Chapter 81
The market women had no idea what she was thinking. They hadn’t seen much of the world, but they weren’t completely ignorant either. “Huh? Isn’t that the same name as the Saint?”
Miki smiled faintly, offering no explanation.
Quickly, another woman chimed in, “Lots of people share the same name these days. You can’t even read, so best not to mention the Saint.”
“That’s true…”
The women chatted with Wakako for a while longer. Before leaving, they grabbed a handful of candies, wrapped them in a small pouch, and insistently pressed it into her hand. “Just bought these—nice and clean. Eat up!”
After they left, Miki stared at the small candies. “I want to try one.”
Wakako said, “You won’t like them.”
They weren’t anything special, just cheap barley sugar, a handful for a single copper coin. They dissolved in the mouth with a thin sweetness, not particularly pleasant, leaving a scratchy feeling in the throat after a while. Yet, they were quite popular among the common folk because they were so affordable.
The market women loved them, and Wakako had too when she was younger. But compared to what the Saint usually ate, they were practically worthless.
“How will I know if I don’t try?” Miki murmured, leaning against Wakako’s right arm, a hint of coquettishness in her voice. “Feed me, okay?”
As she drew closer, her familiar sweet fragrance enveloped Wakako, sweeter than any candy.
Wakako took a piece and, from beneath her veil, offered it to Miki’s lips. Miki’s soft lips brushed against Wakako’s fingertip before she took the candy into her mouth.
One would expect her to immediately spit it out, finding it too sweet, but Miki swallowed it all without a word.
“I like it,” she said.
Miki glanced at the peach blossom lantern in her hand, then at the rabbit lantern in Wakako’s. “I like all of these things. I want to buy more. Will you come with me?”
They wandered past stalls selling candied hawthorns, small pouches, and clay figurines. Miki paused at each one, her curiosity evident, taking her time to browse before finally settling on a clay figurine
The stall owner was quite skilled. With just a glance, he could vividly recreate a customer’s likeness. But the new bride before him wore a veil and didn’t seem inclined to remove it, so he had to leave one of the figurine’s faces blank.
“Here you go,” he said, handing them a wooden box.
Inside the wooden box were two miniature figures, one in black and one in red, sitting side by side, lifelike in every detail. It was just a pity that the one in red was missing a face.
Miki stared at them for a long moment, then looked up and smiled. “Shall we go release the lanterns?”
A few more turns down the road led them to a small stream. Children would make wishes upon their lanterns here and let them float along the water.
They said that the wishes would follow the stream’s flow and eventually reach the ears of God.
As to whether this was a futile effort, the Saint herself would know best. Yet she still held Wakako’s hand, leading her toward the stream.
Their hands touched, and Wakako’s usually cold hand felt a touch of warmth, spreading from the lines of Miki’s palm throughout her body.
The riverbank was long, with people scattered here and there. Miki went to buy a brush and wrote a few words on the peach blossom lantern.
After writing, she handed the brush to Wakako. “What wish do you want to make?”
Wakako didn’t take the brush immediately. She simply stared at Miki, transfixed.
The night breeze lifted the pale red sleeves of the new bride, revealing a fair arm beneath—a complexion smooth as jade.
Such flawless skin, yet marred by an ugly scar crossing it, leaving a faint reddish-brown mark.
Like a knife cutting through water, even though the water continues to flow, it’s no longer the same. The same was true for the Saint who had carved flesh from her own body to make medicine. Even if the wound healed, there was no way to pretend it never happened.
The playful sounds of children echoed around them—clapping, laughing, calling each other’s names—drowning out Wakako’s muffled sobs.
The rabbit lantern in her hand fell to the ground before she could write a single word.
Wakako could no longer support herself. She collapsed at Miki’s feet, her eyes red and filled with anguish. “Why did you save me?”
Miki didn’t know martial arts and couldn’t make a clean, swift cut. She must have repeated the motion countless times to remove the flesh.
No one was more familiar with weapons than a mercenary. Just looking at the remaining scar, Wakako could reconstruct the position of each cut.
Her heart twisted in agony.
Like countless nights in the Saionji estate, Wakako trembled, her shoulders shaking, leaning against her master’s lap.
She let the tears flow freely, soaking the new bride’s gown. For the first time, she cried out to Miki, her voice hoarse and strained, “Why did you save me? If I had died, everything would be over!”
The other visitors nearby were startled. But soon the playful cries of children resumed, filling the air with noise, and no one paid her any further attention.
Except for the Saint, looking down at her, her features as delicate as a painting.
Miki wiped away Wakako’s cold tears with her thumb, patiently gazing at her tear-streaked face. The dimples that appeared when she smiled were also present when she cried, even collecting tiny tears.
“Why are you still acting like a child?” she whispered softly, gently stroking the damp dimples. “Isn’t it wonderful that the poison is gone? We should be celebrating.”
She was a year younger than Wakako, yet her tone was like that of an older sister.
