[The Mark of the Limp]
In the Underworld's Medicine Garden, the air was thick with the scent of Ghost-light fruits and Sleeping grass. Gu Xingyu walked beside Qing Fei, her mind far from the medicinal lectures. She was hunting.
A kidnapper needs a place to hide, she thought. A mute servant? A warehouse guard? Or perhaps someone hidden in plain sight, as a personal attendant?
Her breath hitched when she saw a servant carrying water buckets near the gallery. One shoulder higher than the other. A lopsided, dragging gait. It was the exact cadence of the man from her nightmares—the one who had thrown her into the vortex.
Found you, she whispered in her heart, her fingers digging into her sleeves. She masked her shock with a tired smile for Qing Fei, but her soul was now a predator on the scent.
[The Fragrance of Redemption]
In the Yao-Capital, a different kind of miracle was unfolding. Emperor Si Chengjing, though his mind remained fractured, had begun to bring flowers to Mu Yao. He called her "A-Yao"—not the name of the woman he once obsessed over, but the name she had chosen for herself.
Watching them, Princess Si Yirou felt a lump in her throat. Her mother had finally found a version of the love she had craved for decades. Inspired by this, Yirou plucked a few sprigs of Osmanthus—flowers that symbolized steadfastness and nobility—and headed for the infirmary.
[The General's Defeat]
In the quiet of the infirmary, Li Yan sat in his bandages, looking more vulnerable than he ever had in armor. Yirou entered, the sweet scent of Osmanthus preceding her.
"Don't move," she commanded softly, pressing his shoulder back down. She placed the flowers by his bed. "These are my favorite. Remember that."
Li Yan's ears turned crimson. He was a man of stone, yet her presence acted like a gentle chisel.
"My father gives flowers to my mother, even in his confusion," she whispered, looking into his eyes. "But I am awake. I love you, Li Yan. I don't need magic or dreams to know my heart."
She tucked a small sprig into his rough, calloused palm. To Li Yan, the tiny flower felt heavier than his shield. His hands, which had slain monsters, were now trembling over a blossom. But as the scent filled his senses, he realized he no longer wanted to run.
The Osmanthus, a flower of "nobility" and "endurance," now bound the Princess and her General in a silent, fragrant vow.