Mortal Realm.
The gates of the capital opened under the weight of fanfare and curiosity. Trumpets sounded. Soldiers lined the road in formation, trying to keep the eager crowd at bay. Merchants leaned over their stalls. Children sat on rooftops. Servants whispered into silk sleeves.
The Zhao clan was finally home.
At the front of the procession rode General Zhao, armor half-polished, posture too relaxed for a man of his rank. He waved lazily at the people, his horse trotting just slightly off rhythm.
"Straighten your back, Yuren," he called without turning. "You look like a sack of rice on that horse."
Behind him, Zhao Yuren sat up with a huff, adjusting his reins.
"I'm not the one who snuck wine into his canteen again," he muttered.
"I heard that," the general shot back.
"I said it loud enough."
Further behind, inside a carved carriage trimmed in muted gold, Zhao Xueying peeked through the parted curtain. The streets looked smaller than she remembered. The trees lining the main avenue had grown taller, but the palace walls were just as high, just as imposing. The scent of the capital - oil lamps, roasted chestnuts, sunbaked stone - washed over her.
Her chest tightened, caught between memory and expectation.
"It's the same," she murmured. "But it feels different."
Across from her sat Madam Zhao, poised and upright, fan in hand like it was part of her military gear.
"Sit properly, Ying'er," she said. Not unkindly. "You're not one of the foot soldiers."
"She's trying to spot her old crush," Yuren's voice cut in from outside. "That highborn statue of a man."
A pouch flew out through the curtain and smacked his face.
"Is this your powder sachet? Are you trying to poison me?"
"It's dried jasmine, idiot!"
Madam Zhao coughed. Loudly.
Yuren grinned, unrepentant. "That wasn't a no, though."
"You're hallucinating."
General Zhao chuckled from up front. "Didn't you used to trail behind him with a practice sword? Couldn't go a week without asking him to duel."
"I was being polite."
"You challenged him in the palace garden during a poetry recital."
"And I almost won."
"You tripped on your own scabbard."
"I still almost won."
Madam Zhao sighed. Her fan clicked shut. "Don't tease your sister."
"She hit me first," Yuren said.
"You provoked her."
"She throws like a soldier."
"She is one."
They passed through the market square. The people clapped, shouted blessings. Someone tossed flower petals. A pair of young boys chanted, "Iron Wall! Iron Wall!" as the procession rolled past.
A banner stitched with Zhao Clan, Shield of the Empire fluttered near the watchtower.
"It feels strange," Xueying murmured. "Being looked at like this. After so long."
Madam Zhao's voice softened. "They're welcoming you home."
But Xueying wasn't looking at the people anymore. Her fingers rested on the edge of the curtain. The palace gates rose ahead, tall and unmoving.
She pictured him. Ling Wenxu.
The Chancellor's only son. Always quiet. Always formal. The only boy in the capital who had never bowed to her charm, or even cracked a smile. She used to call him boring. She used to try and make him laugh.
Now she wondered if she could even make him look at her twice.
Maybe she didn't need him to.
Maybe.
But still... her heart beat faster.
The Zhao residence stood on the eastern side of the capital, nestled between the Bureau of War and the old scholars' district. The gates were freshly painted, the lanterns trimmed, and the old pine tree in the courtyard had been coaxed back into shape.
As soon as the carriage pulled in, the servants lined up in two perfect rows, heads bowed, backs straight.
Then the Zhao family disembarked - and everything fell apart.
Yuren swung off his horse and dropped his sword with a clang.
"Finally. I swear, if I had to ride next to Father's wine breath for one more mile-"
"I heard that," General Zhao muttered, handing his reins to a groom.
Xueying stepped down from the carriage with practiced grace, only to be nearly trampled by two dogs sprinting toward her.
"Xiaohei! Xiaozi!" she gasped. "How are you still alive?"
"They're probably possessed," Yuren said.
"They're better trained than you," she shot back.
General Zhao clapped a hand on a footman's shoulder. "Is the wine cellar still intact?"
"No," Madam Zhao said firmly. "And neither are your liver enzymes."
The household bustled around them. Bags were carried in. Armor was stripped off. Dust was swept out like it had personally offended someone. Xueying walked through the main hall, fingers grazing old familiar pillars.
The scent of camphor wood, parchment, and home settled into her chest.
"I forgot how big this place is," she said.
