The snow had not yet fallen, but the air held its promise.
The morning after the ceremonial night, the halls of Long Zhi carried a tension that wasn't quite silence. Doors opened more cautiously. Servants walked with softer steps. Even the wind seemed
to hold its breath as it curled through the stone courtyard.
Consort Lianhua awoke to the scent of ginger tea and sandalwood. Malati was already tidying the outer robe chest, her face far too composed.
"You've been quiet this morning," Lianhua murmured.
Malati didn't turn. "I just assumed… after last night, you might want the silence."
Lianhua narrowed her eyes.
An Jing entered with her usual graceful bow, but even she wasn't immune to a flicker of mischief. She poured the tea slowly, then said in an overly casual tone, "Shall I prepare the red silk bedding for storage, my Lady? Or will it be needed again?"
Malati coughed, hiding a laugh in her sleeve.
Lianhua raised a brow. "Is this how Tiānguó handmaidens address their mistresses?"
An Jing flushed. "Forgive me, my Lady. It was a jest. Lord Shen's men were saying…" She trailed off, suddenly remembering herself.
"What were they saying?" Lianhua asked calmly, though a flush crept up her neck.
"That your chambers were very quiet last night. And they were… impressed."
Malati grinned outright. "Impressed by the quiet, were they?"
"It seems," Lianhua said slowly, "That silence is a shared language in this house."
Later that afternoon, while the mountain sun hung low above the courtyard, she made her way to the rear garden, seeking a place that resembled warmth. Pine trees lined the perimeter, their needles dusted in frost. In the center stood a koi pond, still and glassy. The surface was so Undisturbed, it reflected her like a second self.
She turned at the sound of soft footsteps.
Nanny Mei approached, holding a basket of folded winter linens. She looked surprised to see the Consort alone.
"You walk without guards," she said.
"I prefer it," Lianhua replied. "Even if it makes them nervous."
The old woman set the basket down gently, then stood beside her. Together, they looked out over
the pond.
"When Lord Shen was a child," Mei said suddenly, "He used to sit by still water like this. For
hours. He never splashed. Never threw stones. Just… watched."
Lianhua glanced at her, caught off guard by the softness in her voice.
"Did he always prefer silence?"
"He preferred what didn't change," Mei replied. "The palace changed too often. Faces left. His mother…" She stopped, her mouth tightening.
"What of his mother?" Lianhua asked gently.
Mei shook her head. "That is not my place. Not yet. But I will tell you this—he was not born
cold."
The words struck deeper than they should have.
"Then what made him so?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Mei looked at her with old, sad eyes. "He learned to survive in a place that rewards silence more than speech. That's all I can say, my Lady."
That evening, over dinner, Lianhua noticed the glances exchanged among Liwei 's subordinates.
Captain Yuchi, the youngest among them, failed to hide his grin.
"Congratulations, my Lord," he said boldly.
Liwei didn't look up from his rice. "For what?"
"The quiet night."
Commander Zhao gave a warning look, but Yuchi continued, "We were just saying. You've returned with a bride, and yet you seem even more… rested."
A few chuckles.
Liwei set his chopsticks down.
"Should I be less rested?" he asked, voice flat.
Silence fell like snow.
Lianhua, from her seat across the table, bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a laugh.
He didn't look at her—but she saw, for just a moment, the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Perhaps it was only the lantern light. But in that flicker, she saw something like irony. Or understanding. Or the ghost of a smile never meant to rise.
He is not cruel, she thought. Only sealed.