YongShen Hall did not announce its visitors with trumpets or drums, only with a shift in the wind.
It was mid-morning when the riders appeared at the southern gate—three imperial horses and a lacquered palanquin veiled in gold silk. The guards straightened, and the gate bell gave three measured chimes.
From the upper walk of the eastern garden, Lianhua—once Princess Revati—watched the movement with calm curiosity. Wei An appeared beside her with practiced quiet.
"His Highness the Crown Prince, Shen Xianzhang, has arrived. He will remain for two nights."
Only one, then. As she had been told, not all the brothers would come at once. They were scattered across posts and provinces, some loyal, some ambitious, all shaped by an emperor who measured sons like Weights on a scale.
The reception hall had been prepared swiftly. Red cushions are placed, sweet rice cakes are steamed, and golden lanterns are lit.
Liwei, dressed in deep charcoal robes with silver lining, sat on the central dais—posture straight, face unreadable. Lianhua sat beside him, her hair tied in the Tiānguó imperial bridal braid, her pale blue robe a breath of color in the dim hall.
Shen Xianzhang, the Crown Prince, entered with a confident gait that was neither arrogant nor boastful. His robes were immaculate, patterned with golden clouds and cranes in flight. He bowed—just enough—and then smiled.
"So, it is true," he said. "My little brother has taken a wife."
Liwei did not rise. "It was decreed. And fulfilled."
Xianzhang turned to Lianhua. "And you, Lady Lianhua, have taken on quite a challenge."
"Challenges shape kingdoms," she replied with a graceful nod.
He laughed—not cruelly, but with the knowing mirth of someone raised in courts where smiles could slice throats.
That evening, after the ceremonial meal, Lianhua walked quietly through the inner courtyard of YongShen Hall, where pine needles dusted the stone walkways. She passed clusters of servants speaking in hushed tones about grain ledgers, a misrouted shipment of salt, and a dispute between stable hands over missing provisions.
Even here, beneath the peace, life cracked like old wood.
In the far courtyard, she found Mei Shunhua, mending an old curtain by hand.
"The Lord's halls are too quiet for guests," the old woman murmured. "When the crown prince visits, even the wind changes direction."
Lianhua sat on the bench beside her. "Does Lord Shen trust him?"
Mei didn't answer immediately. "He does not distrust him. But that is not the same."
The next morning, Lianhua stepped into the training yard just as Liwei 's subordinates finished their sword forms.
Commander Zhao Yue bowed respectfully. "My Lady. Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough."
Captain Yuchi smirked slightly. "The Crown Prince asked this morning if our master always slept so early. I told him: Like the sword he carries—drawn only when necessary."
Zhao gave him a look. "That was bold."
"Wasn't it true?"
Lianhua gave the smallest smile. "Some truths don't need to be spoken aloud."
Yuchi blinked, then laughed, saluting her. "Perhaps Lady Lianhua is the blade we didn't know we needed."
That afternoon, during a tour of the outer market—a rare outing under light guard—Lianhua walked beside Liwei through narrow streets flanked with dyed silks, dried herbs, and pottery stands. The people bowed low but did not cheer. Their respect was rooted in order, not affection.
A child dropped a basket of oranges as they passed. Without a word, Liwei bent, picked up three, and handed them back.
The child stared up at him. "Are you the man who sends the guards in the snow?"
Liwei blinked. "Yes."
"Thank you," the child said, and ran.
Lianhua, watching from behind, felt a flicker of something that almost broke through the frost in her chest.
He does not speak warmly.
But he does not turn from it either.
That night, Xianzhang stood at the gates before departing. He turned to Liwei with a murmur.
"Brother, they whisper that you build your own kingdom up here. Be careful." Liwei 's expression didn't change. "Only those who fear stillness think it hides rebellion." "And do you fear stillness, Consort?" the Crown Prince asked lightly, turning to her. Lianhua met his eyes. "Only when it pretends to be peace."
He studied her for a moment before bowing.
When he left, the wind returned—cooler than before, but cleaner.