"You were small when we left," Yuren replied, tossing his boots into a corner. A maid immediately retrieved them with a look of dismay.
"Yuren," Madam Zhao warned.
"Sorry, Auntie Liu," he said sheepishly.
A servant girl handed Xueying a tray of fruit, eyes wide with awe. "Welcome home, Young Miss."
Xueying smiled and took a slice. "Have they replaced the koi in the pond?"
"They had babies," the girl whispered.
"Tell them I said hello."
Yuren flopped onto a divan. "I give myself an hour before I'm summoned to the palace."
"I give you thirty minutes," General Zhao said.
"You're not helping."
"You're not impressing."
Madam Zhao raised her fan again. "Enough."
They all froze.
"Tonight is the banquet," she reminded. "We are not in the provinces anymore. We are in the heart of the capital, surrounded by the Emperor's eyes."
"Yes, Mother," Xueying and Yuren chorused.
"Behave accordingly."
"Yes, Mother."
"Stop repeating me."
"Yes, Moth-ow!"
Xueying elbowed her brother in the ribs.
The siblings made their way upstairs to their quarters. The layout hadn't changed, but everything inside had. Xueying's room had been cleaned, the bedding replaced, her weapons stacked neatly in a corner.
Her old hairpins were still in the vanity drawer.
She picked one up. Gold-plated with a red jade inlay. A gift from her mother before they left for the frontier.
She looked at her reflection.
Her cheeks were more angled now. Her shoulders broader. She'd earned those changes.
A knock came at the door.
"Don't forget," Yuren called. "You'll be seeing him tonight."
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Imperial Palace.
The banquet hall was already filled with nobles and ministers by the time the Zhao clan arrived. Gold-painted pillars towered along the edges of the room, reflecting the torchlight with quiet arrogance. Courtiers spoke in polite tones, seated in their respective positions according to rank.
Ling Wenxu sat at his place near the front. He kept his back straight, hands folded over one knee. His expression was unreadable, the lines of his face set in the same neutrality he wore to every court function.
He listened. He always listened.
"The northern borders have been quiet since the Zhao clan took command," a minister was saying to another nearby. "They might've kept the peace, but let's not forget who gave them the power to begin with."
"It's power well-earned," came a quiet reply. "You don't last ten years at the edge of the empire with just ambition."
Wenxu kept his gaze ahead, but his ears didn't miss a word. The Zhao clan had returned to the capital after nearly a decade. And everyone had something to say about it.
The court grew louder when the stewards called out the Zhao family's arrival.
Wenxu shifted slightly. Barely. But enough to register.
The first to walk in was General Zhao, large and loud, with a commanding voice that bounced through the hall even before he spoke. He laughed at something his son said, tone bold, posture relaxed - as if he were walking into a sparring ring, not a royal banquet.
Zhao Yuren followed close behind, grinning, elbowing his sister with little restraint. He said something to her under his breath. She rolled her eyes and muttered back, cheeks puffed in a barely hidden scowl.
Wenxu's gaze flicked toward them. Brief, observant.
Then she stepped forward.
Zhao Xueying.
She walked in beside her mother, who held her chin a touch higher than necessary. Madam Zhao wore the poise of a court lady and the edge of a soldier's wife. She offered polite bows and measured smiles to nobles seated near the front. The children followed her lead, adjusting their pace, even if they were still whispering among themselves like it was just another family dinner.
Xueying bowed when she reached the threshold of the dais. Her movement was graceful, practiced - but light, as if she didn't quite care for perfection.
She didn't shine like gold. She gleamed like a challenge.
Wenxu didn't look away immediately.
Once. Twice. His gaze caught on hers.
She smiled.
Not the demure kind the court expected. Just a flash of familiarity, like she already knew him. Or had always known him.
He blinked, then turned his head slightly toward the floor, schooling his expression. He did not smile back.
He hadn't seen her in years.
And somehow, she looked exactly like he remembered.
"Ah, the Zhao family," murmured one of the ministers seated near him, "Still lacking in court manners."
"Still sharper than most men here," another whispered.
Wenxu didn't comment. His father would.
Ling Wuzhen sat two seats away, arms resting on the table, posture rigid. His face remained stern, unmoved by the banter.
When General Zhao gave a loud laugh and slapped a hand on his son's back, the Grand Chancellor didn't so much as flinch. He offered only a nod when their eyes met across the room.
