Joy arrived for the citizens of Houyuān with the New Year.
The government shared gifts across the land, each package delivered to the doorstep of every household. The gifts differed by region, carefully organized by the queen herself, who prayed for fortune and peace to follow the year.
Yet Queen Yù Yuè was not at ease.
A terrifying dream had driven her from her sleep, leaving her breathless. It clung to her thoughts day and night, refusing to fade.
"Such a bad omen can be chased away," her personal priest assured her.
Taking his words to heart, she ordered the distribution to reach every district across the province. Only when the task was completed did she attempt to visit the king—but her request was refused.
To calm her troubled mind, she invited Lady Fúyáo and her dancers to perform.
As the zither strings were plucked, her thoughts drifted. The dancers blurred, and instead of them, she saw Mò Lián.
When the performance ended, Queen Yù Yuè rose and applauded.
She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Lady Fúyáo's forehead.
A hush fell over the room.
The queen was not a woman of affection. She had never applauded Lady Fúyáo's dances before—only offered brief praise. The gesture stunned everyone.
Lady Fúyáo's eyes widened as the queen's lips touched her skin. A powerful sensation surged through her body. She gasped softly, smiling without knowing why.
Realization struck Queen Yù Yuè at once. She concealed it well and swiftly adjourned the gathering.
Days later, a message reached her.
She was meant to assign her military general, but boredom—and an unspoken unease—drew her out of her manor instead. The newly developed market was to open, and a royal presence was required.
She mounted her chariot.
Her smile was practiced, flawless—even false—but still beautiful. The streets overflowed with villagers.
Children laughed. Parents followed eagerly.
The chariot rolled forward, carrying the queen through the crowd, while something unseen moved quietly beneath the celebration.
Lord Chen and Tiān Jùn left the house early.
Before they departed, Wēi Wēi trailed closely behind Tiān Jùn, unwilling to be left behind.
"Your Highness, please don't leave me here," he pleaded, placing a hand behind his back in restraint. "May I follow you—wherever you are going?"
Before Tiān Jùn could respond, Lord Chen emerged from his chamber, laughing lightly.
"Let us go," he said, already moving toward the wooden gate. "I need to finish this quickly. It is winter."
Wēi Wēi let out a quiet sigh. The answer had been given without words.
He turned away and climbed back onto the rooftop, settling beneath the pale winter sun. Though the air was cold, the sunlight felt warm against his skin.
After a while, he stood and walked to the edge, staring down at the street below.
He wished he could leave.
But the Crown Prince had not told him to move.
And so he stayed.
He saw a figure waving from the ground floor.
It was Mò Lián.
She was hiding from her aunt, who insisted she practice a strange dance.
"Mò Lián...!" her aunt shouted at the top of her voice.
Wēi Wēi heard it and lost his balance. Unfortunately for him, he landed hard on the floor.
Mò Lián almost burst into laughter, but when she saw him sigh in frustration, she calmed a little.
"You haven't seen anything," she said, laughing as she walked toward him. "You might even break a limb if you stay here."
Wēi Wēi sat on the floor, mortified. That alone was embarrassing enough—but then she came closer.
Chen Rong appeared immediately, carrying a long broom for sweeping the compound. The moment she spotted Mò Lián, she advanced at full force.
Mò Lián, unaware, stood smiling in front of Wēi Wēi.
Chen Rong smiled as well.
Wēi Wēi's eyes widened. He jumped to his feet and ran.
Mò Lián followed his movement with her eyes. She turned—and almost froze.
Her aunt stood behind her, gripping the broom as if it were a weapon.
She screamed and ran after Wēi Wēi, shouting for help.
"Grandma! Grandma—help! Help!" Mò Lián cried as she narrowly escaped.
She rounded the corner of the building, following him, but suddenly—there were no footprints.
No shadow.
She gasped, scanning her surroundings.
From behind, a firm grip pulled her back.
She spun and saw Wēi Wēi chuckling.
They hid together at the corner, stifling laughter—unaware that Chen Rong had been watching the entire time.
She cleared her throat.
Both of them froze.
