The forest had a way of swallowing time.
Each day blended into the next in a blur of routine and silence, of tools striking wood and hands buried in soil. With winter thinning its breath across the land, the Wuyuan Forest grew quieter still. The winds howled less like predators now, more like old ghosts breathing through the trees.
Song Lian worked with quiet efficiency, patching the leaky roof, reinforcing the garden gate, and inspecting the root cellar beneath the house. Everything she owned, every tool, screw, and beam had come from her storage.
Though the forest was harsh and unforgiving, she was prepared in a way this world could never understand. Yet for all her foresight, she had never accounted for company.
Yun Zhen had shed the worst of his fever, but his recovery was not idle. He insisted on working beside her—clearing weeds, sharpening tools, and fetching water from the nearby spring. He asked for no special treatment. He didn't complain. If he felt any shame for his fall from royalty, he showed none. It irritated her at first. She'd expected arrogance or at least uselessness. But Yun Zhen listened. He learned. And more annoyingly—he watched.
"You really never grew up in a village?" she asked one afternoon as they built a new shed for drying herbs.
"I grew up in the palace," he replied, hammering a beam in place with controlled strength. "My first lesson was how to kneel. My second was how to lie."
She handed him a bolt and snorted. "Sounds productive."
"It teaches survival," he said simply.
There was no bitterness in his voice, but there was something far older. A man who had learned to expect betrayal from his own blood. Song Lian leaned against the frame and studied him. "So what now, Your Highness? What are you planning?"
"I told you. To live." He didn't look at her. "And if I can help this place grow—stronger, safer then perhaps I'll find purpose again."
She crossed her arms. "You don't seem like the kind of man who's satisfied with growing vegetables and feeding chickens."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"No," he admitted. "But maybe I could learn."
That evening, after the stew simmered down and the forest sank into darkness, they sat by the fire in the main room. Warm yellow light danced over the rough wooden walls and shelves of organized supplies, her own carefully cultivated domain. Yun Zhen stared at the flames, silent for a while, before speaking again.
"This land... Wuyuan. It once belonged to the House of Yue, before it was absorbed by the empire two reigns ago."
"I read that in one of the old ledgers," Song Lian said, stirring her tea. "The villagers fled after a plague. The soil turned poor, and they were taxed anyway."
"It wasn't just the land," Yun Zhen murmured.
"It was their freedom. They were one of the last free hill clans to keep their own customs. They didn't want to bow to the empire's gods. So they were labeled dissidents."
"And now it's forgotten," Song Lian said quietly. "Like so many others."
Yun Zhen turned to her. "What if we brought it back?"
She raised an eyebrow. "The village?"
"No. The idea." He leaned forward. "A place where the empire's rule does not reach. Where exiles, refugees, and the discarded can start over."
Song Lian's expression tightened. "You're talking treason."
"I'm talking survival," he said. "How long do you think the world outside will ignore you? The empire is starving its people. Every week, another province collapses. If not soldiers, then thieves. If not thieves, then warlords. They'll come."
She was silent for a long moment.
"I built this place to be left alone," she said finally.
"And I was exiled to die alone," Yun Zhen said softly. "But here we are."
He reached into his inner sleeve and pulled out a thin bundle a folded piece of cloth, smudged with dirt and blood. When he unraveled it, Song Lian saw a map, hand-drawn, marked with symbols.
"This is what I remember from court strategy meetings," he said, pointing. "Xuanjing is bleeding money. The southern roads are no longer safe. Bandits control the Meiyuan Hills, and rumors of rebellion in Fengxian Port are growing louder."
He tapped the forest's location.
"This region? Forgotten. But strategically valuable. High ground. Freshwater springs. Hidden paths. If you reinforce it with your… supplies…" He glanced at her meaningfully. "We could make it into something more."
She stared at the map. Not as an outsider now. But as someone… who could shape a new world. Still, her voice remained cautious. "And you? You plan to lead this… refuge?"
"I plan to protect it," Yun Zhen said. "That's all."
She looked at him for a long time, then folded the map and handed it back.
"I'm not building an army," she said. "This place will not become another palace or court."
"I wouldn't ask that of you."
"I'll give it a chance," she said slowly. "But no lies, no power plays, no imperial games. If people come, we help them. If they threaten what I've built, we turn them away. Agreed?"
Yun Zhen bowed his head. "Agreed."
Later that night when she was in her private quarters, Song Lian sat cross-legged on the thick floor mat, the fire in her iron stove crackling quietly beside her.
Her fingers moved in practiced rhythm, pulling up the interface of her soul-bound spatial storage. It glowed faintly in the air before her eyes transparent to others, tangible only to her. There were still rows of supplies tarp, lumber, seeds, solar panels, tools, medicine, water filters. But more than that, there were things she hadn't yet used.
Prefab shelter kits. Portable housing units. Books on engineering, irrigation, governance. Items she had once stored in hope of helping others, in a future that no longer existed.
Maybe this is what it was all for, she thought.
Maybe I was never meant to live quietly. Maybe I was meant to build something.
Her eyes closed. Beyond the walls of the forest, the world crumbled. But here, in a dilapidated house between shadows and stars, a seed had been planted. And it was beginning to grow.