The days following their visit to the Musée d'Orsay were a delicate balance of quiet work and careful observation. Iuno Li, though still occasionally troubled by the strange, vivid flashes of memory that felt like echoes of another life, threw herself into the "Vanguard Project" with the full force of her meticulous, detail oriented nature. The traumatic visions were easier to ignore when her mind was occupied with the comforting, logical order of architectural principles. The confidence she'd gained was a fragile, budding thing, but it was real, and she nurtured it with the same fierce dedication she applied to a balance sheet.
Aylin, for her part, watched and waited, a patient gardener tending to the most precious, delicate bloom in the universe. She gently guided their conversations, planting seeds of thought and ideas that she hoped would take root in the fertile, forgotten soil of her lover's soul. The awakening was a slow, painstaking process, and she knew one wrong move, one push too hard, could shatter Iuno's fragile mortal mind. She lived in a state of constant, high alert tenderness, her every interaction a calculated risk.
Their fragile peace was broken by a curt, demanding email from Willow Chen that appeared on Aylin's phone with the subtlety of a thrown dagger.
"My father is growing impatient, Aylin. He is questioning the validity of this 'Vanguard' project. He has arranged a preliminary video conference with their European representative for tomorrow morning at nine. Do not mess this up."
The lie was being called. Her gambit was being put to the test.
Aylin read the message, her expression unreadable. Inside, a cold, calm certainty settled. The families were testing her, trying to reassert their control. This was not a setback; it was an opportunity. She found Iuno in the salon, reviewing notes from their trip.
Iuno, when informed, went into an immediate, full blown panic. Her newfound confidence shattered like glass. "A video conference? With the CEO?! Director, I can't!" she gasped, her face losing all its color. "I don't know anything! We… we fabricated everything! I'm going to be exposed! They'll know I'm a fraud! The company will be ruined! We'll be sued into oblivion! We'll go to jail!"
Aylin calmly took the file from Iuno's trembling hands, placed a cup of the now familiar Silver Needle tea in its place, and gently guided her to a chair. "Breathe, Miss Li," she said, her voice a sea of perfect, unshakable calm that was a direct contradiction to the storm of calculations in her own mind. "You will not be fabricating anything. You will simply be speaking your truth, the same way you did when we discussed the materials in the Old Quarter, and the art at the museum. That knowledge is yours. That passion is yours. You will speak from your heart. I will handle the rest."
The next morning, their grand Parisian salon was transformed into a temporary boardroom. Aylin sat at a large, polished desk, the picture of a powerful CEO, a laptop open before her. Beside her, a pale and deeply terrified Iuno Li sat clutching a stack of notecards, her knuckles white. On a large screen before them, the video call connected. An image resolved, showing a man in a dimly lit, book lined study. He was older, perhaps in his late sixties, with a stern, intelligent face, a sharp, well tailored suit, and an air of eccentric, intellectual authority. This, according to the title card, was "Mr. Alistair Vander, CEO of the Vanguard Conglomerate." It was, in reality, a flawless, real time illusion.
After a few moments of stiff, professional pleasantries, Aylin turned to Iuno with a look of complete confidence. "Mr. Vander, my lead specialist on this project, Miss Li, will now present our preliminary philosophical approach."
Iuno looked at Aylin, her eyes wide with a silent, desperate plea. Aylin gave her a single, almost imperceptible nod of absolute faith. It was a transfer of will, a silent command: I am here. You are not alone. Speak.
It was enough.
Iuno took a deep breath and began to speak. She was nervous at first, her voice a little shaky as she read from her first notecard, but as she delved into the topic, a remarkable transformation occurred. The timid accountant vanished. She put the notecards down. She spoke with a quiet, confident passion about creating spaces that were "fortresses of the heart, not of stone." She talked of using materials that "breathe with the purpose of the room," and of the delicate, crucial balance between light and shadow, openness and security. She was not delivering a corporate presentation. She was, without realizing it, channeling the very soul of Empress Xue Lian, the brilliant architect queen who had built a dynasty on these exact principles.
On the screen, "Mr. Vander" listened, his stern expression slowly melting into one of deep, intellectual appreciation. He asked sharp, insightful questions questions penned by Xue Lian herself in another world, designed to perfectly unlock Iuno's innate, forgotten brilliance.
From her seat, Aylin watched, her heart a tight knot of pride and aching love. She was watching her lover, amnesiac and unaware, confidently and brilliantly articulating her own lost philosophies to a magical illusion of one of her own demonic commanders. The sheer, multi layered audacity of the situation was a dizzying, silent comedy. Iuno was not just remembering; she was becoming.
The presentation concluded. "Remarkable," Mr. Vander's deep, illusory baritone rumbled from the screen. "Truly remarkable. Your firm's understanding of the very soul of a space is precisely what I have been searching for. Miss Li, your insights are… profound. I am very much looking forward to our next discussion."
The call ended, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. Iuno was left breathless, buzzing with an adrenaline she had only ever felt when closing the books on a fiscal year. She had done it. She turned to Aylin, her eyes shining with a pride and relief so pure it was dazzling. "Did… did I do okay, Director?"