Wēi Wēi pressed his lips together and scratched the back of his head, attempting to look mature as he stepped forward—but Chen Rong struck the ground with her broom.
"I am old," she said calmly. "No more hiding. Follow me."
She turned and walked away.
They trailed after her, laughing softly.
She stopped in the middle of the compound and drew out two scarves from her side, handing them to them both.
Wēi Wēi looked at the scarf in disbelief.
Mò Lián's grandparents watched from the balcony, laughing softly as Chen Rong single-handedly turned the compound into a lively battlefield of discipline and chaos.
Wēi Wēi stood there, confused, watching as Rong corrected Mò Lián without mercy—tapping her head, tugging her sleeve, scolding her whenever she missed a step.
"Wrong," Rong snapped.
"Ouch—!" Mò Lián hissed, rubbing her arm.
Again and again, until finally—
Rong turned to him.
"Soldier."
Wēi Wēi stiffened instantly.
"Remove your sword," Rong said calmly, holding out another scarf. "We are not on the war front. If you wish to stay here, you must learn."
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the hilt.
"Ma—"
Before he could finish, Rong stepped right in front of him.
Her face twisted slightly—not angry, but firm.
"You will help Mò Lián learn," she said. "That is your responsibility now."
She reached forward and straightened the scarf around his waist, adjusting it with practiced hands.
Wēi Wēi swallowed.
He saw the determination in her eyes.
Slowly, he removed his sword and set it aside. He let out a small, awkward laugh when his gaze drifted to the balcony—where Mò Lián's grandparents were watching with unmistakable amusement.
Embarrassed, he raised his palm and covered half his face as Rong finished tying the scarf.
"Stand properly," Rong ordered.
He obeyed at once.
Mò Lián grinned at him.
"Looks good on you," she whispered.
Wēi Wēi cleared his throat, pretending not to hear.
"Now," Rong said, clapping her hands once, "begin."
The morning light spilled into the compound as laughter, scolding, and hesitant steps filled the air—simple, warm, and human.
And for the first time in a long while, Wēi Wēi felt like he was learning something that had nothing to do with war.
"Now...!" Rong's voice snapped them back into place.
Both of them straightened at once, eyes fixed on her.
"Follow the rhythm."
Her fingers plucked the zither, the strings humming with a steady, flowing cadence.
Wēi Wēi recognized the notes almost instantly. His body responded before his thoughts did—steps he had learned long ago surfaced naturally. He moved, careful but confident, letting the rhythm guide him.
Mò Lián tried to follow.
Tried.
The music stopped abruptly.
"Mò Lián—!" Rong shouted, irritation sharp in her tone.
Mò Lián froze mid-step.
"Can't you see how he is dancing?" Rong continued, pointing sharply. "And you still want me to keep talking? If you don't do it properly, you won't taste the tofu I made."
She paused mid-scold as loud laughter erupted behind her.
Mò Lián's grandparents were nearly doubled over on the balcony, waving their hands as they laughed, shaking their heads in amusement.
Rong sighed deeply.
"Control yourselves," she muttered, then straightened. "Let's continue."
The zither sang again.
This time, the rhythm struck something deeper in Wēi Wēi.
The melody carried memories—of training grounds, of ceremonies long past, of movements learned not for beauty, but for balance and control. His gaze softened as it fell on Mò Lián.
She was watching him closely now.
Copying him.
Her steps improved, her arms steady, her posture less stiff. She followed his lead instinctively, matching her pace to his.
Then he slowed—just a heartbeat too long.
Mò Lián nearly paused, confusion flickering across her face.
Wēi Wēi noticed at once.
He adjusted instantly, stepping forward, resuming the rhythm without breaking form.
Their movements aligned again.
Rong's sharp eyes watched them carefully.
She said nothing.
The street was alive with color and sound. Vendors shouted cheerfully, children darted between stalls, and laughter floated freely in the winter air. Lord Chen walked beside Tiān Jùn, their steps unhurried as they spoke in low tones.
No one recognized the crown prince.