"Old dog," General Zhao muttered under his breath as he passed him.
Wenxu heard it. So did half the front row. Nobody reacted.
The Zhao family took their seats.
The air settled again, though tension lingered like dust on silk.
The Emperor had not yet arrived.
And in the strange quiet that followed the Zhao family's entrance, Wenxu stole one more glance in her direction.
She wasn't looking at him anymore.
She was looking around the hall with wide, eager eyes - as if she were discovering the capital all over again. Her fingers drummed softly on the table, her brother nudging her with small comments, their father too loud again, their mother trying to hush them with curt whispers.
There was nothing regal in them.
But they belonged.
And for the first time in a long while, Ling Wenxu felt something shift in the stillness inside his chest.
The sound of drums echoed from the outer gates, sharp and deliberate. Every noble in the hall fell silent. Even the wine in their cups stilled, untouched.
A court official stepped forward, voice raised, formal and clear.
"His Majesty, the Son of Heaven, approaches."
Everyone stood. Robes shuffled. Conversations cut mid-word.
Wenxu rose, hands at his sides, spine straight. His father, the Grand Chancellor, didn't move until the rest of the hall had obeyed protocol. Then he stood, slow and precise, his face unreadable.
At the Zhao table, the family mirrored the same movements. General Zhao had a half-limp from old injuries, but he rose tall. Madam Zhao nodded once to her children before facing the entrance. Xueying stood between her parents, composed but visibly alert. Yuren's smirk was gone. He tugged slightly at the collar of his formal robes.
The gilded doors opened.
The Emperor walked in, surrounded by a small retinue. His steps were light, measured. He was neither too young nor too old - the kind of ruler who had seen enough battles but still believed he could win more. He said nothing at first. His gaze passed over the room, scanning faces like tally marks in a ledger.
"Be seated," he finally said, his voice calm, bored even. But it carried.
Everyone obeyed. Conversations resumed, quieter now, cautious.
Wenxu didn't speak. He glanced once at the Emperor, then once at the Zhao table, only to find Xueying already looking. Her eyes didn't dart away like others would. They lingered, steady, with the faintest smile. Not coy. Not flirtatious. Just warm. Familiar.
He looked away, returning his attention to the wine in his cup.
On the dais, the Emperor sat beside his favored consort and a few key officials. Beside him, a minister leaned forward, whispering behind his fan.
"They say the General still walks with that limp from the border siege."
Another one replied in a low voice, "Yet he stands taller than most men here. The court should remember that."
The Grand Chancellor sipped his tea. He heard them but said nothing. His fingers remained motionless on the jade cup.
More food was brought in. Dishes rotated. Musicians began to play in one corner.
The Emperor raised his cup toward the Zhao family, "A toast. To duty fulfilled and the return of one of our finest bloodlines."
General Zhao stood, "Your Majesty honors us. The north stands secure."
"You've done your part, General."
A ripple of interest passed through the hall. A few ministers raised their brows. One of them murmured, "So the rumors were true. He brought the daughter, too."
"The one they say used to follow the Grand Chancellor's boy around?"
"Let's hope she's learned restraint."
Wenxu heard that. He didn't react. He merely watched as Xueying, unaware or unbothered, poured wine for her mother.
"She has no idea what kind of web she's stepping into," one of the younger nobles whispered to another.
No one noticed Wenxu tightening his grip around the stem of his cup.
The banquet continued. But the air had changed.
It was still polite. Still grand. Still ceremonial.
But something beneath it had shifted - like the moment before a storm breaks.
And Wenxu, ever observant, felt it in his bones.
After the toast, the Emperor set down his cup. The weight of his gaze shifted from the wine to the people it honored.
"General Zhao," he said, his voice clear but casual, "ten years at the frontier... Has the capital changed?"
General Zhao rose again. "Not as much as I thought, Your Majesty. The walls still stand. The nobles still dress like peacocks. The capital remains the capital." He grinned without shame, scarred face crinkling.
A few ministers stiffened. The Grand Chancellor didn't move, but Wenxu noticed the slight twitch in his father's jaw. Displeasure.
The Emperor laughed softly. "Still as blunt as ever." Then his eyes flicked to Madam Zhao. "And Madam Zhao... the north kept you too long."
