Ph?m Th? An took my translated script and turned away to read. While he was well aware of the importance of each section, he might not have anticipated my ability to discern even the slightest sound of paper slipping. The servant house was at the edge of the forest, so the raindrops spat into the wooden panels. The wicked scream of wind and the tickling fire inside were distracting. Despite all these distractions, I managed to count the sounds of the paper. He paused at the longest part of the script, approximately one-third of its length.


    This would cover An Nhiên


    As it had dense foliage


    Would not be that grien,


    If thy picked up a leaf,


    It would sing songs of grief


    If sky punished with storm,


    It would stand still as a reef.


    An Nhiên was D?t L?c’s old name. The name had endured thousands of years with the tears of the blood of our nation, Th?nh Thái. An enormous plant, growing faster than the passage of time, engulfed the island, providing protection against all challenges. They were known as storm trees. Thousands, or millions, of storm trees used to be there, living on the island, hundreds of years before His Majesty gave Lord Ph?m the authority to rule this island. Storm trees are huge bushes thrive in coastal areas, where they are exposed to salt water and typically find sandy or rocky soil. The leaves are young and verdant, with a silky texture similar to that of porcelain flower leaves. The white fruits and blossoms are a year-round sight. The blossoms resemble fan shapes.


    However, the plant was no longer as prevalent as before. There had been remnants of it around the island, but it was not always at the edges. We found some remnants in the middle of the island, right next to the red cotton tree. Some of them were flying on residents’ houses. They were insignificant to everyone just six months ago, but now I was quite sure that if anyone could find more remnants of that plant, Lord Ph?m, or even the court, would grant them money that they could live on for their whole life. I let out a sigh, gazing at the missing left arm. The pain and the grief of losing Th?y made me not think straight. Everyone on this island were worried, but the court''s worry was unmatched. A part of their land suddenly drifted away, surrounded by an invisible wall. I wondered how many men the court had sent here to figure out the way to help.


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    My mind drifted to the souls of that pitiful young woman and the merchant inside the red cotton tree. I wondered if they were just separated from their loved ones, so they were so desperate in being with each other and leaning in each other comfort. I would hug Th?y and spun her around if I met her right now, too. The version that I believed was that the woman was the merchant’s wife, and perhaps he forgot her due to an accident, or some curses. Anyway, the Taoist monks and his cloak had prevented these two souls to find each other. But why the two souls savage the residents? Tales were meant to be retold, but I really needed answers now. However, following that path seemed impossible, since the last Taoist had left our nation roughly a hundred years ago.


    “A hundred leaves would lead to the banyan tree.” I was startled by Ph?m Th? An’s sudden aloud reading. He glanced at me and continued. “The banyan tree with thirteen roots, but only the fourth root could pierce through any circumstance.” He looked up, as if waiting for my response.


    “Why are you looking at me?” I asked.


    “We will come to find the storm trees’ leaves.” His voice was firm.


    “No.” I looked straight into his eyes.


    “Why?”


    “I''d lost my arm. I was weak.”


    “Interesting, but I’m no dumb.” He sighed and continued. "You''re intelligent enough to know that not only you but also thousands of people are also finding their way." They all lost their loved ones, didn’t they? A leaf is not that heavy.” He paused, his mouth forming a circle of disgust, “Or you may not be as intelligent as I imagined?”


    “And you''re smart enough to know the island was split, so not all leaves were on this half.” My voice was much louder and ruder than I intended, but I had no regrets. He deserved that.


    “Do you forget the doubled river?” He asked as if the most normal thing ever existed.


    “But that was red now. It was no longer usable,” I trailed off, feeling that I had really forgotten something. The river''s songs of rocks and crocodiles were the loudest, but since when had they become muted? I had a brief flashback to those memories. The river was red. The color of the river was a deep shade of red. But why?


    "It was not suitable for use." I repeated, trusting my instincts anyway. “You could not just use it to duplicate the leaves.”


    “Why?”


    “You cannot use magic to do dumb tricks. The price must be terrible.” I almost yelled.


    His hollow eyes narrowed, causing me to shudder as I observed his pallid face.


    “I won’t listen to you,” he confirmed.


    “Then don’t.” I was so tired of arguing.


    “But you must follow me.” He turned away, about to leave.


    “I’m not your servant,” I shouted.


    “Then, what are you?”


    “My father helped your family gain this position.” I grinned my teeth.


    “He’s dead.”


    Ph?m Th? An slammed the door shut too strongly, and Mai Anh moaned in her sleep. The rain was still droning in the forest. Most of the candles had melted. It was dark—so dark. I saw my shadow, which was much bigger than me. I leaned on that. I never had a close relationship with my father, nor did I rely heavily on him, yet his reputation maintained my pride. And he’s dead. The dead could never fight the living.