There was a time when even the chirping of birds seemed too loud for the palace of the Second Empress, Lady Qingyu. Known for her beauty and silence, she was a woman untouched by scandal yet unreachable in grief. Years had passed since anyone had heard her laugh — her chambers were like a frozen lake: calm, still, and uninviting.
So when the First Prince, a bold and curious child, slipped past the guards one afternoon and wandered into her palace, chaos stirred in the imperial court.
Within moments, the Emperor was informed.
"Your Majesty… the Crown Prince has entered Consort Qingyu's palace uninvited."
The Emperor's eyes darkened. Qingyu's palace was sacred in its silence — no one disturbed it without reason. No one dared.
He rose from his seat in fury, robes swirling behind him as he made his way to her courtyard. He feared disruption. He feared that the prince's presence might anger her or stir the ghosts she kept buried behind her quiet eyes.
But what he found stilled him mid-step.
Through the golden lattice screen, the Emperor saw his First Prince sitting cross-legged on the floor — and opposite him, Lady Qingyu, gently placing carved animal pieces on a board, teaching him how to play a childhood game. Her long sleeves brushed the mat as she laughed — an honest, bell-like sound that cut through the stillness like spring rain.
The Emperor stood there, hidden behind a pillar, frozen.
It had been years since he had seen her smile. Not even for him had she ever smiled like that.
His clenched jaw softened. For the first time in a long while, he felt no anger, no jealousy — only… peace.
He quietly turned and gestured to the guards:
"Let him visit her whenever he wants. And… assign hidden guards to keep them safe. Every day."
From that day on, the palace that had long echoed with silence was blessed with the soft laughter of a child — and a woman rediscovering the warmth she thought she had lost forever.
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End of chapter 12
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