed unusually silent.

Not only that, but she also brought something in her hands—a rolled-up sheet of paper and a brush.

Senryu assumed these were gifts for the Saint and was about to take them, but Wakako shook her head. “Just leave them there. I’ll need them later.”

This palace, reserved specifically for the Saint, was peaceful and secluded, far from the disturbances of the outside world. In front of the main hall was a small pond, which had frozen over during the winter and now showed signs of thawing.

The door was not fully closed, allowing a cold breeze to sweep through the hall.

Wakako bowed deeply to the person who had been waiting for her, following the customary etiquette when meeting the Saint. Her hair was slightly ruffled by the wind, and her every movement marked by an unfamiliar formality.

“Greetings, Lady Saint,” she said calmly.

Even Senryu was puzzled. There was no one else present, so why did Lady Kitagawa feel the need to perform these formalities?

Miki watched her intently, saying nothing.

Since the Saint didn’t speak, Wakako maintained her posture and continued, “The Queen has sent me to inquire about your well-being.”

“She wasn’t well a few days ago, but she’s feeling much better today,” Senryu responded from the side. “She should be fully recovered in a day or two.”

“That is good to hear,” Wakako still kept her head lowered. “If you are feeling better, there are a few matters I would like to ask you about.”

She delivered her message with a calm, emotionless tone, repeating the questions the Queen and others had instructed her to ask. “What guidance has God given to Mios? We humbly ask the Lady Saint to enlighten us.”

Even the usually oblivious Senryu finally sensed something was off. Compared to her last visit, Lady Kitagawa seemed excessively cold tonight, speaking in a purely business-like manner.

Could there be some misunderstanding between her and the Saint?

Not wanting to intrude, Senryu bowed slightly to the Saint and withdrew.

The longer Miki remained silent, the longer Wakako knelt on the ground. It wasn’t until the cold wind extinguished one of the lanterns that the Saint finally spoke.

“Do you still need to ask me?”

She asked bluntly.

“Didn’t you already visit the temple?”

While others might not know, Miki could easily recognize the scent of incense from the divine temple, now lingering in Wakako’s hair, carried by the wind.

Wakako didn’t deny it, but, “God did not reveal anything about our kingdom’s affairs.”

Miki rose and walked past her, heading straight to the table. Using the materials Wakako had brought, she picked up the brush and wrote a few lines.

Having been taught by the finest tutors since childhood, the Saint’s handwriting reflected her character: graceful yet not frivolous, dignified and elegant, each stroke flawlessly executed.

“It’s done,” she said, her tone betraying no emotion. “Everything you want to know is written here.”

Wakako lifted her head and could roughly make out the content on the paper.

The border war between the two kingdoms had been ongoing for nearly a century, locked in a stalemate with victories and losses on both sides, yet never reaching a decisive conclusion. As a result, both countries had stagnated, their development hampered by the endless conflict. Massive expenditures were funneled into the military, while other sectors, such as agriculture and trade, languished.

After a hundred years, these events appeared completely ridiculous in the eyes of God, and They was displeased.

What God desired was for two ferocious wolves to tear each other apart, with the stronger one ultimately emerging victorious—not for two children to amuse themselves by flinging mud at each other.

Thus, God commanded the Saint to incite further conflict, forcing the two kingdoms into a decisive battle, with a one-year time limit. The victor would become the ruler of the Eastern Continent.

A fight to the death.

Wakako gazed at the white figure standing before her. “But you clearly declared a ceasefire on the battlefield…”

“Let the two kingdoms perish if they must,” Miki said softly. “But what about the innocent lives caught in between? The battle in Nanling alone has already left countless animals without homes. If the fighting continues unchecked, the land will be strewn with corpses.”

Human nature is cold and cruel. For thousands of years, people have not ceased killing their own kind, so why would they care about the lives of these beasts?

“Regarding this matter, I will meet with Ruijun tomorrow and discuss it with her in detail.” Ruijun was the current Queen’s name, and only the Saint could address her by name. “But I believe you have something else to say to me, don’t you?”

Miki bent down, leaning closer to Wakako.

Her body beneath the white cloak was so frail that every time Wakako looked at her, she almost forgot she was no longer the lowly servant of the Saionji household, no longer needing to constantly worry about protecting the Saint.

“What did you do at the temple?” Miki whispered, her breath tickling Wakako’s ear. “Did you pray to God?”

Her smile was somewhat strange. “What did God say to you? Or what temptation did God offer?”

Miki’s fingers tightened on Wakako’s shoulder. “But no matter what God said, you wouldn’t be swayed, right? Waka, you promised me that I would be your master for life.”

Wakako looked up, meeting the Saint’s gaze.

Always obedient, always saying “yes,” this time she whispered,

“You are my master, that’s true.”

Miki seemed to sense something, and she quickly covered Wakako’s mouth, unwilling to let her finish, but she couldn’t stop the remaining words from reaching her ears.

