The scent of blood had barely dried on their blades, but laughter now danced in the air.
Smoke curled into the golden sky as meat sizzled over open fires. Goblets clinked. War songs rose—some triumphant, some nostalgic, others slurred with wine. They had returned from battle not as heroes, but as survivors. And tonight, they celebrated their small but hard-earned victory against the border rebels.
The western military camp was alive with voices, drunken praise, and tales growing taller with every retelling.
A pair of young soldiers—barely past twenty—broke away from the circle of revelers, restless even in triumph. Their laughter faded as their horses trotted toward the forest edge, where trees stood in dark congregation and the songs of men could no longer follow.
"Let the old ones drink their weight in wine," one said, grinning as he pulled his reins. "The real adventure waits in the woods."
"Adventure?" his companion scoffed. "Or are you just hoping to spot a boar?"
"Maybe. Or maybe a Wood Spirit."
"A what now?"
The first soldier leaned forward, voice lowered as if the trees might overhear. "Locals say the forest is cursed. That Wood Spirits live deep inside. They appear as women—beautiful, desperate. They beg for help, then lure men with a smile. The next thing you know... you've become part of the forest."
The second soldier burst out laughing. "You need to stop reading those cheap scrolls under your blanket. No spirit would want you."
"I'm serious. They say men vanish here. Without a trace."
"Then let's hope we vanish after we finish hunting." He nudged his horse. "Let's see who finds the beast first."
They galloped into the darkening forest, banter echoing behind them. Shadows thickened. The sun sank lower. And then—movement.
Leaves rustled. Branches snapped.
They slowed.
"Probably an animal," the second soldier said, though his voice had lost its edge of certainty.
"Let's hunt it," the first soldier grinned. "Unless you're scared."
"Scared? Lead the way."
They dismounted, steel drawn, and moved toward the thicket.
The moment they parted the leaves, the world fell silent.
There—crawling through the undergrowth—was a woman.
Bloodied.
Barely breathing.
Her gown, once regal, was shredded. Gold glinted faintly around her wrists and throat. Her body trembled, and when she looked up, her eyes were clouded with terror and pain.
"P-please… s-save me…"
The first soldier dropped his weapon.
"Wood Spirit! It's a Wood Spirit! Run!"
"You idiot, she's real!" the second hissed, moving closer despite the pounding of his heart. When he saw her face, he blanched. "She's not a spirit. But she's… gods, what happened to her?"
"Go back," the first muttered, already turning. "We need to tell Wan Heng."
At the Camp
Wan Heng listened to their breathless story with narrowed eyes.
"You fools," he said, snatching his sword. "You better be right about this."
They returned with him to the forest. When he saw the woman, all color drained from his face.
She was no ghost. No forest legend. She was a noble—anyone could see that. Even under layers of blood and dirt, her grace had not died.
"She's from another kingdom," Wan Heng murmured, kneeling beside her. "And a high-born one at that. No traveler wears gold like this."
"She might've fallen from a cliff," the second soldier offered.
"Or been pushed," Wan Heng replied grimly. "Fetch the General."
The General Arrives
General Yan Zhu was practicing under the moonlight, sweat glistening along the edge of his jaw when the soldiers arrived.
They explained everything.
He frowned. "A woman in the woods? Half-dead? What has that to do with us?"
"General," Wan Heng said quietly, "she could be someone important. Her dress—her jewels—she's not ordinary."
The General followed them without another word.
Moments later,
General Yan Zhu arrived at the forest's edge, flanked by the soldiers who had interrupted his training.
"What is this all about?" he asked impatiently.
Wan Heng said nothing at first—he only pointed into the grove.
And then the General saw her.
Time slowed. Every noise in the forest vanished.
She was lying there, barely clinging to life. Her blood had soaked the forest bed. The general's footsteps faltered as he neared her. Her face—though wounded, though bruised—pulled something deep from within him. A forgotten ache. A recognition he couldn't explain.
Without a word, he bent down and lifted her gently into his arms, holding her in a bridal carry as though she were made of fragile glass.
"Clear the way," he ordered, his voice like thunder. "She comes with me."
Wan Heng and the others followed, stunned into silence as their General, the most feared man in the Western Region, carried a bloodied stranger through the trees with more care than he gave to royalty.
who is she?