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A year felt too long, a decade or a century, nay, a millennium felt more apt to express the passing of the days. It was a year when he saw a message where Jing felt the separation he had with his Eldest Sister Ying. It was a day that quickly became a nightmare, running around the meager space that the residents of Halloween allowed them to take refuge in as he ran through the markets in fervor, calling out to the last bit of family he had left. He didn't keep track of the times that he fell but at the end of the day his clothes were dusty, frayed and in a state of disrepair.

It echoed the feeling he had inside. It was the first day where he felt the true horror of being alone. and the boil who tried to always tried to control his emotions, found what it meant to weep. Jing normally played the role of the dutiful assistant, helping Ying from behind her shoulder, and suddenly it was him at the forefront. the orders for that week was still on a schedule for completion. pieces that still needed to be done and sold. It was impossible for the tent that he had that now felt three sizes too big, now with the missing ghoul that was barely half his size. the table that they split in half was now empty and his fingers were too shaky to even sew a button into place. It didn't take long for the tears to start falling again.

It was a horrible time, having to bow with his face against the floor to apologize to their.... his..... their patrons that their garments would not be finished and return back their payment. Their stats as artisans and the brand name of Zheng was already beginning to decline. He ate very little and continued his daily walk through the market, not so much browsing but searching. Praying. and afterward he tried to keep the livelihood they shared afloat with his work switching to that of a tailor detail work changed to the maintenance of everyday clothes, where the level of detail in embroidery meant nothing. It was enough to keep food on the table, if only for him and the very little he ate. The rest went into paper.

Every day he used his nimble fingers on parchment instead of cloth, folding it, bending and turning it into cranes. tied together in little rows he made them, in various colors as he wished on them to keep his sister safe and for them to have a chance to meet again. Some days he made one, others he made 2 or 3, and on some lonesome days he made as many as he could before falling asleep.

It wasn''t often when he received a visitor that wasn't work related, scrambling to make tea and to not let Lifen worry over his thinning frame and the horseman taking a sip of the herbal blend that he was able to afford before slipping the letter over the table before walking out. Jing could feel a heavy ringing sound in his ears as he turned the letter over and stared at the handwriting that he would know anywhere.

The words that once said "3 feet of goldenrod silk, 2 meters of 10 mm purple velvet ribbon made into bows" he felt the world vanish from his point of view as it was only him and the letter. He held the paper tenderly, gingerly as if it was going to shatter if he made it crinkle. heavy eyes that became a dull color of the sea read each line again and again until a sob wrenched free of his throat. and another, soon after the boil was a mess of emotions, crying freely and without abandon at the lifeline he was given. "Oh mother, father, she is alive, my dear sister is alive." it was truly a blessing that allowed him to cry in relief in the tent that held a memory of her in every nook and cranny.

It took a long time before Jing had his emotions back in check and had the calligraphy brush in hand over a fresh new paper. He began to write.



The letter was sealed in wax with the family crest and given in Lifen's care with a basket of fresh fruit. He didn't want Ying to see him in this state, nor did he want her to see him cry.

There was a little makeshift mailbox outside the tent now. One where Jing checked everyday before sunset. The days of loneliness and separation continued with the relief in his core that Ying was still among them. Days past and the boil never smiled until the day when he found a letter tucked away for him. It was bright and he was beaming at its sight for it could only have been her when he tore it open.

The smile was gone as swiftly as it came and replaced with the look of defeat. The words of her changing her name cut deep, a gash in his chest that had him reeling for a stool to support his weight from the blow. it was unfathomable.

There was no more words of careful consideration, but hastily written writing from the core.




Honor can fly out the window, at this point Jing was not above pleading.

A few days had passed. One where he spent the day pestering one Lifen for info one Ying's address. and he began to pack. Items from the tent that he knew had sentimental worth. Whatever food items he can muster from the market stalls was tucked away and a sack was hefted on Jings back, along with the basket.


"Knock knock." went the door with a tap-tap-tap.

It was the passing of months. Agonizing days where the sun and moon continued its trek through the sky and whatever that lay beyond. Jing was dumbstruck by the frail version of his sister. Ying who was the elder so why was she bowing to him? He didn't leave the horsewoman on the floor for long, putting down the basket and helping her to her feet before giving her a hug.

He could feel how much her body had suffered during their separation, and he thought he was doing bad. Shame burned his face at the concept that he didn't search for her even more so than he did, while she went through this on her own. A hiccup escaped, followed by a sob, and there was no more illusion to his strength of will. but it was OK, he was the younger brother. "Ying."