The central hall of the inner palace—normally used for etiquette and ceremonial training—was unusually quiet.
Today was not an ordinary lesson, but a special occasion: Prince Su Yan himself would observe the embroidery practice of the palace women.
"Why is His Highness coming in person? He's never shown interest in women's affairs before."
"I heard… someone's caught his eye."
"You mean the Fourth Princess, don't you?"
"Shh! Not so loud!"
⸻
Su Yan was a striking man—pale-skinned, sharp-eyed like his mother, Noble Consort Su Zhen.
His face was cold and impassive, yet his gaze held an air of quiet arrogance.
He walked into the hall with steady, measured steps—every movement precise, like someone trained to be perfect.
When his gaze landed on Xianlan, seated in a quiet corner, stitching in silence, he paused.
Then, with a faint smile, he turned to her.
"It's been a while, Little Sister."
His deep, calm voice carried a chill—
the voice of someone who had never truly let anyone in.
Xianlan stood and gave a graceful curtsy.
"Greetings, Your Highness."
"This cloth… is your work?"
he asked, lifting the pale gray silk she was embroidering.
"Yes," she replied. "I was thinking of the drapes in my late mother's chamber, so I tried to mimic the old pattern."
Su Yan paused—
the Empress's name hadn't been spoken openly in front of Noble Consort Su in years.
But Xianlan… had never forgotten.
⸻
Just then, a young woman entered with a tea tray.
Dressed in soft pink and lavender, her manners flawless, her eyes gleamed with practiced charm.
"Your Highness," Su Mengyu said with a bow, "I have brought you tea."
"Lady Su?" Su Yan accepted the cup with courtly politeness.
She let out a delicate laugh as their eyes met.
"I saw Your Highness arrive and wished to pay my respects.
And perhaps it is not too bold of me… to offer a sample of my embroidery for your judgment as well."
A pause.
Everyone in the hall knew what she was doing—
inviting comparison between her work and Xianlan's.
Su Yan examined both pieces silently.
Then he spoke evenly:
"Your intentions differ."
"One is beautiful because it seeks to be admired. The other is simple… because it wishes to be remembered."
His gaze lingered on Xianlan's cloth for more than a moment.
He didn't praise her outright—
but his words sent ripples through the room.
⸻
After the session ended, Xianlan left the hall with calm steps.
But someone followed closely behind.
"You still sew like you did when we were young," came Su Yan's voice from behind.
"Thank you for remembering," Xianlan replied, not turning.
"I recall you once gave me a piece—silver cloth with gray plum blossoms."
"But now, you've changed," he added.
"From fabric that was soft… to one laced with thorns."
Xianlan stopped, turning to meet his gaze directly.
"Because I once had my cloth torn apart right in front of me…"
"So I stitched anew—with shadows in every thread."
Su Yan looked at her for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"I prefer it this way."
⸻
In a quiet corner of the palace garden,
Su Mengyu watched their silhouettes from afar.
The fan in her tightly clenched hand caught the moonlight with a dull gleam.
She wasn't foolish.
She could see clearly—Su Yan was starting to fall for Xianlan.
If that was the case…
"Then I'll make them love each other—until it becomes too much."
"Until she becomes someone unfit to be seen in this palace again."