The sweet scent of jasmine lingered in the air.
Evening sunlight poured into the grand ceremonial hall, casting long, golden shadows across painted screens and tall potted plants. The floor shimmered with polished stone, reflecting the hues of sunset.
Eight figures sat silently on either side of the hall, their faces partially veiled by sheer silk, heads adorned with intricately designed headpieces of gold and jade. These were Límíng's appointed officials—four men and four women—gathered in solemn reverence.
At the front of the hall, seated gracefully on a raised platform, was Huánghòu Yīngtáo. Her embroidered hanfu shimmered in soft tones of plum and ivory, the silver hairpins in her neatly coiled hair catching the dying light. Her makeup was artfully done—subtle yet dignified—accentuating her radiant features.
Her light hazel eyes swept across the room, half-listening to the voices that rose one by one.
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"Huánghòu Yīngtáo, the people of the city are eternally grateful for your generosity," said one of the female officials, standing to bow respectfully. "Your charity toward the less privileged has brought great joy to many."
Another official, a man with a formal posture, rose and lowered his head.
"The new schools will greatly help our youth—especially orphans who lacked access to education. As parents, we thank you. You've given us hope for their future."
Yīngtáo offered a soft, composed smile. Gratitude warmed her heart, but the ache of remembrance lingered beneath her skin.
"It is my duty," she replied. "To serve and protect the people of Límíng is my greatest honor."
"After everything this dynasty has endured," spoke an older man with a silver goatee, his voice raspy with age, "we needed a leader like you. You've reminded us that healing is still possible."
"Thank you, Huánghòu Yīngtáo!" a woman suddenly cried out, rising to her feet.
The others followed, their voices rising in unison.
"Thank you, Huánghòu Yīngtáo!"
They bowed with hands pressed in front of them, sincerity and admiration glowing in their eyes.
But as Yīngtáo looked upon them—standing there with hope, praise, and joy—her heart began to stir uneasily. Not because of the gratitude, but because of the truth behind the old man's words.
The Límíng Dynasty had been through so much. And that trauma... still haunted her.
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"Huánghòu Yīngtáo?" a female official's voice broke her trance. She blinked, returning from her distant thoughts.
"The city wall near the East River is now under renovation. The bridge is also being rebuilt. This will greatly help merchants resume their trade and travel."
Yīngtáo nodded slowly.
The East River wall...
The memory surged, vivid and merciless.
She could still see it—the breach in the barrier, enemy soldiers spilling through shattered gates, the clash of steel, the screams of the villagers, the flames that devoured homes, and the blood that soaked the fields.
The prisoners taken. The lives lost. The brave soldiers overwhelmed.
Her breath hitched. Her head spun. The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet.
"The meeting is adjourned," she said quickly, her voice clipped.
Her fingers clutched the fabric of her hanfu so tightly that it wrinkled beneath her grip.
The officials bowed and left quietly, filing out one by one. Silence settled in the hall like dust.
Only then did she let out a long, trembling breath. She slowly released her grip, revealing the deep creases left in the silk.
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"Mùchén," she called softly.
A small boy stepped forward from the shadows beside her platform, his presence so quiet he had nearly disappeared into the background.
"Yes, jiějiě?" he asked gently, his youthful eyes filled with concern.
"I need air," Yīngtáo said, rising from her seat. The hem of her hanfu fluttered around her feet as she stepped down from the platform with elegant composure, though her mind was far from still.
"I'm coming too! Wait!" Mùchén said, hurrying to follow her, his tiny slippers tapping across the marble floor as he chased after his sister.