“But I have wavered.”

Miki’s flawless expression froze in that instant, like the last moment of calm before a mask shatters.

The ailing Saint raised her hand, her palm gently brushing against Wakako’s left cheek.

It was a slap so weak and soundless, a mere featherlight touch, yet it carried a weight that Wakako could feel.

Miki had slapped her before, but always in the confines of their bed, often at Wakako’s own desperate plea, driven to madness by the intoxicating scent of cherries, begging her master to claim every inch of her skin.

This was the first time outside of their bed.

“What did you waver about?” Miki asked, a beautiful smile gracing her lips, yet it lacked its usual warmth. Her eyes, fixed on Wakako, were as deep and turbulent as a storm-tossed ocean. She repeated, “What did you waver about?”

A long silence followed.

Her legs had grown numb from kneeling, but it was nothing she couldn’t endure.

Finally, Wakako spoke. “Miki, haven’t you wavered before too? On the mountain, you told me never to see you again, but the moment you saw Miki, you regretted it. You even risked divine punishment to stab Saboru Saionji and bring me back to Mios.”

She deliberately mentioned that name in front of the Saint.

“But I am a coward,” Wakako continued calmly. “My childhood wasn’t easy. I struggled just to survive. I want to live a long life—I don’t want to die.”

Each word was aimed directly at Miki’s heart. “You saved me, Miki. Don’t you want to see me live a long and peaceful life? The closer I am to you, the more I will incur the wrath of God.”

“We already said our goodbyes on the mountain. From now on, there should be no more Lady Saionji and her servant, only the Saint and the mercenary Kitagawa.”

Wakako lowered her head again, offering a deep bow. Then, without another glance at Miki, she carefully gathered the scroll and brush she had brought and walked resolutely towards the exit.

From behind, the Saint called out to her. “Waka.”

But this time, she didn’t turn back.

Wakako didn’t even know how she managed to leave the palace. Her horse was tethered at the post outside, and instead of returning to her room, she rode aimlessly through the night, driven by an unknown force.

There was no moon tonight, and the stars were sparse and dim.

She closed her eyes briefly, and the vision she had received after the shattering of the sacred water jar replayed in her mind.

…

The setting sun painted the sky with vibrant hues of blood red, casting a warm glow over the coffin where someone lay peacefully, their expression calm and relaxed.

The girl possessed a beauty that would cause anyone to stop and stare, as delicate as a porcelain doll crafted by God themselves, untouched by the hardships of the mortal world.

Except for the faint scent of sunflowers that clung to her, a scent so common it was almost unworthy.

Many people knelt before the grave, weeping and mourning, yet powerless to bring back the departed. They could only cry silently—

“Saint Miki…”

The fallen saint, who had willingly embraced her fate, had passed away quietly in the prime of her youth.

…

Would the Saint die if she continued to associate with her?

Wakako looked down at her wrist, where a wound had only recently healed.

Back in the divine temple, she hadn’t hesitated to use a shard from the sacred water jar to cut herself, letting her blood drip onto the ground before the statue.

“Can’t I be the one to die?” Wakako had asked. “I’ll bleed out here today if that’s what it takes.”

She had held the shard in her palm, yet the vision remained the same. The Saint, clad in white, lay in the coffin, as peaceful as if asleep.

The only difference was that this time, in the distance under the setting sun, another grave appeared, bearing her name.

“Kitagawa Wakako.”

Even in death, she wasn’t worthy of being buried alongside the Saint. She couldn’t even be close, destined to remain alone in the distance.

God had not spoken a single word to Wakako, but she understood Their message.

Her life held little significance. Whether she lived or died, it wouldn’t make much difference. What truly mattered was the Saint’s will.

The cherry fruit hung high on the branches, an unattainable treasure for the lowly sunflower rooted in the earth. For the cherry, to be tainted by such a lowly scent meant its fall was inevitable.

Wakako thought numbly that she should have realized this long ago. She was the one who had brought misfortune to Miki.

If she hadn’t encountered Miki by the stream ten years ago, the Saint would now be the Queen, safe and sound, spared from these agonizing divine punishments.

God was undoubtedly cunning, using Wakako’s life to control Miki and Miki’s safety to manipulate Wakako. She understood it all, yet she was powerless.

She was nothing more than a lowly servant, unworthy even of dying in place of the Saint.

***

In the Saint’s residence, the lamp burned brightly throughout the night.

Miki sat motionless, lost in thought.

Before her lay a small wooden statue of the deity, typically used for worship by the palace servants.

After a long while, she picked it up, examined it briefly, and then tossed it aside without a second thought.

It fell heavily to the ground, chipping off a piece of wood.

“Oh, divine one… don’t think you can discourage me with these petty tricks you play on Wakako,” Miki murmured with a faint smile, though a storm raged in her eyes. “Don’t underestimate me.”

She hadn’t risked everything to return to Mios just to play games.

What she desired—both people and things—would come back to her of their own accord.