The storm beyond the palace walls had not yet broken, but thunder rolled faintly through the clouds above Shoukang Palace, like the murmurs of an unseen god.
Inside, lamps flickered upon jade columns and silk draperies; their glow trembled as though afraid to touch what lay within. The scent of sandalwood lingered, thick and ancient, curling through the air like a quiet prayer.
The veiled alchemist lifted his head slowly, his eyes glinting like quicksilver beneath the dim light. Shadows clung to him as if reluctant to let go.
"To unbind what Heaven has sealed," he murmured, his voice low, "one must first touch the boundary of life itself."
The Empress stood motionless, her robes heavy with gold-thread embroidery that caught the faint lamplight. The wind outside sighed against the paper screens, echoing like a ghost through the vast chamber.
"Speak clearly," she said at last, her tone calm yet edged with command. "What do you mean by boundary?"
The alchemist drew a small vial from his sleeve glass as thin as a dragonfly's wing, its contents shimmering faintly with threads of gold. The light that danced within it pulsed like a living thing.
"This," he said, raising it with both hands, "is called Jinpo Essence. It was once brewed in the hidden kingdoms beyond the Southern Sea. It binds the mortal breath to the soul's fire, allowing life to linger where it would fade."
He paused, letting the silence breathe before adding, "But it is not a cure, Your Majesty. It is a chain woven of light. For five years, no illness nor fever shall take him. Yet when the fifth year wanes… the flame will begin to die."
The Empress's hand tightened upon her sleeve, silk creasing beneath her fingers. "Then he will live," she said the words almost a whisper, but carrying the weight of a mother's will.
"For a time," the alchemist said quietly, bowing his head. "Yes. But know this such chains draw from the soul itself. When the essence weakens, the one bound to it may suffer twice the pain of dying."
The Empress's breath caught. Her gaze drifted to the bed behind her to the small, still figure lying there beneath white silk covers. The Crown Prince, her only child, his skin pale as frost, his lips faintly blue.
She took one step forward, then another, as if afraid the boy would fade should she move too swiftly. "Then I will bear that sin," she said, her voice steady though her eyes glistened. "Give it to him."
The alchemist bowed once, wordless. He moved to the table where a porcelain cup waited. As he poured, the golden liquid streamed like molten stars, filling the cup with light. The air shimmered faintly, and the shadows in the corners seemed to draw back.
The Empress took the cup in both trembling hands. For a heartbeat, she saw her own reflection in the liquid distorted, wavering, as if Heaven itself questioned her choice. But she did not hesitate.
"Forgive me," she whispered whether to Heaven or her son, even she did not know and pressed the cup to the boy's lips.
At first, there was no response only the stillness of a breath too light to stir the air. Then, slowly, faint color returned to his cheeks. His fingers twitched. His lips parted.
"Mother…" he whispered weakly. "I… dreamed of snow."
The Empress caught her breath, pressing his small hand to her cheek. "Then keep dreaming, my son. Dream of spring next."
He smiled faintly, his eyes fluttering shut once more.
A single tear slid down her face, falling onto his wrist and as it touched the jade talisman bound there, the gem pulsed once, soft and luminous, like moonlight beneath water.
The alchemist bowed deeply, hands folded within his sleeves. "He will wake at times, Your Majesty," he said softly, "though not as before. Speak gently, feed him well, and keep the Jinpo Essence close to his skin. The balance must not break."
The Empress nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed upon the sleeping child. "And if it does?"
His answer came like wind through an empty hall. "Then only one breath can call him back the Breath of Hidden Light, born once in an age. The spirit of a girl touched by fate, the mirror of his own star."
The Empress's eyes darkened not in disbelief, but in remembrance. Her lips trembled faintly. "I have heard those words before," she whispered. "The stars have long spoken of a child unlike any other… a blossom born beneath hidden light. She will carry the mark of the lotus blue as the evening sky, gold as the rising sun. The prophecy has never faded… even after eight long years."
The alchemist inclined his head. "Then fate has already set its path, Your Majesty. When the heavens weave a thread, it is not for mortals to see the loom."
A flash of lightning lit the chamber. The alchemist's shadow stretched across the wall long, unsteady before vanishing.
He turned toward the open doors. Outside, the rain had stopped, and the first glimmer of dawn spilled across the jade tiles.
Before leaving, he paused and said, "Remember, Your Majesty light and shadow share one heart. To save one, the other must awaken."
When he was gone, the chamber fell silent again, save for the faint sound of the prince's breathing.
The Empress lingered beside her son's bed, unwilling to leave. Her fingers brushed his hair so soft, so frail and her heart ached with both relief and dread.
She knelt there until her knees numbed, the lamplight paling before dawn.
Hours passed.
By morning, the storm had faded into mist. The palace servants moved quietly through the corridors, their footsteps muted, their voices hushed as though the walls themselves carried secrets.
The Empress sat beside the window, a pot of untouched tea cooling beside her. She watched the boy as he stirred in his sleep his lashes fluttering, his breathing even. For the first time in months, color warmed his face.
A maid stepped forward. "Your Majesty, shall I fetch the royal physician?"
"No," she said softly. "Let him rest. Heaven has already spoken."
The maid bowed and withdrew.
Moments later, the boy shifted again. Slowly, he opened his eyes. They were clear now bight as polished amber and when he looked at his mother, it was with wonder, as though seeing her for the first time.
"Mother," he whispered, his voice no longer weak, "the palace… it looks different."
The Empress smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Perhaps because you are seeing it again through life's new light."
He sat up, touching the silk pillow beside him, then the edge of the bed. "Everything feels… softer."
Tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes. "It is enough that you can feel at all."
Then, slowly, he slipped from the bed. The Empress gasped softly, reaching to steady him, but the boy stood on his own. His small feet touched the cold floor, and he laughed quietly a sound that filled the vast chamber like sunlight spilling through clouds.
He wandered to the window, gazing at the distant pavilions glistening with morning dew. "It's beautiful," he said, his eyes wide. "I never knew the palace was so big."
The Empress rose to her feet, following him with trembling hands. This happiness was from within pure, unguarded yet deep inside, she knew it was borrowed time.
Still, she smiled, memorizing the sound of his laughter. "Yes, my son. It is beautiful. And so are you."
The boy turned and ran into her arms, hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Mother."
She held him close, closing her eyes as her tears fell silently into his hair.
When the sun climbed higher, its golden light filled the chamber, illuminating the jade floor with warm brilliance. The Empress looked out through the lattice window toward the distant hills where clouds gathered like silk.
Her voice was quiet, almost prayerful. "Then let the heavens weave what they must. If the girl of light truly exists, I will find her. Even if I must wake the stars themselves."
The wind shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of lotus and rain and somewhere beyond the palace walls, a ripple stirred across a faraway lake, where a child of hidden light slept beneath a veil of Fate .