Suyin had taken refuge in the quiet solitude of the Scholar's Courtyard, her slender fingers skimming lightly across a weathered pile of scrolls. The gentle rustle of parchment was soon accompanied by the curious glances of passing students.
Some tilted their heads with furrowed brows, eyes lingering on the unfamiliar figure cloaked in study—who was this woman, they wondered, who sat with such calm purpose in their midst? Others, recognizing her delicate profile, offered only a fleeting glance before returning to their murmured conversations. Her presence, though silent, stirred speculation.
Outside the tranquil walls of the courtyard, the air buzzed with unrelenting chatter. Maidens and servants alike wandered near the Orange Blossom Court of Qin Fuhua, drawn by the wildfire rumor: Han Suyin had taken up residence there. The weight of gossip clung to the palace like morning mist, impossible to ignore. And amid the flurry of whispers and wide-eyed stares, Suyin found it nearly impossible to focus on her studies—her attempts to learn the intricate etiquette of the Qin palace buried beneath the noise.
The cause of the stir had originated from the Emperor himself. At the behest of Princess Zheng, a contest had been decreed—a test of worthiness to win the hand of the Prince of Qin. Like a stone dropped into still water, the announcement had rippled through every corridor of the palace. Servants murmured over water basins, guards whispered in passing, maidens leaned close with eager speculation, and even the concubines—usually detached in their own rivalries—grew curious about the peculiar traditions of the Zheng clan.
Suyin, however, remained uncertain of the specific customs required by the Zheng's tradition. Yet one thing pulsed steadily within her heart: she would not step away from the challenge. Han Suyin wasn't going to back out without doing her best. Pride did not fuel her resolve, nor did spite. It was something quieter—rooted in a devotion that bloomed despite the odds. Somehow, even in the chaos, she could sense that Qin Fuhua seemed to be enjoying all of this commotion that was currently going on.
Indeed, his amusement was not lost on the court. Ever since Han Suyin's quiet presence had begun to take root in his life, those around him noticed a subtle shift in the once-imposing prince. Servants and maidens whispered of a new softness that had settled into his features—a gentleness, fleeting but real, seen only by those who tended the spaces he walked.
Before, when Qin Fuhua and his retinue passed through the palace, no one dared to tread too closely to his courtyard. The Orange Blossom Court stood still and stark, as though time itself had learned to hold its breath in his presence. But now? The once-quiet haven hummed with life. Servants flitted like butterflies through the garden paths. Maidens swept the stone walkways, arranging blossoms and incense with careful hands. All had been personally chosen by Weizhe, each selected to ensure trust, precision, and propriety on behalf of the prince.
Where once the air in the court had been sharp with distance, now it carried the scent of orange blossoms and the faint, lingering echo of change.
Suyin could only flip through the pages, her fingers moving absently as her gaze blurred over the elegant brushstrokes detailing the many rigid rules of how to be a "proper" lady in the palace. With a sigh that wilted from her lips like a fading blossom, she leaned her cheek into her palm. Each page was a cage—line after line of what to say, how to walk, when to smile.
Suyin wasn't the best at being a proper lady. Ever since she had come into this strange world, she had found herself constantly pushing against it—fighting for her choices, for her voice. In a place bound by ceremony and silence, her defiance was often seen as unbecoming. Many would see this not lady-like and somewhat ill-mannered. But what could they know of a spirit shaped by storms?
Without warning, a hand settled gently on her shoulder—warm, steady, and unmistakably familiar.
Suyin turned, her breath catching as Qin Fuhua leaned down, his head now beside hers. He didn't look at her, but instead at the open scroll she had been struggling to absorb, his presence effortlessly drawing her into stillness. His proximity made her heart stagger in her chest. The sharp elegance of his features—the quiet strength in his jaw, the unreadable calm in his eyes—was so close, she could see the faintest shadows of his lashes.
The longer she looked at him, the more it felt as though she might be pulled into him, into the gravity of that face that so many feared and admired. Into the place where her feelings for him had quietly taken root.
