The garden was too quiet to be empty.
The plum blossoms had already begun to fall, drifting like ash through the warm spring air, but the branches still held their shape—arms bent under the weight of a hundred silent promises. I stepped lightly onto the arched bridge that overlooked the winding path below, a scroll of patrol rotations still in hand, though I hadn't looked at it in minutes.
Below, between the hedges trimmed too neatly and the stones laid too purposefully, the Crown Princess of Baiguang strolled with Zhu Mingyu.
She walked like the world belonged to her, and maybe in her mind, it did. Every step was slow, measured, but far from tentative. Her sleeves brushed the blossoms as she passed, her voice low and melodic, never rising and definitely never apologizing.
