Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
REIYANA
T he wagon trundled along the Great Salt Road, its wheels creaking in a steady rhythm as they headed south. Xian Jun guided the reins, Ru Rong’s quiet chatter drifting beside him in the quietness of morning.
Inside the wagon, Reiya sat by the window.
The simple interior felt far more spacious than it appeared from the outside.
A narrow cot stretched beneath the opposite window, layered in woven blankets.
Small cabinets lined the walls, their doors secured with leather straps.
Another cot lay at the other end of the wagon, across from the entrance.
Faint scents of herbs, wood, and leather clung to the air—familiar and foreign at the same time but, oddly, soothing.
Mei Mei sat cross-legged on the floor, threading colourful beads onto thin cords, her chore for the morning.
Reiya looked up when Su Lian settled beside her, pressing a strip of thick cloth into her hands—neatly hemmed, ready to be worked on.
The request to contribute had drawn nothing more than a brief glance between the two women, as if they’d expected it all along. There had been no condescension, no false cheer—only the quiet, matter-of-fact offering of a place at their side.
“The Talharen make things people can use,” Su Lian explained as she threaded her needle. “Belts, pouches, scarves—things made to last, not solely for show.”
Reiya watched closely as Su Lian demonstrated a line of neat stitches, her movements quick and precise. The threads slipped between her fingers, rougher than they looked, each tug requiring just enough pressure to feel deliberate.
Talharen patterns, whether geometric or woven from the shapes of nature, brimmed with meaning.
Under Su Lian’s patient guidance, Reiya was beginning to glimpse the language hidden in the weave—knots for protection during travel, stitches for health and longevity, symbols sewn to coax fortune in trade or even call a good spouse into one’s path.
Every thread had to be pulled taut, every knot placed with quiet precision. This wasn’t simply craft. It was survival—each stitch a prayer, each pattern a charm against the unseen dangers of the world.
Su Lian lifted a belt in progress, fingertips grazing the vibrant knots strung along its length.
“This motif is popular with travellers,” she said softly. “They believe it offers protection on the road.”
Reiya brushed her thumb over the raised pattern, the texture strange at first, but quickly becoming familiar.
For a moment, she was a girl again—watching her brother Leif knot ropes before a voyage, rough hands moving in practiced rhythm, weaving prayers to Thalassazor, the sea god.
But the Talharen knots spoke of a different kind of journey, one bound not to the whims of the tides, but to the stubborn, unyielding earth and all the unseen perils it harboured.
On her first attempt, the needle snagged, tugging uneven loops into the fabric. She swallowed her frustration, inhaling deeply and forcing herself to keep going.
Su Lian chuckled.
“Almost.” She guided Reiya’s hands, adjusting her grip. “Relax your wrist. There—see how it moves easier now?”
Reiya nodded, the awkwardness slowly giving way to rhythm. Push, pull, knot, repeat.
It felt different from the frivolous patterns she’d stitched back home. This work mattered . Every pouch, every belt sold would feed the family, fund their journey, or carry blessings to the buyer.
Hours later, as the wagon wobbled on, her shoulders ached, fingers smarting with tiny pinpricks.
She didn’t stop. When she finally held up the small pouch she’d embroidered—a simple design for safe travels—it wasn’t perfect.
The lines wavered, the tension uneven, but for the first time in far too long, she felt capable.
And maybe . . . happy , even with sore fingers.
Su Lian must’ve noticed, pulling out a small earthen jar without a word. As the cork popped, the scents of herbs and camphor filled the air.
“Give me your hand.”
Reiya exhaled softly as the woman’s fingers worked the salve into her own, moving higher, gliding over the raw, angry welts circling her wrists. The skin was stretched thin, feverish and torn, each stroke a reminder of how tightly the ropes had bitten into her flesh, how long she’d been bound.
Gradually, the sting dulled beneath the careful pressure of Su Lian’s hands.
Reiya found herself watching closely. There was an elegance in the X?en woman, subtle but undeniable, as if the road had shaped her without hardening her. It wasn’t the polished refinement Reiya had seen at court, but something quieter—rooted in experience and resilience.
“You’re so accomplished,” she said. “Cooking, sewing, raising a child . . . Was it hard to learn it all?”
“It wasn’t overnight,” Su Lian replied, smiling wistfully.
“Like you, I wasn’t born to life on the road.
