The soft hum of music echoed faintly through the palace corridors, drifting outward from the celebration hall into the night. Lantern light flickered against the stone walls, and the scent of plum blossoms mingled with the cool summer breeze.
Bǎihé walked in silence, her robes brushing lightly against the floor. A few feet behind her followed Hépíng, her steps quiet and careful. Though they had distanced themselves from the noise, the celebration was still close enough that laughter and string instruments could be heard clearly.
"Are you alright, Gōngzhǔ?" Hépíng asked gently.
Bǎihé turned with a small smile. "Yes. I just needed some air. You don't need to follow me."
Hépíng gave a nod, visibly relieved. But before either of them could move further—
"Bǎihé."
The voice was deep. Familiar.
Her heart dropped.
She turned—and there he stood.
Wángzǐ Feng, also known as Haoyu—Prince Phoenix of the Fenglan Dynasty. Firstborn of three siblings. Age twenty-one. The probable heir to the third most powerful dynasty among the Seven.
He was tall, with a lean yet finely sculpted build. His eyes, a deep and unreadable brown, mirrored both discipline and arrogance. His long jet-black hair was tied back with a silver pin, a portion slicked elegantly into a high bun. His dark green hanfu shifted slightly with the night wind, adding an air of quiet regality as he stood under the moonlight.
"Long time no see, Bǎihé," he said, smiling faintly.
How dare he smile? Bǎihé thought bitterly. Her expression twisted momentarily with disgust before she caught herself, smoothing her features into something more composed.
"Nice to see you too," she said flatly.
Then added with cool sarcasm, "But Wángzǐ Feng, aren't we supposed to refer to each other formally now? Seems quite rude."
Haoyu's smile faltered, and he bowed his head slightly in apology.
"Sorry... Gōngzhǔ Fāng. My mistake. I just thought—"
"Well, you thought wrong," Bǎihé interrupted sharply.
His eyes flickered with surprise, but the emotion disappeared quickly, replaced by a faint grin.
"You haven't changed, Gōngzhǔ Fāng," he said. "I hope we can talk."
She didn't respond at first. Then, with sharp finality: "I'm heading back to my courtyard. It's late."
She turned toward Hépíng.
"If you want to talk, speak to my friend here. Hépíng will listen."
Bǎihé widened her eyes slightly at Hépíng, signaling her to step forward. Wordlessly, Hépíng obeyed and approached the prince with a nervous bow.
"I'll leave you two," Bǎihé said without looking back. "Whatever you have to say, tell her. She'll deliver it."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high, her back rigid. Her pace quickened with every step.
"Bǎihé!" Haoyu called after her, but she did not stop. She disappeared into the shadows of the courtyard, her silks rustling behind her.
An awkward silence settled between the two left behind.
"I'm sorry, Wángzǐ Feng... Gōngzhǔ Fāng isn't in the mood to talk right now," Hépíng said softly, her tone careful.
Haoyu exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on the place Bǎihé had just vanished from.
Then he turned his eyes on Hépíng.
"Aren't you Bǎihé's servant?" he asked, voice quieter now.
"Yes... Yes, I am," Hépíng replied, bowing again.
He stared at her a moment longer, his expression unreadable.
"Well... you look well," he said finally. "Just like old times."
A bittersweet smile curled on his lips. "But I must go after her. It's been a long time... even a few minutes to speak would mean something."
Hépíng simply nodded in understanding.
Haoyu gave her one last look, then stepped past her with quiet urgency. His stride was confident, straight-backed, elegant—even in pursuit.
Hépíng remained still, standing alone as the breeze brushed her face.
She took a deep breath, her heart thudding in her chest.
He hasn't forgotten me, she thought with a bittersweet smile. A flush crept across her cheeks as her eyes drifted back toward the direction he'd gone. His figure, tall and graceful, faded into the distance with each step—his silhouette still striking under the moonlight.
Her smile wavered.
Then her gaze dropped to the stone floor, her shoulders slowly falling.
"Just like old times," she whispered with a quiet snort, the words laced with something far more fragile than laughter.