"Hm... it seems like you're working hard, huh?" Qin Fuhua murmured, one eyebrow lifting as he straightened up. A rare smile—small, but unmistakably real—curved at the corner of his lips.
"If it wasn't for the royal decree, I would have been hiding somewhere, mixing medicine around," Suyin grumbled, voice low like a secret between them.
Though her words were softly spoken, even begrudging, her heart ached with a truth she hadn't said aloud. She couldn't imagine turning away from him now. Not after everything. From the very first moment their paths had crossed, the thread that tied her to him had only grown tighter. She knew that the affection she had for him had unknowingly grown more and more as she had stayed with him. Beneath the cold mask he wore so easily was something raw and real. His gestures spoke louder than his stoic words—gentle, protective, genuine. A contradiction wrapped in silence.
"Well." Qin Fuhua leaned in again, his shoulder brushing hers with casual familiarity as his eyes flicked to the window. Beyond the window, a few young scholars hurried past, only to avert their eyes the moment they realized who stood beside her. The presence of the Prince was enough to send a chill down their spines.
Then, so quietly it almost didn't seem real, he spoke close to her ear.
"If you need me, you know where to find me. I don't like it when my woman hides in another place filled with men."
His breath grazed the curve of her ear, and heat bloomed across her cheeks in a wave of surprise. Suyin's ears immediately turned red, her eyes widened with surprise as she turned around. But by the time she moved, he was already gone—vanished like a dream upon waking.
She exhaled, long and deep, trying to calm the thundering in her chest as her fingers curled around the edge of the table. Shaking her head, she whispered a breathless laugh. Qin Fuhua always knew just how to disarm her—his words slipping under her skin like silk, unsettling and tender at once.
Qin Fuhua knew how to play with her heart, and for him to disappear like that, Suyin wasn't sure whether he was teasing her or cheering her on.
Let me know if you'd like help with the next part. I'd love to keep building this tone and style with you.
The door slid open with a soft wooden sigh, and in stepped Yuan Fu and Shao Feng, their arms occupied with a small tray of tea and delicate porcelain dishes.
"We both thought that you should have some tea and snacks—" Shao Feng began, his voice light with the warmth of familiarity.
But both men paused mid-step as their eyes landed on Han Suyin, who sat still as stone, her posture composed yet undeniably flustered. A soft blush lingered across the tips of her ears, the faint hue betraying a storm of emotion she had not yet tamed.
"Miss Suyin, are you okay?" Shao Feng asked gently, setting the tea tray down onto the table between them. The delicate clink of porcelain echoed through the room. He and Yuan Fu exchanged a glance, puzzled by the dazed look on her face. They had expected to find her buried in scrolls, perhaps furrowing her brow in concentration—but instead, she sat in silence, staring into a space that had long since drifted beyond the four walls of the study.
"Yeah, I'm okay." Suyin's voice regained its footing as she pulled herself back to the present, her expression smoothing over like ripples after a stone has sunk. She offered a soft smile, a practiced gesture with the faintest edge of gratitude.
"Thank you for bringing me some tea and snacks," she added, her voice tender like silk brushed over a wound.
Yuan Fu poured the tea with the careful grace of someone who had grown up around formalities but never let them dull his spirit. His eyes lifted to meet hers, warm with curiosity.
"Jiejie, how long will it be until the Zhengqing Dazheng?"
Zhengqing Dazheng.
The words echoed in her chest like the hollow ring of a ceremonial bell.
That was the ceremony Zheng An had declared, the very one she had suggested to the Emperor with such ease, as if it were merely a matter of tradition, nothing more than formal pageantry. But Han Suyin had done her research.
Among the ancient scrolls tucked deep in the Qin Palace's library, bound in the dust of time, she had uncovered the tale behind the Zheng Clan's custom.
