The scent of plum blossoms drifted lazily through the imperial garden. The morning sun cast a warm golden glow over the koi pond, its still surface reflecting the gentle sway of willow branches.
Seated beneath an ancient pine tree, Former Emperor Long Rui rested in a carved sandalwood chair, his once-dark hair now streaked with silver. Before him, two children knelt on the grass—his beloved grandchildren.
The elder, a bright-eyed girl with her mother's sharp wit, was Princess Lanrui, the daughter of Former Prince Long Xun and Wu Lanyin. Beside her, her younger brother Prince Xuan, restless and brimming with curiosity, fidgeted with a carved wooden sword.
"Grandfather," Lanrui asked, her voice soft but eager, "Father always says you knew everything about the kingdom. But Mother says you also know the greatest love story in our family. Which is true?"
Former Emperor Long Rui chuckled, a deep, warm sound. "Both, little one. For the greatest love story of this kingdom is also the story of its darkest days."
The children leaned forward, eyes wide.
'This kingdom," Long Rui began, gesturing toward the palace walls visible beyond the garden, "is the Song Dynasty—land of jade rivers, endless rice fields, and mountains that guard us like sleeping dragons. But beauty, children, often hides danger. Even in my reign, the court was a place of whispers and daggers. Alliances could change in a single night, and the wrong word could mean the end of a family."
He paused, watching the koi ripple the pond's surface. "There was a time when the empire's peace was as fragile as this reflection. On one side, the loyal generals who had fought to keep our borders safe. On the other, the scheming ministers and those who would see the throne bend to their will."
Lanrui frowned. "And where was Father in all of this?"
A slow smile spread across Long Rui's face. "Ah… your father. Prince Long Xun, my third son. Brave, stubborn, and too clever for his own good. And your mother, Wu Lanyin—daughter of General Wu Jianhang, as fierce as she was beautiful."
The former emperor's eyes grew distant, the past pulling him in. "They did not meet as most princes and ladies do, at feasts or in silk-covered halls. No… they met on the edge of danger, in a time when the air itself seemed to carry the scent of blood."
He leaned forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. "It began during a season of unrest. The Grand Chancellor Qiu Der was weaving his net of schemes, and in the shadows, the Assassination Foundation was moving its pieces. I remember that day clearly…"
The children's breath caught as their grandfather's voice became the wind in their ears, carrying them back in time.
The plum blossoms swirled in the garden, and in the next heartbeat, the scene shifted—From the peace of the present to the storm of the past…
The clang of steel echoed through the northern courtyard…
To be continued.