The Mad Ҡìղց

Not Yet, Not Ever.

Zhan left the chamber, his mind already turning to the conversation he dreaded with Fengmian. The old councilman was stubborn but loyal.

The journey to Fengmian's estate was a short one, but it felt like an eternity. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Zhan's mind raced as he rehearsed what he would say, how he would explain the urgency of the situation. But no matter how many times he went over it, he couldn't shake the feeling that Fengmian would refuse.

When he arrived, Fengmian was seated in the grand hall with a book open on his lap. He looked up as Zhan entered, his expression unreadable.

"Your Majesty," Fengmian greeted, his voice cold and formal.

"Fengmian," Zhan replied, keeping his tone neutral. There was no time for pleasantries.

"To what do I owe this visit," Fengmian asked, closing his book and setting it aside.

When Zhan finished explaining his mate's condition, he sighed. "I know," Zhan said, his voice firm but calm, eyes locked with determination. "But it's the only option we have left." The weight of their decision hung in the air, the silence thick as they braced for the consequences.

Fengmian sighed, standing and walking over to the window. "You realize what you're asking me to do, don't you? You're asking me to go against centuries of tradition, to defy the laws your father upheld."

"My father isn't here anymore," Zhan said, his voice hardening. "I am. And I'm telling you that this is what needs to be done."

Fengmian was silent for a long moment, his back still turned to Zhan. "And what if it fails?" he asked finally, his voice quiet. "What if you lose him anyway?"

"Then I'll live with that," Zhan replied, though the words felt like a lie. He couldn't live without Wang. He wouldn't. "But if there's even a chance—"

"You're risking everything," Fengmian interrupted, turning to face him. "The kingdom, your throne, your life. For one person."

"For him, Zhan said fiercely. "For the person I love."

Fengmian studied him for a moment, his expression softening ever so slightly. "You're your father's son, alright," he said with a small smile. "Stubborn to the end."

Zhan said nothing, waiting for the answer he needed.

"I'll help you," Fengmian said at last. "But know this: if it goes wrong, I won't be able to protect you."

"I don't need protection," Zhan said. "I just need your help."

Fengmian nodded, his expression grave. "I will get them for you the day after tomorrow, Zhan. This won't be easy."

"Whatever price," Zhan said.

Where do you need them? Fengmian asked.

"My parents' burial ground is on the north side. There's a clearing there, that's where we'll use," Zhan said.

"Okay, I'll be there," Fengmian replied, his voice steady, though a sadness lingered in his eyes as he thought of the abominable ritual that awaited them.

As Zhan left Fengmian's estate, the weight of what lay ahead settled over him like a suffocating blanket. The ritual, the spell, the cleansing—it all felt like a blur, a series of steps they had to follow in hopes that everything would fall into place. But deep down, Zhan knew that hope wasn't enough. They had to be certain. They had to be perfect.

By the time Zhan returned to the palace, the moon was high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the courtyard. He entered the chamber quietly, not wanting to wake Wang, but Meng was still there, tending to him.