When the late emperor died, she should have been buried.
After nine years in the palace, she had no favors, no children, and had not even seen the late emperor a few times. With no queen in the harem and all the concubines martyred, she was not even qualified to struggle.
On the first night of the wake, she grilled a fish in the imperial garden. A young man in mourning clothes came out of the firelight. She said, "Take one bite and you will be an accomplice."
He ate.
She thought he was a clan member on night watch. He thought she was a palace maid who didn't want her life.
Until the confusing rainy night, a night of indulgence.
"Fisherman, who are you?"
She never spoke.
"You won't die," he promised.
She curled up in his arms for a moment and raised her face.
"Next time the moon is full," she said, "if I'm not dead yet, I'll tell you."
He grasped this agreement in the palm of his hand.
Later, the burial list was delivered to the case. He turned to the last page, and the ink pen hung there for a long time. When the last stroke came down, what was crossed out was not her name, but this iron law.
Purpose: Life is above all else