"The story begins there."
----------
The Yan palace was a storm of movement wrapped in a quiet, strained joy. Servants hurried through polished corridors carrying bolts of red silk, trays of incense, lacquered boxes filled with jewelry, and ceremonial robes. Musicians in the outer courtyards tuned their instruments; palace maids hung lanterns painted with dragons and phoenixes, symbols of union and fate. Everywhere, preparations for the royal wedding moved forward, smooth and unstoppable, like a river that had already chosen its path.
In the midst of all this, Li Xian walked as if the sound had been stripped from the world around him.
Robes of pale ceremonial fabric were already draped over his shoulders for the upcoming rites, the embroidery of phoenix feathers shimmering faintly as he passed through bands of light and shadow. Everyone bowed when he walked by, but no one dared meet his eyes for long. They knew what this wedding meant. They knew what it cost him.
He finally caught sight of his father standing near a side veranda, discussing last-minute arrangements with a few officials. King Li Zhen's once bright, commanding visage seemed older now, the lines at the corners of his eyes carved deeper by worry.
"Father," Li Xian called softly.
Li Zhen turned, and for a moment, the stern king disappeared, leaving only a father who saw his son in wedding robes.
"Xian," he answered, voice low.
The officials around him bowed and withdrew a few steps, sensing the need for privacy but not daring to go far.
Li Xian took a breath, then another. "I want to discuss something with you, Father."
Li Zhen studied his face carefully. "Tell me, Xian."
Li Xian's fingers curled slightly at his sides. "I wish to ask for your permission."
A faint furrow appeared between the king's eyebrows. "Permission for what?"
Li Xian lifted his eyes, steady despite the storm inside. "Before we begin the ritual rounds… before the wedding rites begin in front of both courts… I want a chance to speak with His Highness, Emperor Zhao Wei."
At that moment, Queen Lin Mei approached from the other side of the veranda, having heard only the end of his words. Her steps slowed, and her eyes, already filled with worry, sharpened.
"Before the ritual rounds, Xian?" she asked softly.
Li Xian turned partially toward her.
"Yes, Mother. I need to talk to him. In front of everyone. It doesn't need to be in private."
Li Zhen's gaze grew cautious, protective. He moved a little closer. "But why, Xian?"
Li Xian's heartbeat hammered in his ears, but his voice stayed calm. "Father, please don't refuse me. I promise I will not say or do anything that would humiliate you. I will not do anything that could damage his pride or self-respect. I swear it."
He bowed his head slightly. "But I have to speak with him, just once, as myself… before I stand beside him as his spouse."
For a long moment, the only sound was the distant clatter of preparations continuing—servants calling, fabrics rustling, the faint ring of metal on stone.
Li Zhen's eyes softened. In that silence, he saw not just a prince, but the child who had once held his hand and chased fireflies in the palace gardens. He also saw the swords, the funeral pyres, the people who would live because this marriage was happening.
Finally, he spoke."Xian," he said quietly, "you have already saved this kingdom by agreeing to this marriage." His voice was hoarse, heavy with emotion he could not show in front of the watching servants and officials.
"As your father and your king, it is my duty to grant your wish when I can."
He placed a firm, reassuring hand on Li Xian's shoulder.
"You have my permission."
Li Xian's throat tightened. He nodded once, grateful but also more afraid than before.
King Li Zhen then turned to his wife. "Don't you agree, Mei?"
Queen Lin Mei's eyes lingered on her son's face. Worry, pride, and helpless love all tangled there. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.
"Yes," she said. "You are right. Xian has earned the right to be heard."
Li Zhen gave a small nod. "Then it is decided. I will send a message to His Highness immediately, requesting permission for you to speak before the ceremony."
He squeezed Li Xian's shoulder one last time and then stepped away, calling for a trusted attendant. Within moments, a messenger was kneeling before him, receiving the king's command to ride to the Liang delegation and deliver the request.
Soon, King Li Zhen walked off with the messenger and a few officials, leaving the mother and son alone in the quiet corner of the bustling palace.
For a few heartbeats, Li Xian said nothing. His mind was spinning with the plan he had set in motion—his last, fragile attempt to make Zhao Wei refuse this marriage himself.
Queen Lin Mei watched her son, her gaze full of things she could not bring herself to say. She wanted to tell him to run. She wanted to tell him to stay. She wanted to scream at the heavens for choosing him, of all people, to carry this burden.
But she was a queen. And he was a prince.
So instead, she simply looked at him with that deep, aching tenderness only a mother could hold, memorizing the lines of his face as if she might never see him like this again.
"Xian…" she began, but her voice faltered, and she closed her mouth again, pressing her lips together to keep from breaking.
He sensed it and finally turned to her with a small, tired smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't worry, Mother," he said softly. "I promised Father already. I won't shame you. I just… need to try."
Her eyes shone, and though she still said nothing, he could feel the weight of her blessing—and her fear—settling over him like another invisible robe.
Around them, the palace continued to prepare for celebration.
Between them, the quiet stretched, fragile as spun glass, holding all the words they did not dare speak.
----------
In the temporary Liang residence within Yan's capital, the air was rich with the scent of sandalwood and ink. Silk curtains in deep imperial red swayed lightly as a winter breeze slipped through the carved lattice windows. Outside, armored guards stood in silent rows, halberds gleaming, while inside, the atmosphere was quiet and sharp like a drawn blade.
Emperor Zhao Wei sat at a long sandalwood table, going through memorials and reports brought from Liang. An incense burner shaped like a coiled dragon exhaled pale smoke, curling slowly toward the rafters. At his side stood one of his senior ministers, a man with a careful face and sharp eyes, hands folded in his sleeves in proper court manner.
