The Fake Legend of Princess Mei Mei - Episode 4.4

Most of the young people had gone down to the town, leaving the village of Hiso unusually quiet. On the outskirts of the village, shadows moved stealthily under the cover of night.

At the village square, a bonfire burned for the Midsummer Festival, casting flickering light. The darkness between houses was deep, making it easy for the shadows to slip by unnoticed by the people drinking and celebrating.

Silently, they reached their target and gathered in the shadows for a final confirmation.

The leader slightly lowered his mask, revealing his mouth as he wiped away a bit of sweat.

“This is the house, correct?” he asked the man to his right.

“Yes,” came the reply.

“It’s the house on the north side of the village entrance, with a sacred grass wreath hanging at the back. There is no doubt.”

The men nodded as they looked up at the back entrance, dimly illuminated by the faint moonlight. Hanging from the eaves of the closed door was a sacred grass wreath wrapped in yellow cloth.

“A sacred grass wreath…”

The leader confirmed it with his own eyes and clicked his tongue in frustration.

The subordinates tilted their heads slightly in confusion.

“You don’t know what it means?” he sighed, disappointed. Though he wasn’t much older than them, they gave him an awkward smile.

“In the now-destroyed Kingdom of Kumwa, these wreaths wrapped in yellow cloth were charms for protection and household safety. Every home had one.”

The leader adjusted his mask back into place as he explained, then furrowed his brows as he gazed at the wreath.

The Kingdom of Kumwa—a small warrior state that once bordered the Ryuu Kingdom. Its formidable military power had been seen as a threat, leading the previous king to destroy it nearly twenty years ago.

For almost a decade after, remnants of Kumwa launched repeated revenge attacks, but those had finally ceased ten years ago. Now, no more wars would arise from them.

Yet, the fact that a house still followed the customs of that cursed nation was unsettling.

This meant that someone connected to the fallen Kingdom of Kumwa lived here. And if this was the birthplace of the Crown Prince’s beloved, then she carried the bl00d of Kumwa’s remnants.

It was already problematic for the prince to take a concubine of common birth. But to think she was of barbarian lineage—unacceptable. Such bl00d must not be brought into the royal family.

The leader signaled his men with a wave of his hand.

His subordinates nodded and immediately got to work. Some scattered dry straw around the house, others poured oil over it, letting it soak in. One drove an iron wedge into the door to prevent escape.

“Hurry,” the leader muttered.

Though the festival kept most villagers occupied, they couldn’t risk someone returning home early.

Their mission was clear: Burn down the birthplace of the Crown Prince’s beloved.

At first, they hesitated—wasn’t this too cruel? But upon arriving, they saw that the house was empty, its occupants likely at the festival. There would be no casualties.

At worst, the family would be forced to leave the village, making it impossible for the prince and the girl to be together. Losing their home and belongings was unfortunate, but as long as they lived, they could rebuild.

It was better for her to continue living a humble life with her family than to be thrust into the unreachable world of nobility.

Convincing himself of this, the leader struck the flint.

The oil-soaked straw quickly caught the sparks, the flames growing as they consumed the warm night air, turning into towering pillars of fire.

As the flames spread to the house walls, the men melted into the shadows once more, slipping away like the wind.

Their mission was complete. If the villagers noticed and extinguished the fire, only one house would be lost. The neighboring homes were a safe distance away, and the wind was mild enough that the fire wouldn’t spread further.

Mounting their waiting horses, the leader felt a twinge of regret.

Even if this was a small mountain village with no real impact on national interests, the order to burn it down had been ruthless. One small mistake, and the hundred or so villagers could have perished in the flames. The surrounding forests, a prime hunting ground, might have been lost as well.

Still, ensuring the prince’s beloved was removed from the equation must have been of far greater importance. The thoughts of nobles were beyond him.

Glancing back as they rode down the mountain path, the fire had yet to grow large enough to be seen from afar. He urged his horse forward, praying that everything would go as planned.

Moonlan tossed and turned in her sleep, feeling unusually restless.

It was too hot. Sweat trickled down her neck. When she took a deep breath, she unexpectedly broke into a cough.

Startled awake by her own coughing, her eyes snapped open—only to find her surroundings as bright as daylight.

She sprang up. Flames and smoke filled the room.

“A fire?!” Her face turned pale, and another cough wracked her body.

(What? Why?!)

Before sunset, she had finished dinner and properly put out the fire. There was no reason for this to happen.

Panicked but aware that she needed to escape, she struggled to gather her thoughts.

There was no time to change. She tried to stand, but the heat and smoke made her dizzy, and she collapsed. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she forced herself back up.

Covering her mouth to avoid inhaling smoke, she tried to think—what should she take with her? How much time did she have?

But the sight of flames surrounding her made her hands tremble, making clear thought impossible.

With shaking fingers, she fumbled through a drawer and grabbed her wallet—at least she would have some money to survive.

(Just get outside—!)

Coughing, she stumbled toward the exit, dodging the falling embers as she left her bedroom.

The hallway was already engulfed in flames. She knew she had to escape, but her body shook, frozen in fear. The smoke choked her.

Outside, voices rang out.

“Hakusan’s house is on fire!”

“Get water!”

Hearing familiar voices, Moonlan felt a wave of relief.

“Help!” she cried.

The villagers reacted immediately.

“Moonlan is still inside!”

“We need water, quick! Buckets!”

“Should we just break the door down?!”

Hearing the commotion outside, she forced her trembling limbs to move toward the door.

Then, she remembered something important—something she couldn’t leave behind.

She turned back toward her bedroom in a hurry.

The cabinet had yet to catch fire. She rushed over and yanked out a carefully wrapped bundle.

Relieved it was safe, she adjusted her grip—then froze.

It felt too light.

The bundle contained a box, and that box should have held something. But when she shook it, there was no sound.

Outside, the villagers doused the house with water.

Ignoring the danger, Moonlan unwrapped the bundle, unable to stop herself from checking.
“It’s… gone?!”

A choked cry escaped her lips.

Inside the box—where a precious hairpin and a letter should have been—was nothing but empty space.

(No one else should have known about this…)

The hairpin could be sold for money, but the letter was meaningless to anyone except her and Keigetsu.

Who could have stolen it?

Panic set in, her mind racing until she reached a terrifying realization.

Just then, a voice called from outside.

Moonlan turned to the wall of flames and shouted with all her strength.

“Swol—!!”

Before her cry could reach anyone, a burning beam crashed down from the ceiling.