"Gōngzhǔ Fāng, welcome back," Hépíng said with a bow as Bǎihé stepped through the door.
"Come on, I wasn't gone that long."
"I was just worried when you stormed off."
Bǎihé sighed, her shoulders sinking. "I just needed a walk, that's all."
"Wángzǐ Feng had someone bring ointment for your knee. Shall I apply it now?" Hépíng asked, setting down a small embroidered pouch.
Bǎihé's gaze fell on it. The pouch was adorned with a rabbit and surrounded by stitched lilies — so delicate, so familiar, it struck her with a sharp pang of déjà vu. But to her, it was no kindness. It was torment. Another chain Haoyu had chosen to lay upon her. Why must he be so cruelly inconsiderate?
"No. I don't want anything from him," she said, her tone cutting. "I feel fine. Pack it away and find some way to return it."
Hépíng blinked, taken aback. "That's... a bit too cold."
Bǎihé only shrugged, turning away. She lay face down upon her bed, her silence heavier than words.
"Well," Hépíng said softly, "whatever the prince has done... I hope you can forgive him someday. Don't you... love him anymore?"
Bǎihé lifted her head, her eyes tired but steady.
"I don't," she said plainly, lowering her face back into the pillows.
The quiet between them deepened.
"It's alright, Gōngzhǔ. I'll leave now," Hépíng murmured, reaching for the pouch.
"Leave it," Bǎihé managed, her voice muffled.
Hépíng hesitated, then placed it back on the table. With a bow, she departed, leaving the room in silence once again. Bǎihé's thoughts drifted like storm clouds, restless and uncertain.
⸻
Meanwhile, in another chamber, shadows gathered.
"What did your father send that is so important?" Yíchén asked, lowering himself into a seat opposite Haoyu. They sat in the same quiet room as before, lanternlight flickering faintly against the wooden walls.
Haoyu slid the letter across the table. Yíchén read carefully, his brow tightening.
"He wants us to seize the map during Gōngzhǔ Fāng's nineteenth birthday?"
Haoyu nodded. "Two weeks from now."
Yíchén dropped the letter onto the table. "Impossible! We cannot obtain the defense maps of the Límíng Dynasty in a single day. It would take months—spies must be planted, movements tracked, merchants monitored. This is suicide." His voice came out sharp, almost breathless.
Haoyu's silence was heavier than stone. Finally, he said, "I know. My father is impatient. He has been planning this attack for years."
His eyes flickered with a shadow of regret. "I became engaged to Bǎihé for a reason. In these two weeks, I can gather what we need."
Yíchén's lips curved into a bitter scoff. "But you and the princess are barely speaking."
"Give me two days. Perhaps she is only overwhelmed... by my return, and her father's as well."
"You left her for two years no contact, Haoyu," Yíchén said flatly. "Four years. Without a word."
"I was at the southern military camp."
"Then why didn't you write?"
"Because I was at the military camp," Haoyu snapped, cutting him off again.
"Perhaps that's what wounded her most. Have you thought of that?" Yíchén countered, his tone cool.
Haoyu's silence returned, his eyes falling to the letter once more.
"I'll be leaving now," Yíchén said, rising carefully to his feet.
Haoyu gave a small nod.
"We'll discuss our plan of action tomorrow," Yíchén continued, sliding the doors open. His voice dropped lower. "And Haoyu—know this. I did not accept this mission only to free my people. I want to root out the corruption festering within the Límíng Dynasty itself."
Haoyu met his eyes and nodded. "And I hope the Fenglan Dynasty proves a better substitute for the future."
"I will not stand for innocent bloodshed," Yíchén said firmly. "If we strike, I want no needless deaths."
Haoyu leaned back, his expression unreadable. "You have my word. Every innocent soul within the palace will be spared. After all... they are Bǎihé's family. I would never want to hurt her... too much."
Yíchén's silence spoke volumes. He stepped out and slid the doors closed behind him.
Haoyu was left alone, the room echoing with silence. His mind churned with thoughts of loyalty, betrayal, and the one person whose heart he was not willing to lose.