Long ago, in the heart of the Zheng lineage, there had been a bitter conflict between two women, both in love with the ruler of their clan. Yet the law was clear: the clan would not allow two wives to hold the highest honor. And so, when the ruler could not decide, when affection split his heart like the moon caught between clouds, they turned to the Zhengqing Dazheng.
A ceremonial competition between women—one that determined who would rise and who would be cast aside in the harem.
The rules were few, the expectations unspoken. Some contests were simple—cooking, embroidery, and music. But among the noblewomen of the Zheng Clan, elegance of mind reigned supreme. Poetry, riddles, scholarly wit—these were the weapons most often wielded. Still, the challenge could be anything. There were no true limits. It was entirely up to the challenger... and that was the very problem.
What was Zheng An going to go for?
That question lingered in Suyin's mind like a shadow beneath a lantern.
She could prepare herself, sharpen her mind and poise as much as she liked—but if Zheng An was as calculating as she seemed, then her game would not be easy to predict. This was not just a contest. It was a silent war, and Suyin had no choice but to fight—beneath the refined smiles and carefully chosen words.
And yet, despite the weight of it all pressing down on her shoulders, a quiet defiance flickered in her chest.
"It will start when the leaves begin to fall and turn orange," Suyin uttered, her voice soft, almost carried away by the faint breeze that slipped through the open lattice window.
Outside, the sky wore a pale gold hue, and the tips of the distant trees had already begun to blush with the first signs of autumn.
The wind carried the scent of the coming season—crisp, earthy, and laced with the promise of change. She could almost see it in her mind: the courtyards painted in warm hues, leaves spinning like forgotten dreams across the stone paths.
Autumn was coming. And with it, the Zhengqing Dazheng.
When the Emperor had spoken to her about the tradition—Zheng An's suggestion cloaked in civility and ceremony—it was clear the preparations had already begun. From what Suyin gathered, the ceremony would begin in no more than a week.
Seven days.
Seven fleeting mornings. Seven restless nights.
That was all the time she had to ready herself—to sharpen her thoughts, her poise, her heart. The weight of expectation settled quietly on her shoulders, as light and as heavy as the first falling leaf.
Her world, once quiet with study and quiet affection, now felt like it was tilting toward something far more precarious. And though she did not know what challenge awaited her, she understood one thing with painful clarity: time was not on her side.
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[A Day before the Zhengqing Dazheng]
Suyin had been residing in the Orange Blossom Courtyard, tucked away from the hustle of the Scholars' Wing. It had been Qin Fuhua's suggestion—half teasing, half serious—that she remain there so as to "not distract the other scholars" in the main courtyard. Since then, the Orange Blossom Courtyard had become her refuge—a quiet haven fragrant with the soft scent of citrus and late-spring breeze.
Yet, even in seclusion, peace was elusive.
Her days blurred together with tasks. She moved between tending to Princess Chuhua's fragile health, poring over old scrolls in preparation for the upcoming Zhengqing Dazheng, and stealing glances toward the soldiers' quarters, where Qin Fuhua often retreated. She didn't always know what she was searching for when she looked toward him—but watching him gave her mind a momentary pause from everything else.
When time allowed, Qin Fuhua taught her how to hold a bow—how to feel the arrow's tension before release. "Just in case," he had said, his tone unreadable. He had meant to train her more thoroughly, but with everything else demanding her attention, their lessons were sporadic at best. Only when her schedule allowed would she show up at the archery grounds, and only then would he quietly hand her a bow, guiding her fingers without a word.
Suyin had so much on her plate, but perhaps it was better this way—movement was a balm for thoughts she didn't want to sit with too long.
This morning, she strolled along the worn stone path leading back to the Orange Blossom Courtyard, her thoughts wandering ahead of her—until she nearly collided with someone she never expected to cross paths with.
"Oh?"
ZhengAn turned at the sound of footsteps, her voice soft and lilting, but edged with something unreadable. Her gaze landed on Suyin, who stood dressed in an intricate ensemble, the kind worn only for ceremonial study or observances. A hat adorned with tiny embedded coins crowned her head, the delicate beads swaying faintly with her movement.
