Moon walked alone through the palace halls.
No flute followed her now. No petals. No glowing thread.
Only the soft sound of her own footsteps echoing against polished stone.
Her expression was unreadable. Not shocked. Not frightened. Not blank.
Something… settled.
The lanterns lining the corridor cast long shadows that stretched and shrank as she passed, their light brushing her face briefly before letting her slip back into dimness. Any maid who might have seen her would have hesitated — because she no longer looked like a lost girl wandering somewhere she didn't belong.
She looked like someone returning from somewhere she was never meant to speak of.
Fragments surfaced in her mind. Not whole sentences. Not clear explanations. Just pieces.
…this is why……you were brought……not by chance…
Her fingers curled lightly at her side.
Another fragment slipped in — quieter.
…why me…?
Her steps slowed for half a heartbeat.
Then the answer, equally incomplete, surfaced beneath it.
…because you were chosen…
Moon's chest tightened faintly. Not in panic. In grief.
She didn't know exactly what had been said. Only what it felt like.
Like something precious had been named. And something else had been taken away.
By the time she reached her quarters, her breathing had evened. Her posture was calm, composed — almost disciplined. She slid the door open and stepped inside, closing it gently behind her.
The room was quiet. The window stood open, the night breeze slipping in, carrying moonlight across the floor.
Moon crossed the room and sat before the window, folding her legs neatly beneath her. She rested her hands in her lap.
Still. Silent.
Her lashes were wet when she blinked. A single tear slipped free and traced down her cheek — not hurried, not dramatic. Just there.
She whispered softly, as if finishing a thought left behind somewhere else.
"…I didn't choose this."
The night did not answer.
Then — from somewhere deep inside her chest, that same calm presence stirred again. Not loud. Not commanding. Certain.
…you were chosen…
Moon closed her eyes. She inhaled slowly. Then exhaled.
A long, steady breath — the kind taken by someone standing at the edge of a vow.
When she opened her eyes again, they were clear.
"…Okay," she said quietly. Her voice did not shake.
"I understand."
She lifted her gaze to the moon hanging high beyond the window, pale and watchful.
"So… I can't be that girl anymore."
Her fingers tightened once, then relaxed.
"I have to leave everything behind."
The sadness was still there — but it no longer ruled her.
"I was brought here for her," Moon continued softly. "And I'll do what I was brought here to do."
Her voice lowered, almost reverent.
"I promise you."
The wind stirred.
Something bloomed gently in the air — that familiar, rare fragrance — not overwhelming now, but protective. Warm. Like a veil settling around her shoulders.
Moon looked up at the night sky, moonlight reflecting in her eyes.
"So this is Yelan Hua…"
She tasted the name slowly.
"…Yelan Hua."
A pause. Then, with quiet certainty:
"The daughter of the night orchid."
The scent glowed faintly around her, unseen but present, wrapping her like a silent guardian.
Elsewhere — At the Same Time
Night was supposed to smell the same. Oil lamps. Old wood. Dry herbs. Dust.
That was how Maomao knew the hour without looking outside.
So when her nose twitched— She stopped.
Not because it was strong. Because it was wrong.
She inhaled again. Slowly. Carefully.
"…That's not incense."
Her brows knit together.
It wasn't sweet in a way meant to please. It wasn't sharp like medicine. It wasn't bitter like poison.
It was… alive.
Warm, but not heavy. Soft, but not weak. Familiar in a way that made her chest feel strange.
Maomao frowned.
I've smelled thousands of things.
She leaned closer to the open window, letting the night air brush her face.
Again. There it was.
"…I don't know this."
That bothered her more than fear ever could.
If it were poison, she could name its effects. If it were incense, she could trace its origin. If it were medicine, she could list its uses.
But this?
Her fingers curled unconsciously.
Why does my body recognize it before my mind?
For a brief, unsettling moment, she felt… watched. Not by eyes. By something that had passed through.
Maomao clicked her tongue softly.
"…Annoying."
But she closed the window anyway.
And for the first time in a long while— She made a mental note she could not categorize.
Jin-shi had lived here for years. Years.
Every corridor memorized. Every shadow known. Every servant's footstep predictable.
Which meant— That girl was impossible.
He leaned back against the pillar, eyes fixed on the empty corridor where she had vanished.
Bare feet. Loose hair. Robe slipping like she didn't care who saw.
And yet— She hadn't looked careless.
She had looked like someone running toward something she couldn't refuse.
I didn't hear her footsteps until she hit me.
That alone made his spine tighten.
Then there was the scent.
He inhaled unconsciously. Again.
"…What is that?"
It wasn't any perfume used in the Inner Palace. Too deep. Too old. Not something meant for people.
It reminded him of standing somewhere high— somewhere where the air thinned and sound carried too far.
And the flute. That sound had reached him before the girl did.
Meaning— She wasn't the cause. She was following it.
Jin-shi's fingers tightened slightly in his sleeves.
If someone can appear and disappear like that… inside this palace…
His mind ran through possibilities.
Assassins? No. Servants? Impossible. Spirits? He didn't believe in those.
Yet— He couldn't explain what he had seen.
"…A fairy," he muttered under his breath, half-mocking himself.
But the unease didn't leave.
And worse— The scent was gone now. As if it had never been meant for him.
Jin-shi straightened slowly.
Something moved tonight. And the Inner Palace never moved without reason.
Gao-shun sat in silence long after the palace settled.
His cup of tea had gone cold. He hadn't touched it.
The outsider girl occupied his thoughts again.
No record. No origin. No assignment.
He had already broken protocol by placing her under observation without reporting everything.
And now— This scent.
Gao-shun inhaled carefully.
"…Not incense."
That made his jaw tighten.
Every substance used in the palace was regulated. Every fragrance accounted for.
Yet this one had crept through the night without permission.
And it had done so after the girl's arrival.
Coincidence was a luxury Gao-shun did not afford himself.
If the scent is unrelated, then its timing is dangerous.If it is related—
His gaze darkened.
Then the girl is more than an accident.
The most unsettling part was this: He couldn't tell if the scent was approaching… or retreating.
Like something that had already done what it came to do.
Gao-shun set his cup aside.
I should inform Jinshi-sama.
The thought came immediately— And just as immediately, he dismissed it.
Not yet.
Because until he understood what he was dealing with— Acting too soon could be worse than doing nothing.
"…Watch," he decided quietly.
Outside, the palace slept. Inside, something had changed.
And none of them knew what it meant yet.
That night, nothing in the Inner Palace appeared to change.
Yet a scent without origin lingered in the dark,
a sound without source faded into silence,
and a girl without a record walked where she should not exist.
By morning, the palace would still look the same.
But it would no longer be the same place.