Ren did not fall unconscious all at once.
It happened slowly, like the tide pulling a body under without splashing. The pain faded first. Then the fear loosened its grip. The last thing he felt was exhaustion so deep it felt ancient, older than his bones, older than the house itself.
When his knees finally gave out, the world softened.
Darkness did not swallow him.
It opened.
And memory stepped forward.
Not the twisted version whispered by devils.
Not the rot dressed up as truth.
The real past.
The one that still breathed.
The palace garden was alive with morning.
Dew clung to the edges of jade leaves. White stones curved along the pond where koi moved lazily beneath the surface, flashes of red and gold. Wind bells chimed softly from the eaves, their sound light and careful, as if afraid to disturb the air.
Prince Liu Ren was running.
Not with the dignity expected of royalty. Not with attendants trailing behind him. He ran barefoot across the grass, laughter bright and unrestrained, long sleeves fluttering behind him like wings.
His hair was loose, dark as wet ink, catching sunlight as it spilled over his shoulders. His skin glowed with a softness that made people avert their eyes. Not out of disrespect, but awe. He looked unreal, like a blessing that had learned how to breathe.
The bunnies chased him.
Small white shapes hopping through the grass, ears twitching, eyes bright. Liu Ren dropped to his knees suddenly, arms wide, and one leapt straight into his embrace.
He laughed, burying his face into its fur.
"You missed me too," he murmured fondly.
From the stone path nearby, a man stopped walking.
General Lian Zhen had just returned from the northern border. Dust still clung faintly to his boots. His armor had been removed only moments ago, replaced by dark robes that could not hide the strength beneath.
He froze when he saw the prince.
Not because he was not supposed to look.
But because looking felt dangerous.
Liu Ren rose slowly, bunny cradled in his arms. His eyes lifted and met Lian Zhen's.
For a heartbeat, the garden held its breath.
The stories had never done the prince justice.
He was not simply beautiful. He was luminous in a way that made the world feel quieter around him. His eyes were clear and curious, unguarded. His smile was gentle, unsharpened by politics or fear.
Lian Zhen bowed immediately, deeply.
"Your Highness."
Liu Ren blinked, then laughed softly.
"You do not have to bow so formally," he said. "You are home."
The words were simple.
They struck harder than any blade.
Lian Zhen straightened slowly. "Forgive me. I did not expect to find you here alone."
"I am never alone," Liu Ren said, glancing down at the bunny. "They keep me company."
The bunny twitched its nose in agreement.
Lian Zhen felt something loosen in his chest.
From that morning on, the palace learned a new routine.
Where the prince went, the general followed.
At first it was duty. Then it became habit. Then it became something neither of them named.
They walked the gardens together in silence, steps naturally falling into the same rhythm. Lian Zhen listened while Liu Ren spoke of things no one else ever asked him about. Clouds shaped like animals. Stories hidden in old paintings. The way the moonlight felt different on the western balcony.
"You notice things," Lian Zhen said once.
Liu Ren smiled shyly. "I am not allowed to go far. So I notice what stays."
The words lodged deep in Lian Zhen's chest.
One afternoon, rain trapped them in a pavilion.
Thunder rolled softly in the distance. The air smelled like wet stone and leaves. Liu Ren sat cross legged, watching raindrops race down the wooden pillars.
"Do you miss the battlefield?" he asked quietly.
Lian Zhen considered the question.
"No," he answered truthfully. "I miss the people I protect."
Liu Ren turned to him, eyes warm.
"Then stay," he said. "Here."
Lian Zhen should have refused.
He did not.
Days passed. Then weeks.
They shared meals when no one was watching. Liu Ren would sneak sweets onto Lian Zhen's plate, grinning like a conspirator. Lian Zhen pretended not to notice, then ate them anyway.
At night, they lay beneath the old trees at the edge of the inner forest, fireflies blinking above them like fallen stars.
"You are warm," Liu Ren murmured once, half asleep, head resting on Lian Zhen's shoulder.
Lian Zhen did not move for hours.
He learned the exact weight of Liu Ren's body. The sound of his breathing. The way his fingers curled slightly when dreaming.
Love did not arrive suddenly.
It grew.
Quietly. Inevitably.
Like roots beneath stone.
One evening, Liu Ren traced the scar on Lian Zhen's hand, fingers gentle.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Not anymore."
"Good," Liu Ren said softly. "I do not like the idea of you carrying pain alone."
Lian Zhen's heart broke open.
He took Liu Ren's hand then. Fully. Honestly.
Liu Ren did not pull away.
Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Lian Zhen's.
They did not kiss.
They did not need to.
Everything was already there.
The palace began to whisper.
But for a time, love was allowed to exist.
And it was real.
Unbroken.
Uncursed.
When Ren stirred in the present, tears slid silently down his temples.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Because this was the truth.
And somewhere, far deeper than memory, love was still alive.