The eunuch arrived just after sunset.
"Guiren Shen, His Majesty requests your attendance tonight."
The tone was neutral, as if announcing the weather.
Shen Li inclined her head. "Understood."
No surprise. No dramatics. When it was your turn, it was your turn.
She bathed quickly and changed into a soft silk robe prepared for the occasion. The maids fussed more than she did. One of them nearly dropped a hairpin.
"Relax," Shen Li said gently. "His Majesty does not eat people."
The maid nearly dropped the second one.
Shen Li decided it was best not to speak again.
The emperor's chamber was warm with lamplight.
Ling Xuan was not waiting at the bedside. Instead, he sat by the window on a low couch, a book open in his hands. The glow of the lantern traced the edge of the pages and the line of his jaw.
He did not look up when she entered.
Shen Li knelt quietly near the corner of the room and lowered her gaze.
Silence stretched.
The only sound was the soft turning of pages.
She had expected the usual questions—family background, temperament, polite formalities. Instead, he kept reading.
Curiosity slipped in before she could stop it.
The title caught her eye.
A Record of Travels in the Southwest.
Her fingers tightened slightly in her sleeves.
She knew that book.
She had wanted to read it for years.
The palace libraries accessible to lower-ranking consorts contained mostly moral instruction—Lessons for Women, Admonitions, household codes. Necessary. Proper. Thoroughly devoid of mountains, rivers, or distant seas.
Her gaze drifted again.
A map.
A line of text describing valleys and caravan routes.
She did not even realize she was following the movement of the page.
Until he stopped turning it.
Ling Xuan looked up.
Their eyes met briefly before she lowered hers.
"You enjoy travel journals?" he asked.
His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of interest.
Shen Li lifted her head slightly. "I read them when I can, Your Majesty."
"Oh?" He closed the book lightly. "I was told ladies prefer moral instruction."
"I read those as well," she replied seriously.
A pause.
"But travel journals can take one to places one cannot go."
The answer was simple.
Too simple to be calculated.
Ling Xuan studied her for a moment.
"And where would you go?"
She considered the question honestly.
"Everywhere."
He arched a brow.
She amended, "If I had to choose… perhaps the sea. Or the northern deserts. Or anywhere with mountains."
"That is quite ambitious for a Guiren."
She met his gaze this time, steady but mild.
"I can travel in pages, if not in person."
He let out a quiet laugh.
Not mocking. Not cold.
Genuine.
"You speak as though you have already planned the journey."
"I have," she admitted. "Only the carriage is missing."
Another pause.
Then he extended the book toward her.
"Look."
She hesitated only a second before accepting it.
The paper was smooth beneath her fingers. She turned the page carefully, eyes brightening at an illustration of a distant harbor.
She forgot, briefly, where she was.
Ling Xuan noticed.
There was no performance in her expression. No attempt to charm.
Only interest.
"You have never left the capital?" he asked.
"Never."
"And yet you speak of the sea as if you've seen it."
She smiled faintly. "If one reads enough, one begins to imagine."
"And if imagination proves wrong?"
"Then reality will correct it."
The answer made him pause.
He watched the way she traced a line of text lightly with her eyes, careful not to touch the ink.
"You would still go, if given the chance?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
The room felt smaller, warmer.
He took the book back eventually and set it aside.
When she lay beside him later, there was no awkward stiffness, no forced conversation.
Only the faint scent of ink and lamplight lingering between them.
For the first time that evening, Ling Xuan thought—
Perhaps silence did not have to be empty.