Clad in commoners' robes, his features subtly altered, Tiān Jùn blended seamlessly into the crowd. For once, no one bowed. No one feared him. No one measured their words.
It was one of the sweetest New Year's he had ever known.
A young girl skipped toward him, holding a freshly plucked flower. She smiled shyly and placed it in his hand before running off. Tiān Jùn tucked it between his hair and ear without thinking, earning a soft chuckle from Lord Chen.
They walked on, and Lord Chen spoke freely of his past, his worries, the weight of responsibility he carried quietly. Tiān Jùn listened closely until the conversation deepened enough that he asked a question that stopped Lord Chen in his tracks.
"Will you move into the palace?"
Before an answer could form, the sound of rushing footsteps cut through the street. Children ran past them, laughing, followed by the steady march of soldiers.
The crowd shifted, all eyes turning in one direction.
Men passed by them, grinning.
"Our queen is gorgeous," one said, uncorking his gourd. The scent of cloudy millet wine rose into the cold air.
"I heard it's an illusion," another replied, laughing. "But illusion or not—she's still beautiful."
Tiān Jùn turned away instinctively, but Lord Chen lingered, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
"Let's go see," he said eagerly.
Tiān Jùn tapped his temple, unimpressed.
At the center of the gathering stood Queen Yù Yuè, poised and radiant, waving gracefully at her people. Her gaze swept the crowd—then stopped.
She saw him.
Through the disguise and altered features, she recognized her son instantly.
Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth, stepping back as laughter burst from her despite herself.
What on earth made him this humble? Jùn?
She steadied herself and looked again.
He was still there—grinning.
She waved.
He waved back.
Lord Chen, meanwhile, had noticed a stunning lady waving in his direction. His eyes lit up, and he waved enthusiastically in return.
Then she stopped.
A chill ran down his spine.
He felt a presence beside him.
Slowly, he turned.
Tiān Jùn was staring at him.
Calmly, deliberately, Tiān Jùn reached out and pushed Lord Chen's hand down.
"That's my mum," Jùn said flatly, jealousy thick in his voice.
Lord Chen froze.
Then he vanished behind Tiān Jùn in sheer embarrassment.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed.
Tiān Jùn bit back his laughter.
Queen Yù Yuè, however, had nearly lost control. Watching a grown man hide behind her son amused her more than anything that day. Surprise flickered in her eyes—she couldn't wait to see Jùn later.
As evening fell and the celebration ended, the queen mounted her chariot. Still curious, she searched the crowd once more.
Tiān Jùn stood among the commoners, waving openly now.
Grinning.
The chariot rolled away.
Tiān Jùn and Lord Chen continued their walk, visiting Lord Chen's extended in-laws. They met a little girl there, and together, the three of them returned home.
Along the way, Tiān Jùn asked endless questions—not as a prince, but as a young man hungry to understand a life beyond palace walls.
He had always despised the gilded cage of royalty.
Tonight, dressed as a commoner, walking beside Lord Chen, he could wander freely—no distance, no titles weighing him down.
He smiled as he bent to let an old man pat his shoulder.
Lord Chen watched him quietly.
And for the first time in a long while, both of them felt truly happy.
Soon they got home, but when they crossed the wooden gate, they stood watching an ongoing scene. They walked in gently.
Mò Lián, Wēi Wēi, and Rong were dancing while the grandparents drummed steadily. Rong spun to face them and beat her palm loudly, keeping the rhythm alive with the zither's echo.
Slowly, the dance came to an end. Mò Lián turned once more, and the scarf slipped neatly into her hand, resting in her hair.
They applauded.
Lord Chen hugged his sister, already knowing it had been her idea.
Mò Lián turned to Wēi Wēi, holding his hands and smiling. She had never danced the way she did today; she had learned more than steps—she had learned freedom, guided by Wēi Wēi and Rong.
Tiān Jùn immediately ran to them. His gaze moved between their joined hands. Without a word, he gently separated them and pulled Mò Lián into his arms.
For a brief second, the courtyard went quiet.
The moment Tiān Jùn pulled Mò Lián into his arms, the courtyard filled with laughter again.
