THE ASSASSINS EMPRESS

BLOOMING OF THE SNOW FLOWER

PROLOUGE

The snow was white, pristine and cold,
a stark contrast to the vibrant beauty of the flower. 
But even the most delicate flower held thorns,
a silent defense against the harshness of the world.

In the coldest of times, the flower wouldn't surrender. 
It would use its thorns, not for malice, but for survival, for protection.

During the crucial times,
Betrayals and anger,
Sorrows and hatred
The snow flower will bloom.

"Twin sister, promise me that whatever will happen, we will never separate"

"I promise,"

"When we grow up, I will protect you."

A promise forged in the crucible of childhood innocence, a promise that would be shattered by the cruel hand of fate. Because the world had no room for two.

"My Fen is great!"

"My Fen is beautiful!  My Fen is strong."

"Why can't you be like Fen?"

"Follow the steps of your twin!"

"You're an idiot!"

The whispers, the taunts, the constant comparisons gnawed at Xui Ying's heart, carving a chasm between her and her sister.  They grew up, their differences becoming more pronounced, their bond strained by the weight of expectations.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

"Fen is drowning!"

"HELP!"

"It's YOU!  Why did you push your sister!"

The accusations, the blame, the cold, accusing eyes of her family.

"Son! This daughter of yours will bring bad luck to us!  Better to send her away!"

"But mother, she is still a kid!"

"Grandmother, it's just an accident.  We were just playing there!"

"SEND HER AWAY!"

Abandoned, ostracized, her heart a shattered mirror reflecting the pain of betrayal, Xui Ying was banished from the city of Changfu.  Tears, silent and scalding, streamed down her face as she walked away, leaving behind the only home she had ever known, the only love she had ever felt.

The snow fell, cold and unforgiving, mirroring the icy grip of her pain.  But within her, a seed of resilience, a stubborn flower of defiance, began to bloom.  She would survive.  She would thrive.  She would prove them all wrong.

***

"My daughter, time to wake up," the woman murmured, her voice a soft caress, as she sat beside the sleeping figure.  Her eyes, filled with a deep well of sorrow, traced the contours of the lady's face, catching the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks.  A bittersweet smile touched her lips as she gently wiped away the tears, her touch as tender as a mother's.

"You are always crying, my daughter," she whispered, her voice laced with a heart-wrenching ache.  "You are always crying.  How I wish I knew what you've been through these years.  I don't even know your name, but still, I call you daughter.  You've been in a coma for almost a month.  Why are you not still waking up?  You're tired, aren't you?"

Her words, though laced with concern, held a hint of resignation, a recognition of the fragility of life, the unpredictable nature of fate.

"Time to wash your face," she said, her voice brightening, a desperate attempt to inject a touch of normalcy into the somber scene.  She reached for a damp cloth and began gently wiping the lady's face, her touch a silent promise of love and care, a testament to the enduring power of hope in the face of uncertainty.
**
Another week passed, and then, a miracle.  She woke up.