Madam Zhao inclined her head, voice even. "We go where duty calls, Your Majesty. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Mm." The Emperor leaned back slightly, fingers drumming once on the armrest. "And the children. They've grown."
Yuren stood, bowing low. "Yuren greets Your Majesty. I've tried to grow into the name I was given, but the battlefield grows men faster than books do."
That earned a few chuckles across the room. Even one of the quieter ministers smirked behind his sleeve. The Emperor's lip curled faintly in amusement.
"And the youngest," the Emperor continued, eyes settling on Xueying. "The girl who once trained with wooden swords behind her father's tent."
Xueying stepped forward with grace. Her bow was low, steady. "Your Majesty remembers more than I expected."
"I remember potential when I see it. You carry yourself well, Lady Zhao."
She didn't thank him immediately. Her pause was short, deliberate. "My father taught me that we don't bow too easily. But for you, I'll make an exception."
It wasn't disrespectful - not quite - but the remark drew a few surprised looks. A sharp breath from one of the lesser officials. Even Yuren's smile faltered slightly.
The Emperor only raised a brow. "Sharp tongue. You didn't have that ten years ago."
"I was ten years old, Your Majesty," she replied. "I've learned to speak since."
Another round of murmurs. Wenxu heard them.
"She's bold."
"Too bold."
"Or maybe she's just not afraid."
The Emperor didn't look offended. In fact, he seemed... entertained.
"Let us hope you've learned to listen as well."
Xueying nodded once. "I listen. Especially when it matters."
General Zhao cleared his throat - not too loud, not too soft - and gestured discreetly for Xueying to step back. She did, with her chin still slightly lifted.
The Emperor looked toward the Grand Chancellor next. "Wuzhen," he said, voice now neutral. "Your son has remained dutiful in your absence."
Ling Wuzhen gave a single nod. "It is his role to do so. I expect nothing less."
Wenxu remained seated, straight-backed. He didn't speak unless called upon. His eyes drifted briefly to Xueying again.
Still bold. Still fearless. Still reckless.
And yet... that warmth. That spark that never quite dimmed.
She caught his glance. No teasing this time. Just a quiet, curious recognition. She tilted her head - as if to say, I see you. Do you see me too?
He didn't answer with words. Didn't need to.
The banquet was starting to stretch. Courtiers raised goblets, toasts were made, and laughter swelled louder than the strings playing in the corner. Zhao Xueying had smiled enough to make her cheeks hurt. The greetings, the curious eyes, the endless praises of her father's victories - they blurred into one long string of pleasantries.
When a cluster of ministers gathered around General Zhao, arguing animatedly about troop movements near the southern borders, she took the chance. Quietly, she slipped away from her seat, feigning thirst and motioning to the servant to leave her.
She didn't head to the wine table.
She kept walking.
Past the ornate columns and flickering lanterns, she stepped out into the cooler air, the soft hum of cicadas replacing the noise of the banquet. The scent of plum blossoms lingered faintly in the breeze.
She hated these things - the false smiles, the layered praise, the careful distance everyone maintained like some sort of game no one admitted they were playing.
She stepped forward - then paused.
Someone was already at the veranda.
A figure stood near the far end of the veranda, half-turned toward the moon. Tall. Still. Hands clasped behind his back.
She would have recognized him even in the dark.
Ling Wenxu.
Of course it would be him.
For a moment, she considered walking away. But then again... why waste a perfect opportunity?
She walked up beside him - not too close, but closer than etiquette might have allowed if anyone had been watching.
"Lovely moon tonight," she said lightly, resting her elbows on the railing.
He didn't answer.
She glanced sideways. He wasn't looking at her. Still focused on the sky. Silent, unreadable.
Ah. That kind of mood.
She tilted her head. "You know, it's not very gentlemanly to ignore a lady."
"I'm not ignoring," he said without turning. "I simply didn't realize you were speaking to me."
"Well, now you know."
A beat passed.
Then he exhaled, quietly. "Lady Zhao."
Xueying grinned. "That sounded so painful coming out of your mouth."
"I was being polite."
She clicked her tongue. "Try again, but this time without sounding like you'd rather be stabbed."
He finally looked at her. Just briefly. Then away again.
"You're... different from how I remember," he said.
"Oh? And how do you remember me?" she asked, resting her chin on her hand.
He paused, then said, "Quieter."
She laughed. "That's not memory. That's wishful thinking."