Rong crossed her arms, nodding in approval.
"At least you know how to interrupt properly," she teased, glancing at Tiān Jùn before turning her gaze to Wēi Wēi.
"You did well, soldier. I didn't expect discipline to look so... flexible."
Wēi Wēi scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed, bowing slightly.
"I only followed what I was taught."
Mò Lián slipped from Tiān Jùn's hold, spinning once more just for fun, the scarf fluttering like a ribbon of light. Her grandparents clapped harder, their laughter echoing against the wooden walls.
Lord Chen stepped forward, pride clear in his eyes.
"This house hasn't been this lively in years," he mumbled.
The ghostly figure lingering beyond the shadows shifted.
Its form was thin, almost translucent, robes fluttering despite the still air. Its eyes never left Wēi Wēi. There was recognition there—ancient and sharp.
The figure grinned.
A sudden chill brushed past Wēi Wēi's spine.
He paused mid-breath and turned his head slightly, scanning the courtyard. Everything looked the same—the lanterns, the smiles, the drifting warmth of family.
Yet his hand tightened unconsciously.
Tiān Jùn noticed.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"...Nothing," Wēi Wēi replied after a moment, forcing a smile. "Just thought I heard something."
Rong clapped her hands again.
"Enough standing around. Food is getting cold."
At the mention of food, Mò Lián cheered and ran ahead, dragging Tiān Jùn with her. Lord Chen followed, laughing, while Rong ushered the grandparents inside.
The courtyard emptied.
Only the ghostly figure remained.
It stepped forward, stopping where Wēi Wēi had stood moments earlier. The smile faded, replaced by something unreadable.
"So," it whispered to the night, voice like wind through dead leaves,
"You've finally returned."
The lanterns flickered once.
Then the figure vanished.
Inside the house, warmth and laughter drowned out the silence.
The time had come for the royal family to return to the palace.
The king had already departed after concluding his critical meetings, leaving the capital under the steady rhythm of order once more. The crown prince, however, remained as untamed as ever—obedient only to his mother's words and no other.
Crown Prince Tiān Jùn received a message from his general, and he went to the sea. Lord Chen and his family had earlier gone to the temple.
When he reached the shore, he stood with his arms open. He felt a pull and moved closer to the water. The sea was no longer as dangerous as before, so he stood very close.
The water flowed to his boots, then returned to its line.
He noticed something strange.
The water was divided. The side on his left was bright, while the one on his right was darker.
He squatted and placed his hands between the two flows.
A sudden shock passed through him.
The water stirred, and a figure began to rise—not human. Dark smoke hovered above the surface.
"Jùn...!"
He jerked back to reality and spun around. Mò Lián was running toward him. As he straightened, his gaze was pulled upward.
Above Sì Tiān Temple, a dragon figure hovered in the sky. Dark smoke covered the temple's pinnacle. The dragon turned its head toward him.
Suddenly, Mò Lián jumped onto him.
He gasped and held her waist.
"Jùn, why are you so close to the water?" She asked as she pulled back slightly.
"Jùn?" Mò Lián looked into his eyes.
He looked at her and smiled.
Crown Prince Tiān Jùn returned to the palace with Mò Lián.
The capital was filled with tycoons from around the world.
King Tiān Lóngxuān called a royal family meeting. He sat on his throne, and his wife sat farther from him due to the recent increase in power.
Crown Prince Tiān Jùn, always late as usual, walked into the royal hall with his general.
Crown Prince Tiān Jùn went to his usual seat. He felt nothing unusual as he approached the throne stairs.
He noticed the throne area was covered with a curtain. He shook his head slightly, wondering why. He opened it and saw his father sitting still with his eyes shut.
He kowtowed. His father did not turn to look at him as he normally did.
Tiān Jùn straightened and walked to his seat.
King Tiān Lóngxuān smiled as he saw a vision.
"Tiān Jùn," he said, "where is she? She is the perfect match."
Tiān Jùn smiled in surprise.
"She is in my quarters," he replied, wondering how his father knew.