Seeing the tears still streaming down Wakako’s face, Miki smiled faintly. “Of course I would save you, Wakako. Tell me, if it were you, wouldn’t you have done the same?”
“…Yes.”
“Then that’s settled, isn’t it?”
Wakako voice was barely audible, “It’s different. You’re the Saint. You shouldn’t have to endure such pain.”
“I’m your master,” Miki corrected seriously, continuing to wipe away the falling tears. “I promised to protect you, and I keep my promises. Besides, it didn’t hurt that much.”
Wakako remained silent.
How could it not have hurt?
Miki knew she didn’t believe her. Her gentle demeanor vanished, and through the veil, Wakako could vaguely see her expression harden. “Wakako, I’m not someone who can be easily trampled upon. I may not be born without the ability to feel pain like you, but I won’t be defeated by such a small injury.”
“Besides,” she said, each word deliberate, “compared to the agony of being separated by life and death, this is nothing. You’re afraid I’ll be in pain? But don’t you know that for me, watching you die, or watching you marry someone else, is a thousand times, ten thousand times more unbearable?”
Another gust of wind blew, knocking over the rabbit lantern. It bumped against the peach blossom lantern, sending both tumbling into the stream. They landed gently on the surface, floating downstream.
Wakako saw the words written on the peach blossom lantern. Elegant and graceful, just like the person who wrote them.
— I only wish your heart were like mine.
Miki’s voice drifted away on the night breeze. “Even you fear separation by life and death… How could I not be afraid? I can’t… I can’t watch you die… I can’t bear to watch your coffin lowered into the ground…”
A small child ran over and stopped, staring wide-eyed at Wakako’s tear-streaked face and slumped posture on the ground. With the innocent curiosity of a child, they pointed at her and said, “Why is that big sister crying? Is she waiting for another big sister to hug her?”
The child’s parents hurried over, apologizing profusely as they scooped up their child. “Don’t say such things! Can’t you see her bride is right beside her? …What’s a bride? You’ll understand when you’re older.”
Miki crouched down, disregarding any notions of noble propriety, and gently caressed Wakako’s face.
“Wakako, during the five years I spent in the Eagle Kingdom, I didn’t see you, and I was terrified that what we shared would cost you your life. When I finally saw you again, I couldn’t bring myself to believe we could ever find happiness.”
” When we were trapped on the mountain, I thought about letting you go. But the moment I saw you talking to your fiancée, I regretted it.”
“I used to think that just being alive was enough, but in that moment, I realized that without having what I truly wanted, there was no difference between living and dying.”
“So I changed my mind, and I made the decision for you too. Wakako, I can’t bring myself to let go. We either live together or die together. There is no other choice.”
“You’ve been with me for so many years, you understand my nature, you know what angers me…” she said slowly, “No matter who abandons me, I won’t bat an eye. But you can’t. You’re the only one who can’t.”
“I chose you. You’re my servant, my companion, my wife… Why would you be the one to let go? No, you can’t.”
Miki stood up. Her veil fluttered in the breeze, a coldness settling on her face. Her gaze was like a slender vine, wrapping tightly around its prey with no escape.
She looked down at Wakako. “I’ll give you one last chance.”
“Tell those vendors we just met, tell those market women, that I’m not your wife. If you can say it, we’ll pretend this marriage never happened. I’ll take off this dress right now and return to the palace.”
Just then, the market women returned from the stream, each carrying a lantern they wanted to release. They were fretting about not knowing how to write their wishes and were looking for help when they spotted the two.
“Oh, it’s the newlyweds again. Did you eat the candies? You’re holding a brush. Could you help us write a few words? We old ladies can’t read or write.”
Wakako slowly rose to her feet. Miki handed her the brush.
She accepted it, looking into the expectant faces of the market women.
All she had to do was tell them that Miki wasn’t her bride, and everything would be resolved.
Just a few simple words…
Wakako took a deep breath. Such a simple sentence, yet it stuck in her throat, neither coming out nor going back, weighing heavily on her lips like a thousand-pound stone.
If she spoke those words, no one would discover that the Saint had disguised herself to marry, no one would know of her connection to a mercenary, no one would anger God and bring death upon the Saint, plunging Mios into chaos…
If she just made the clean break, everything would be alright…
Even though she understood all this, Wakako’s lips remained sealed.
How could she possibly say it?
She had dreamed of this moment for so long.
From the moment she first understood what it meant to be in love, there had been only one name, one face in her mind, an image she couldn’t erase.
The very thing she hadn’t dared to hope for, even in dreams, had been thrust into her arms without room for refusal. She prided herself on her strong will, but in this matter, her resolve crumbled like a joke.
Miki suddenly laughed, taking the brush from her hand. Her words were cryptic to the market women, who only sensed that the bride beneath the veil seemed to be both laughing and crying.
“You can’t say it,” Miki said. “You could never say it.”
This was the future they had prayed for when they eloped five years ago.
To openly call her “wife” in front of others.
