“Hair dye,” the woman said with a twinkle in her eyes. “It’ll make your golden hair as black as a Xûen’s.”
Reiya blinked. The words didn’t land immediately, her mindscrambling to piece them together. When understanding dawned, it stole the breath from her lungs.
She stared at the jar, its meaning settling deep in her chest. More than just a disguise, it was a shield. A lifeline.
Her throat tightened, tears pricking at her eyes. Theyknew—she could feel it in their silence, in the way they didn’t ask outright, choosing instead to look the other way. This family owed her nothing. They had no reason to risk themselves for her. Yet here they were, offering her a chance to disappear. To survive.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you?—”
Su Lian’s smile was warm in the shadows. “Repayment isn’t necessary, Yara.” She gave Reiya’s shoulder a gentle pat. “When you’ve travelled as long as we have, you learn to see people clearly. A good heart always shows itself.”
“But . . . you don’t even know me.”
Her gaze softened. “Perhaps not every detail, but character rarely hides. We trust you have your reasons. It’s not our place to judge—only to help, if we can.”
Gratitude surged through her. Castiel’s betrayal had left wounds she hadn’t realized were still raw. Even the smallest kindness felt like warmth against frostbitten skin—sharp, painful, but thawing something she thought had gone numb.
Su Lian’s voice pulled her back. “Let me call my mother-in-law. She’s a master with dyes—she’d sooner part with her best silk than let a silver strand show.”
Just then, the wagon door opened, and Ru Rong entered, Su Lian greeting her with a grin. “Mother, here to make sure no strand of gold escapes your infamous dye?”
The older woman’s glossy black hair was a testament to her skill—not a single strand out of place.
She gave a dramatic sniff. “It takes a certain skill to dye one’s hair properly, you know.”
Setting a jar of sesame oil on the table, she cast Reiya a knowing look. “There’s an old Talharen saying: The darker the hair, the deeper the stories. I’ve lived a few myself.”
She began mixing the dye with a drizzle of sesame oil, forming a thick paste. She glanced at Reiya with a sly smile. “The Talharen also say a woman’s hair reflects her fortune. The darker the hair, the more blessings she carries.”
Su Lian raised a playful brow. “Ah, so that’s why you’ve kept it so black all these years?”
“That, and I’ve no intention of letting people think I’ve run out of blessings.”
Su Lian leaned toward Reiya conspiratorially. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s just determined to keep the upper hand in everything—including luck.”
Ru Rong gave an exaggerated shrug, her grin lingering. “Can you blame me? A little luck keeps the road smooth.”
Caught between their banter, Reiya found herself smiling. “And here I thought life on the road was unpredictable.”
Su Lian laughed. “True, but that doesn’t mean we can’t stack the odds in our favour.”
Winking, Ru Rong patted the side of her head. “Precisely. If the road is unpredictable, better to walk it with your head high—and your hair looking its best.”
Laughter filled the wagon, and Reiya joined in, the earlier tension loosening. There was belonging here—tucked between humour and wisdom, something more than shared travel.
“Let’s get to it, then,” Ru Rong said, motioning for her to sit.
The woman worked the dye through her hair with brisk precision, a fine-toothed comb dragging the cool paste from root to tip. The strokes were steady, soothing.
Warmth crept in as she sat beneath their hands. It wasn’t her natal home, but it echoed a similar memory of rainy afternoons at the palace, when her mother embroidered in comfortable silence and she was simply a daughter. There’d always been love in her family, even when wrapped too tightly in expectation.
Here, that love felt lighter. Freer.
Once rinsed and dried, she slipped into the clothes Su Lian had set aside: an indigo tunic embroidered at the cuffs, ivory underlayers, anda crimson shawl she draped around her neck—its weight comforting, concealing.
In the mirror, she smoothed the folds, taking in the unfamiliar reflection. Dark waves framed her face, softening it. The change felt necessary—a new layer, a step forward.
“You’ll blend in well,” Su Lian said gently. “This should keep you safer.”