He didn't reply.
She let the silence stretch, just a little.
Then, "I heard you were fond of silence," she said. "Now I see it's true. You wear it like armor."
"It keeps things simple."
"Hm. Or maybe it just keeps people away."
His gaze turned toward her again. Sharper this time. But not unkind.
"You speak freely."
"I've earned it."
There was no arrogance in her voice, just certainty.
He studied her for a moment. Not the way men usually looked at her - not assessing, not admiring. Just... seeing.
That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
He finally said, "You haven't changed much after all."
"Maybe you have."
She stepped back, stretching her arms behind her. "You used to glare at everyone. Now you just look... tired."
That got a twitch of his brow. Almost a smile. Almost.
"I've learned restraint," he said.
"How tragic."
He exhaled through his nose. Something close to a chuckle. Just barely.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The moonlight bathed the railing, silver soft against dark wood. Somewhere behind them, the music picked up again - louder, messier, a string breaking mid-note and a servant scrambling to fix it.
Xueying shifted to face him fully.
"So, Ling Wenxu. Do you still carry a sword everywhere or has being the Grand Chancellor's son made you soft?"
"I carry what I need."
"Cryptic. Very impressive. Say something else that makes me question my choices."
He looked at her again, longer this time.
Then said, "You're not what I expected."
"I get that a lot."
"You're..."
He trailed off. Eyes flicked down, then away.
She waited.
"...brighter," he finished, low.
That surprised her. But she didn't show it.
Instead, she stepped closer - just enough for him to notice.
"I'll take that as a compliment," she said.
He didn't answer. But he didn't step away either.
Something passed between them then. A quiet pull. Not yet affection, not quite recognition. But something beginning to stir, slow and impossible to name.
He straightened. Looked out toward the courtyard again. "You should return to the banquet."
"You should too."
They both lingered.
Neither moved.
Finally, she said, "Well. This was... tolerable."
"That's generous."
She smirked. "I'm known for my kindness."
He didn't respond.
But when she walked away, she felt his eyes follow her. Not in possession. Not in longing.
Just curiosity.
And the beginning of something dangerous.
Zhao Xueying.
Ten years gone from the capital, and yet her voice - that laugh - hadn't changed at all.
She used to follow him around like he was some rare animal she'd discovered in a garden maze. Always talking. Always asking. Always smiling like she didn't care he barely answered.
He'd remember turning a corner and hearing her footsteps behind him. Hearing her call his name like she owned it. He'd pretend not to notice. Pretend not to care.
But he always did.
And now she was back. Different, older, more refined maybe - but somehow still the same whirlwind of noise and light.
He'd thought she would've grown out of it. He thought time, distance, war - all of it - would've dimmed whatever that thing was inside her.
But it hadn't.
It had only sharpened.
She stood next to him tonight like she'd never left. Like ten years was just a breath held between sentences. And he didn't know how to stand there without feeling... off-balance.
Not because she unsettled him.
But because she remembered him too well.
And he had never quite forgotten her either.
The banquet continued with orchestrated grace. Courtiers raised cups, laughter flowed like wine, but beneath the golden light and shallow pleasantries, another current pulsed.
General Zhao sat tall, half turned toward his eldest son as he exchanged curt nods with passing officials. His voice, when heard, was clear and direct - a soldier's tone sharpened by years of command. At the same table but seated with deliberate space between them, Chancellor Ling Wuzhen observed silently, wine untouched.
A minor minister leaned toward Ling Wuzhen, whispering something behind a sleeve. The Grand Chancellor did not respond. He merely flicked his gaze toward the General, then back to his empty cup. Still, the weight of that glance did not go unnoticed.
"Strange how the borders have grown quiet ever since the General returned," murmured one courtier to another behind a fan.
"Stranger still that the Chancellor didn't send word to welcome him," came the reply.
Another laugh echoed from the Zhao table - loud, hearty. General Zhao clapped his son on the back after a teasing remark. His joy seemed genuine, but the timing was precise. Too precise. Ling Wuzhen's jaw tightened for the briefest moment.
From the imperial dais, the Emperor watched it all behind an unreadable smile. He lifted his goblet to no one in particular. When a eunuch whispered something in his ear, he nodded slowly, as if the detail was expected.
Zhao Yuren excused himself to speak with a younger noble.
Madam Zhao gracefully turned down a toast from a leering marquis.