The Xians have always been Talharen, but I came from the Su clan, a trading family in the city.
My father owns a large shop in Changzihuā, the capital of X?en-Sarai, catering to wealthy locals and foreign traders.
My siblings and I grew up surrounded by treasures from far-off lands, trained to read people as much as contracts. ”
Her hands paused for a moment, and she glanced up at Reiya with a fond, knowing smile. “It’s a useful skill—to understand what someone wants before they even say it. I was born in the Year of the Fox, you know. My father used to say it’s in my nature to listen twice as much as I speak.”
Reiya arched a brow. “The Fox?”
Su Lian chuckled softly. “Quick-witted and clever, but not as noble as the Phoenix or as steadfast as the Bear. People trust those animals to lead, but the Fox . . . the Fox slips between shadows and knows things before others do.” She winked.
“Useful for a merchant’s daughter, though not always a comfort to those around her. ”
Reiya chuckled softly. “I imagine you met all kinds of interesting people at the shop.”
“Oh, I did,” Su Lian replied softly. “That’s how I met Jun.”
She resumed massaging Reiya’s palm, though her touch had a distant quality, as if her thoughts were drifting to another place and time.
“One day, he came into my father’s shop, selling pearls and fine wood carvings. He intrigued me, the way he seemed more at ease on the road than most noblemen were in their own homes. I thought, ‘This man belongs to the world, not just one place.’ I envied that.”
Something in Su Lian’s words resonated deeply, stirring the familiar ache that had driven her to leave her own gilded cage.
She tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “So . . . you followed him?”
Su Lian chuckled wistfully. “Not right away. But eventually, I realized there was more freedom with him than in the capital. X?en-Sarai may be lauded as one of the grandest in the nine kingdoms, but it’s an illusion.
The emperor’s greed drains the people—food is scarce, taxes keep rising, and those who can’t pay .
. . they disappear, or they’re sent to labour camps. ”
Reiya stilled. X?en-Sarai had always seemed an empire of wonders to her, famed for its splendour.
She pictured vast palaces, with picturesque courtyards filled with lotus ponds, pillars decorated in glittering limyerite, and intricate jade carvings on temple gates that had stood for centuries.
It was a place of legend, where art and tradition flourished, where even the smallest crafts seemed woven with purpose and meaning .
Yet this image of a gilded empire clashed with Su Lian’s words, hinting at hardship hidden beneath its opulence.
“Did anyone resist?” she asked, though she knew all too well how easily such resistance could be crushed in a world so tightly bound by its own rules.
“People tried,” Su Lian murmured. “But the emperor rewards loyalty and punishes rebellion until there’s no one left to fight.”
She sighed and looked outside at the passing scenery, her expression turning morose. “It’s been nearly a decade since I last saw my family. I used to wonder if they still had the shop, if the house was still standing. But after a while, I stopped asking.”
The thought of such separation gnawed at Reiya. She already missed her own family—the comfort of her mother’s embrace, her father’s gentle encouragement, even her brothers’ teasing jabs that once irritated her.
Nearly a decade, not knowing if home still stood or if her family was safe . . .
She gently squeezed Su Lian’s hand. “I haven’t been away from my family nearly as long, but I think I understand a little of what you must feel.”
Su Lian’s face softened, returning the squeeze. “You’re kind, Yara. Jun’s cautious with strangers—and I wouldn’t have him any other way. But the moment I saw you, I sensed you had a good heart.”
Reiya’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “A good heart? Is this you, or the Fox in you talking?”
Su Lian blinked, then let out a light, genuine laugh. “I like you, Yara. I think you’ll fit in here just fine. Tell me, do you know which animal you were born under?”
Reiya shook her head, a flicker of awkwardness running through her. In Aethonia, they didn’t mark births by animals or celestial signs. Still, she wished she could offer something—some piece of herself to bridge the gap.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” she said, smiling a small, apologetic smile. “But I was born in the year Thirty Four of the Allied Calendar. Perhaps you can tell me? ”
Su Lian’s gaze sharpened slightly while her fingers moved one by one, as if turning the date over in her mind.
Then, her eyes lit up. “Ah, the Year of the Reindeer.”
“The Reindeer?”
“It’s a sign of endurance and strength. Those born under the Reindeer often grow into themselves slowly, but when they do, they stand taller than most. People see the Reindeer as gentle, but that’s only part of the truth.”