The southern night breeze of Tanggolia carried with it the potent smell of sea salt, a constant reminder that Zhugow City was located right by the seaside. Inside Geming's study room, he watched the candlelight on the golden holder, the flame swaying back and forth every time the night air rushed in through the open window.
After a long time staring into the dancing light, he sighed with a heavy heart and rolled his left sleeve upward, revealing a single small silver bracelet on his wrist. He reached out and grasped the bamboo flute nestled beside the candlelight holder, letting out another deep, mournful sigh before placing it back down.
His fingers gently stroked the silver bracelet's surface. The depth of his secret sorrow spilled forth in a quiet, agonizing recitation:
"I know the truth, the choice you made, a future where I have no part; Yet in my lonely, heart-sick shade, you are the keeper of my heart.
I walk through rooms, and in my mind, I furnish them with you, and grace; I cook the meals you'll never find, And picture smiles across this place. I dream of rings and vows we spoke, of hands entwined beneath the sun, The gentle promise I awoke to find was lost before begun.
Oh, ghost of wife I cannot own, you wear the name that isn't yours. I wish the love I'd bravely shown could shatter those unyielding doors. I only hope that you are well, and light is on your chosen road, while I remain inside this golden cage, forever bearing love's rejected load."
The door to his study room then swung open, and Wang Yong, his trusted personal guard, walked in with a tray of food. Wang Yong placed the tray of steaming dishes on the table in front of Geming.
"Princess Consort Ankhtsetseg asked me to bring these dishes for Your Highness, as you did not attend dinner with Her Highness," Wang Yong explained, his voice respectfully neutral.
"Sit and dine with me," Geming ordered softly.
"Your Highness, we are in the palace. That is something I cannot do," Wang Yong gently refused, adhering strictly to the court protocol.
"Inside this study room, there is only you and I, and no others," Geming insisted, a sudden rush of self-pity filling his heart and deepening his insistence. He repeated a memory that held profound significance for him: "Someone once told me, 'The greatest gift you can give someone is your time, because you give them something that you can never take back, and they will always remember.'"
Wang Yong instantly recognized the words—these were the exact sentiments Chinua had once shared with Geming, a cherished, private rule between them. Realizing that his master was consumed by grief, mourning the princess he could never have, and knowing from the whispers in the city that Geming must be profoundly worried for Chinua's safety as she headed toward a trap set partly by his own family, Wang Yong stopped refusing. He grabbed a simple stool and placed it opposite Geming.
Geming picked up his chopsticks and looked out at the full moon hanging heavy in the dark sky. He said sadly, "I wonder if the moon in Hmagol is as full as the moon here tonight."
The vast starlit sky, sparkling in the darkness, appeared like a million diamonds hanging in the void. Some were distant, their faint sparkle barely visible, distant embers scattered across the black velvet. But some were close—so close that if Chinua reached out her hand, she felt that she could grasp them and safely keep them in her pocket. The immense, glittering expanse offered a moment of quiet, deceptive peace, starkly contrasting with the peril of her journey.
As she continued to gaze into the darkness, three falling stars suddenly streaked one after another across the night sky. The sight triggered an old, warm memory of her youth, causing her to let out a soft, genuine chuckle at the past event.
"What's so funny that you can be so happy at a time like this?" Hye said, his words slightly slurred, his lips shivering as the cold northern wind bit him. He coughed several times, the cold autumn air burning in his chest. "I still can't believe your brother refused us a tent and placed us out in the open with only two thin rags." He blew sharply on his hands and quickly rubbed them together, desperately trying to generate heat. He turned to look at Chinua, his expression miserable. "Is he truly your father's son?"
Chinua turned to Hye and gave him a slightly mischievous smile. "Yes, but did you forget that he's tried to kill me multiple times?" She raised a playful eyebrow at Hye. "So, refusing us a tent seems entirely within his expected protocol."
"What a miserable bastard," Hye complained through his chattering teeth, hunching his shoulders against the wind.
"I told you to come up to Whitefang Peak to train with us, and you always refused. Now you're suffering—serves you right," Chinua said, her teasing smile softening the words.
"I am the brain, and you are the strength," Hye argued with a serious tone, despite his shivering. "Therefore, there was no need for me to freeze myself for something useless to my role, just as it's useless for you to stay inside the camp and read books with me." He scoffed dramatically. "Now, tell me, what was so funny?"
Chinua sighed contentedly and placed her hands behind her head, resting on the cold ground. "Staring up at the sky... it reminded me of when Timicin and I..."
"Timicin and you?" Hye teased instantly, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "When did you two become 'a thing'?" He shivered again, moving himself closer to Chinua, then carefully draped his thin blanket over hers, combining their scarce warmth to conserve heat.
"It was the first day of training," Chinua began, a slow, fond smile spreading across her face as she recalled the past. "Timicin and I were responsible for getting the team's rations. After we collected the food and were on our way back, we ended up having a serious disagreement over the Northern captains—different views on their loyalty and skill."
"Oh, tell me about it," Hye said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "My view of those idiots hasn't changed since the first day I left the North until now."
"We ended up fighting, and we were punished by Batzorig by having to carry two heavy bags of rice and stand in the training ground overnight, as a lesson on the 'meaning of rice'," Chinua continued, the absurdity of the punishment still funny. "That night was just like tonight. We talked for hours, sharing thoughts—even on the ideal woman, of all things."
Hye began laughing, a raw, wheezing sound that quickly turned into a cough from the cold, but he couldn't stop. Chinua smiled, comforted by the sound, and continued telling Hye the detailed, funny stories of her first-year training as a soldier in the Northern Military Camp.
Sitting alone in the profound stillness of the night, listening to the mating calls of the crickets, the rhythmic, high-pitched hissing was not nearly as loud as the torrent of thoughts racing inside Bastsaikhan's head. He watched the full moon that sat squarely atop the highest, symbolic peak of Whitefang Peak.
He wondered how many more moons he would be able to see before the inevitable crisis would threaten his very existence.
The beauty of the peak and the soft moonlight felt like a brief, temporary reprieve before an inescapable storm. Bastsaikhan, stationed near this symbolic mountain, felt the full pressure of the impending conflict. The strategic importance of his current position—near the Northern Hmagol border—meant he would be one of the first to face the consequences of the schemes brewing in the capitals of both Hmagol and Tanggolia.
Bastsaikhan felt his eyes were heavy with fatigue and tried closing them several times, but a sharp, profound unease inside his heart prevented him from falling asleep. He closed his eyes, leaned his head backward against the backboard of his wheelchair, when the unmistakable, jarring sound of armor rushing towards him made him snap his eyes open.
He immediately turned his wheelchair around and found that twenty imperial guards in full, gleaming armor were standing before him, their polished steel reflecting the cold moonlight.
Approaching slowly from behind the formation of guards, Minister Gegeen stepped forward and smiled directly at Bastsaikhan, holding a royal decree rolled tight in his hand.
"Greetings, Your Highness," Gegeen said with a polite but deeply unsettling smile.
"Minister Gegeen, what urgent matter brings you to Pojin, and especially at this hour of the night?" Bastsaikhan asked, as a wave of deep, chilling worry sank into his heart. The arrival of a powerful court minister backed by imperial guards in the middle of the night at a military outpost could only mean danger—or doom.
Gegeen held Bastsaikhan's gaze, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. "Crown Prince Bastsaikhan, I came to bring you back to Ntsua-Ntu." He then deliberately unrolled the heavy parchment of the royal decree. "Your Highness is commanded to return to Ntsua-Ntu immediately, as the Eastern General faces a charge of treason—and you are named as her co-conspirator."