General Zhao locked eyes briefly with Ling Wuzhen across the hall.
The Chancellor gave the faintest tilt of his head. Not quite a greeting. Not quite a warning.
The string musicians played louder.
And in the eye of it all, Ling Wenxu drank slowly, watching with quiet calculation. The return of the Zhao clan was being celebrated. But under the surface - measured steps were already being taken.
The music had softened into its final notes. One by one, nobles rose from their seats with gracious bows and hollow smiles, offering farewells thick with formality. The air, once heavy with ceremony and heat, now hummed with restraint.
The Zhao family stood near the banquet hall's exit, exchanging pleasantries with lingering officials. General Zhao kept a firm but pleasant tone, answering with short nods and rare laughter. He patted Zhao Yuren's shoulder as a minor official offered vague words about future alliances.
Madam Zhao offered practiced thanks, her expression calm. But her hand remained subtly firm on Xueying's back, steering her gently away from a gathering of gossiping noble ladies.
"Not tonight," she murmured low, almost mother-like, almost steel.
Xueying tilted her head back, smiling faintly. Her eyes, however, drifted once again toward the hall's far end - toward where Ling Wenxu stood with his father, surrounded by a few remaining ministers. Her gaze lingered.
He noticed.
Ling Wenxu's posture was perfectly still. His hands remained behind his back, chin held at the exact angle of composure. Chancellor Ling said something to him - short, clipped. He nodded once, never looking away from Xueying.
No one else saw. Or maybe they pretended not to.
As the last of the musicians packed up their instruments and servants began clearing the low tables, the Emperor remained seated a moment longer on his dais, quiet in the growing emptiness.
He observed the last few guests. His fingers tapped gently against his knee.
When a eunuch stepped forward with a low bow, the Emperor finally rose.
"No official decrees tonight," he said softly, almost amused. "Let the court sleep."
Outside, lanterns were being extinguished one by one. Carriages lined the outer halls. The air had cooled. Ministers left in clusters, guards falling into silent formation behind them.
Ling Wenxu walked slightly behind his father, their shadows stretched long under the flickering torchlight. Zhao Xueying watched them go before stepping into their own carriage beside her mother.
Inside, General Zhao leaned back with a long exhale.
"Well," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "That wasn't a dinner. That was a chess match."
"I don't think they clapped for the performance," Yuren muttered.
"They clapped for our return," Xueying said quietly, staring out at the darkened palace. "But not all of them were glad."
No one replied. The carriage rolled forward.
Behind them, the palace loomed - gilded, hollow, and watching.
Ling Manor.
The manor was quiet. No more clinking cups or dull political chatter. The silence was heavier than usual.
Ling Wenxu sat alone in his study, eyes on the low-burning lantern near the window. The light barely reached the far corners of the room, but he didn't ask for more. He didn't need it. Or so he told himself.
He poured a cup of tea. It had long gone cold, but he drank anyway. The warmth wasn't what he was after.
Across from him, an open scroll lay forgotten. His mind refused to focus. Every time he tried to review the reports his father left on the desk, the same image returned.
Her laugh. That short, surprised one. Not forced. Not calculated. Just... real.
He closed his eyes, trying to erase the sound. It clung to him like snow on cloth.
"She's still that foolish girl," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Always talking. Always meddling."
But the words lacked bite. They didn't settle.
His brow furrowed. His hand, still holding the cup, lowered to the desk.
A memory slipped through. One he hadn't thought of in years.
There had been snow. Thicker than usual. They were children, dragged to some winter gathering with their clans. He had been trying to walk ahead, pretending not to hear her calling after him.
Then a yelp. A stumble. When he turned, she was half-buried in the snow, her hair a mess, face red with cold.
He should've ignored her.
Instead, he walked back. Reached down without a word.
She had taken his hand and grinned at him like he'd just offered her something more than help. That smile - unguarded, wide, sincere - had stunned him even then. He hadn't known why. He still didn't.
But he remembered it clearly.
The way her fingers curled around his. How light she felt when she stood.
He drew in a slow breath and opened his eyes again. The present crept back in, heavier than before.
Ling Wenxu set the teacup aside.
"She's still the same," he said under his breath. Then paused.
"I'm the only one who changed."
Outside, the wind stirred the trees. Cold. Restless. It whispered against the windowpanes but never quite entered the room.