ZhengAn, however, eclipsed even the grandest attire.
Her striking white hair flowed like silk down the length of her back, glinting under the noonday sun. It shimmered as if kissed by snowlight, casting an ethereal glow around her. She looked like a vision carved from frost and flame.
Behind her, her maid cast Suyin a sideways glance—cold, detached, as if she were some bothersome leaf on the path.
"ZhengAn," Suyin said at last, her voice laced with surprise. She hadn't seen the woman since their first uneasy encounter at the Palace.
ZhengAn tilted her head slowly, her lashes fluttering as though she had to feign recognition.
"Ah. Miss Suyin." Her lips curled into a mock smile, sarcasm seeping through like venom cloaked in silk. "It's been a while."
She stood poised in a flowing red dress, its hem adorned with golden thread and coins that chimed softly with every subtle movement. The patterns of crimson, ivory, and fire-gold wrapped around her like a tapestry woven for royalty. Wherever she walked, eyes would surely follow.
ZhengAn didn't just command attention—she demanded it.
"I'm surprised… that you held such an identity. Why go this far?"
Suyin's voice was quiet, but steady—laced with confusion, maybe even a trace of sorrow.
She had wondered, ever since ZhengAn's reappearance, what her true purpose was. The woman standing before her now was so different from the one she met at the old cottage home—had she always been like this beneath the surface, merely wearing a softer mask?
Suyin's mind whirled with questions:
Was the Zheng Clan allied with the Teng Zhi?
Did Zheng An really want Qin Fuhua orshewanted to kill him?
Why was she here all of a sudden?
She feared she already knew the answer. And worse—ZhengAn's sudden presence here could only mean danger for him.
ZhengAn's gaze flicked lazily to the side, as if the question bored her.
"There was never any intention to reveal who I really was," she said coolly, turning to glance toward the distant Orange Blossom Courtyard, her voice light but hollow. "After all, if people knew who I truly am, I wouldn't live past the night."
She paused, then tilted her head slightly, a smile curving her lips—one that didn't match the emptiness in her eyes.
"But it seems… that my purpose has changed."
She turned back to Suyin, eyes glinting beneath the shade of her ornate hat. "Thanks to you."
Suyin stiffened.
"When I first heard of Qin Fuhua," ZhengAn continued, her tone hardening like glass, "he was spoken of like a shadow—feared, hated. A man drenched in the blood of my people. The devil incarnate. The one who destroyed my family."
Her voice dropped, cold and flat, absent of emotion.
"But then, rumors reached me. A woman… the only one the Prince ever looked at twice. A woman who vanished. A woman who returned."
She stepped closer.
"I wanted to understand what made you follow him—the killer of my kin. What made you stay. And the betrayal I felt from you, too."
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "And after what happened between us, I was curious… How far would my brother go to protect you, if I decided to toy with the two of you?"
The sweetness in her voice was laced with venom. Her tone was sarcastic, yet her gaze never wavered—piercing, calculating, unsettling.
Despite her beauty, despite the elegance she exuded, everything about her now felt off—as though she were stitched together by grace and madness.
Then, ZhengAn leaned in, her lips brushing close to Suyin's ear, her voice no louder than a whisper meant only for the wind to hear:
"If I win…"
A cruel glimmer lit her eyes.
"…imagine what it would be like to hold a blade to the man who murdered my family. On our wedding night."
She lingered for a breath.
"And take the man you love… as my own."
She drew back with a smile as though they had simply exchanged pleasant greetings. Her red dress shimmered with every step as she turned and walked away—elegant, poised, and utterly deranged.
Suyin stood frozen. Her blood had run cold.
What in the world was this woman planning?
She felt a shiver trail down her spine. She had once been grateful to the siblings who saved her life. Now, she couldn't help but wonder—what had she truly been saved for?
And where was Zheng Zhelan in all of this? Did he know? Did he approve? Or had he already lost her to this growing madness?
One thing was certain—ZhengAn was no longer the same woman.