Aylin looked at her, at the soul of her Lian, so brilliant and so utterly unaware, and the serene mask of Director Moon almost cracked. "You were magnificent," she said, her voice full of a sincere warmth that made Iuno blush to the roots of her hair.
Just then, Aylin's own corporate phone buzzed. It was an email from Willow Chen.
"My father was patched into the conference call. He was… impressed. He has agreed to all of your terms regarding the merger's structure. It seems your little 'secret weapon' is more effective than I thought. Don't get too attached, darling."
Aylin read the message, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face. Her absurd, impossible gambit had not only given Iuno a massive boost of confidence, but it had also solidified her own control over the corporate merger. She looked up at Iuno, who was staring out at the Parisian skyline, a new, confident smile on her own face. The Empress was one step closer to returning.
The triumph of the Vanguard presentation left an indelible mark on their Parisian suite. The air, once thick with tension, was now light, almost giddy with the thrill of their shared, successful conspiracy.
"A victory of this magnitude requires a formal celebration," Aylin announced. "The afternoon's 'research' is hereby cancelled. Today, Miss Li, we are tourists."
Their afternoon in Paris was different from their first outing. Iuno was no longer a nervous guide, but a confident companion, her earlier anxieties replaced by the easy joy of someone who has just discovered her own worth. They took a boat tour on the Seine, the city's magnificent architecture drifting by in a sun drenched haze.
"I can't believe he actually liked my ideas," she said, her voice full of a happy disbelief. "I was so nervous, I thought I was just rambling."
"You were not rambling," Aylin corrected, her gaze soft. "You were speaking with the authority of someone who understands the subject on a fundamental level. You spoke the truth. He had no choice but to listen."
As evening began to fall, they were walking back through the charming, narrow streets of the Latin Quarter. It was then that a sound, faint but clear, drifted from the open doorway of a small, dusty antique shop. It was the sound of a guqin, its ancient, melancholic notes a strange and beautiful ghost in the heart of the modern city.
The music stopped Aylin in her tracks. She stood completely still, her head tilted, a look of profound, distant longing on her face. This was a sound from her very soul, a melody from a life she thought was lost forever.
"That is a beautiful sound," Iuno said, her own attention captured by the haunting music.
Aylin was drawn toward the shop as if by an invisible thread, Iuno following silently behind, curious about her boss's sudden, intense reaction. Inside, the shop was a cluttered treasure trove of forgotten things. An elderly Chinese man sat behind the counter, his fingers plucking a sad, simple melody from the ancient instrument on his lap. He smiled as they entered.
Aylin approached the guqin as if in a trance. It was made of dark, polished wood, its surface worn smooth by the touch of countless hands over centuries.
"Do you play, madame?" the shopkeeper asked in accented English, noticing the look in Aylin's eyes.
"It has been… a long time," Aylin replied, her voice distant. Her implanted "Aylin Moon" memories contained nothing about this instrument. This was an act of pure soul memory.
The shopkeeper gestured with an open palm. "Please."
Aylin sat down, her movements imbued with an ancient, forgotten grace. She settled the instrument on her lap, the familiar feel of the wood a grounding force. Her fingers, long and elegant, hovered over the seven silk strings. Then, she began to play.
The melody that flowed from the instrument was not from this world. It was a song of moonlit pavilions and the scent of lotus flowers, a song of quiet joy and a love so deep it was the center of a universe. It was the song Xue Lian had loved most, the one Lan Yue would play for her in the quiet hours after a long day of ruling their empire.
Iuno listened, and the music bypassed her conscious mind, speaking directly to her soul. The notes were keys, unlocking a door deep within her. The memory that flooded her was not one of power or duty. It was a memory of love.
She was in a moonlit pavilion, the air cool and fragrant. She was not playing; she was listening. Her own hands, long and elegant in her memory, were wrapped around a warm cup of tea. The melody, this exact melody, was flowing around her, a river of profound, heartbreaking beauty. And she was not alone.
Sitting across from her, her fingers moving with expert, practiced grace over the seven strings of a guqin, was a beautiful woman in serene, white robes. The woman's eyes, the color of a twilight sky, were filled with a love so pure and so complete it was the center of the entire universe. It was the face of the woman from her dream, the celestial warrior who stood by the Empress's throne.
The feeling of love in the memory was so overwhelming, so powerful, that Iuno gasped, stumbling back from the instrument, her hand flying to her mouth. It was followed by an immediate, crushing wave of loss, a grief for an intimate, perfect moment she had never had, for a beloved woman she had never met.
Aylin immediately stopped playing, the final, sorrowful note hanging in the dusty air. She was there in an instant, her hand a steady, grounding presence on Iuno's arm. She could feel the echo of the memory through their bond a storm of pure love, of music, of moonlight, followed by a tidal wave of sorrow.
Iuno looked up at Aylin, her eyes wide and full of a new, terrifying, and unspoken question. The dream of being a queen had been strange. The memory of a coronation had been frightening.
But this memory, this feeling of being so completely and utterly in love… who was she in love with?
And why did that feeling, that profound, soul deep connection, resonate so powerfully, so perfectly, with the concerned, beautiful woman standing right in front of her?