King Tiān Lóngxuān released a scroll into the air. It flew to the military general.
"Settle all these before the Crown Prince's wedding, because it will be yours," the king said.
He released another scroll to the queen.
The queen smiled as the scroll opened before her eyes.
"My lord, I'm filled with joy," she said, taking the scroll.
"Tiān Jùn," the king said as he opened his eyes, "meet with the official council. You will coordinate the meeting. You must officially enter the imperial court. Your marriage will be soon."
The general chuckled.
Tiān Jùn? Marriage?
He opened his scroll. A broad smile appeared on his face. The king saw it and laughed.
"I knew you would be pleased to make the royal family proud. I await your victory," the king said.
Tiān Jùn's head tugged with curiosity.
This was a family meeting that ended in joy—but only because war loomed on the horizon. Only when bloodshed approached did the royal family ever feel complete unity.
The military general, in particular, welcomed it. He had held power for too long, and stagnation bored him.
King TIĀN LÓNGXUĀN dissolved in the air, appearing within his private chamber.
A young maid was arranging the room. At his gesture, she turned and approached, bowing lightly before helping him settle onto the throne-like chair.
"My lord."
"Huā Yuán," the king said, "you have been diligent. I will reward you."
Huā Yuán smiled. "My king, I wish to visit a friend."
The king raised his brow. "Is she a foreigner like you?"
"No, my king. She is from the western province."
Huā Yuán smiled wider.
"My lord, you are kind."
The king laughed softly.
"My lord, can you feel your thoughts?" she asked suddenly.
"Yes," he replied. "The world is open to me. Do you wish to know your parents?"
She hesitated, swinging her hands.
"No, my king. I prefer serving you. You rule your people well."
He lifted his tea.
"My reign is nearing its end," he said. "You must find your own path."
Huā Yuán froze.
"If I had a choice," he continued, "I would live as an ordinary man. Power consumes us daily." He said it bluntly, slowly.
Moisture poured from his eyes, and he could see.
HUĀ YUÁN'S eyes widened.
She drew out her handkerchief, stretching her hands forward, unsure whether she was allowed to help. For a moment, she hesitated—caught between instinct and rank.
He smirked, his gaze lifting to meet her eyes directly.
The hand froze midair.
Understanding struck her late.
She bowed slowly as she met his gaze, lowering her head, the handkerchief slipping back into her sleeve. The room fell quiet again, as if nothing had happened—yet something had already shifted.
"How was your holiday?" he asked.
"I don't remember much," she replied. "I slept through most of it."
"I want to meet your parents," he said. "Who named you Huā Yuán?"
"Lady Fuyao," she answered. "She never told me more."
"Join me," he said.
He disappeared.
Huā Yuán blinked; she didn't see through his magic, but she could see through the soldier's magic.
She turned—and crashed into him.
They appeared inside a large library.
"Hold the torch," he said.
She followed him down the stairs. A book caught her attention.
The king sat on the floor with it.
"Wow—!" Huā Yuán said before stopping herself.
"I'm sorry, my lord. I've read this book. The ending is terrible."
He chuckled.
"Where did you find it?"
"I like reading," she replied. "I don't remember when I read it."
"What language was it written in?"
Her smile faded.
"I could read it, but I didn't know the language."
The king became quiet.
"Do you still have it?"
She handed him a scroll.
He looked at it.
"Huā Yuán," he said.
"Yes?"
"Sit."
She obeyed.
"Read it to me."
She hesitated. "This book makes me sleepy."
"Read."
She read.
He heard nothing.
"Read it in my language," he said.
She froze, then read again.
When she finished, he looked at her.
"My lord, I'm done."
He clapped once.
"What is the moral?"
She thought. "She gave everything. He used it for himself. If I were her, I'd marry my own kind."
"And whose fault was it?"
"Greed."
The king laughed.
"How do you recognize a royal?" he asked.
"They are beautiful," she replied. "Moody. Confusing."
He smiled. "How did you know I was the king?"
"You have no maids in your manor."
He sighed.
"Aren't you a maid?"
"My king," she said, smiling, "I am a foreign maid."