A Yan envoy in formal robes knelt on the polished floor, head bowed low, arms outstretched as he presented a sealed scroll stamped with the royal emblem of Yan.
"Your Majesty," the minister announced, "a formal message from King Li Zhen of Yan."
Zhao Wei's gaze flickered with mild interest. "Rise enough to speak," he said.
The envoy straightened just enough to unroll the silk scroll, his voice steady but tense as he read aloud.
"Your Highness," he began, using the refined diplomatic address, "what happened in the past was unfortunate. We have no intention of insulting His Highness or the people of Liang's kingdom in any way. The incident was just the result of a moment of weakness on Prince Li Xian's side, and he did not intend to insult His Highness of the Liang Dynasty. We hope that you can forget about this unfortunate incident. We will await the arrival of the wedding party."
Silence followed the last word.The minister's brows rose very slightly. The envoy kept his head low, hands steady, waiting for a response.
Zhao Wei's lips curled into a slow, unmistakable smirk.
"So," he said softly, almost to himself, "my future husband, Prince Li Xian, has requested to speak with me before the wedding ceremony… and his royal father sends this apology and assurance."
His gaze sharpened, amusement glinting there.
"He has the right," Zhao Wei went on, voice smooth, "to speak to his future husband beforehand."
The shocked minister glanced quickly at the envoy, then back at his emperor, clearly taken aback that Zhao Wei spoke so openly of Li Xian as his future spouse.
Zhao Wei looked lazily toward the Yan envoy. "I agree to speak with him before the wedding."
The envoy bowed even lower. "Thank you, Your Highness. Yan is truly grateful for your magnanimity."
Zhao Wei's eyes narrowed slightly, the edge of his smile turning colder. "Tell me," he asked, "when does Prince Li Xian wish to see me?"
The envoy answered carefully. "If it pleases Your Majesty, the prince wishes to speak with you now, before the preparations advance any further."
The minister's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. To request an audience at this stage, and in such a tense time—bold indeed.
Zhao Wei, however, merely leaned back, enjoying the turn of events. His smile deepened.
"Now?" he repeated. "Very well." He turned to his minister. "Prepare at once. We shall go."
The minister bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Majesty."
As the envoy withdrew, backing away with all the proper etiquette, Zhao Wei rose from his seat in one graceful movement. His ceremonial outer robe, dark as night and embroidered with golden dragons, fell around him like a shadow.
As he walked toward the inner screen to change his outer garment, the minister followed a step behind.Inwardly, Zhao Wei thought: So, Prince Li Xian wishes to stand before me on his own will… Let us see what kind of conditions you dare to raise in front of the Son of Heaven.
A faint, almost playful curve touched his lips again."Minister," he said, without looking back, "see that everything is arranged properly. This will be an interesting conversation."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the minister replied, still slightly unsettled, but obedient.
Outside, gongs sounded faintly somewhere in the city as both dynasties moved closer to a wedding that would bind their fates together.
---------
The ceremonial hall chosen for their meeting was smaller than the grand court, yet still imposing. Tall red pillars rose to a painted ceiling of dragons chasing pearls among clouds. Silk curtains of muted gold hung along the walls, and a long, low table separated the seats of honor from those of the accompanying attendants. Incense drifted in slow spirals from a bronze burner shaped like a qilin, filling the air with sandalwood and something faintly bitter.
Emperor Zhao Wei sat at the head, dressed not in full dragon robes, but in a slightly less formal dark-blue court robe embroidered with silver threads. The color made his presence no less commanding. Ranked behind him stood a few key Liang officials and guards, all with eyes lowered in appropriate respect.
Opposite, the Yan delegation had been given seats along the side—King Li Zhen, Queen Lin Mei, several high-ranking ministers, and at the back, Han Shen, Li Xian's loyal friend and bodyguard, standing straight, gaze fixed on the floor.
A murmur passed through the hall as the attendant announced:
"Prince Li Xian of Yan has arrived."
Every glance shifted to the doorway.
Li Xian stepped into the incense-hazed hall slowly, his footsteps barely audible on the polished floor. Today he wore ceremonial garments of soft white and pale gold, embroidered with delicate patterns of clouds and cranes. His dark hair was gathered and tied with a simple yet elegant jade hairpiece, framing his face in smooth lines.
As he approached, Zhao Wei's gaze sharpened—and then, for a brief, dangerous moment, everything else fell away.
Li Xian's nose was straight and finely cut, his jawline clean and regal. His eyes, slightly lowered, were dark and luminous, like deep pools that held storms and starlight both. But what caught Zhao Wei most were his lips—soft, naturally tinted a gentle pink, like a single petal pressed against snow. And just below the right side of his neck, not centered but slightly to the left, a small mole rested against pale skin, like ink on jade.Zhao Wei's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The sounds of the court, the rustle of robes, the flicker of flames, all dimmed for him in that instant.
Without realizing it, he rose from his seat.Li Xian did not see. His head remained slightly bowed, gaze cast down to the floor, each step measured, controlled. He reached his designated cushion opposite Zhao Wei and knelt gracefully, still not lifting his eyes.
Only when he had settled did King Li Zhen bow his head slightly toward Zhao Wei in respect, and the attendants fell silent.
Zhao Wei caught himself, returning to reality as though shaken from a dream. He adjusted his sleeves and sat again, expression smoothing into an emperor's calm.
"Prince Li Xian," he said, a faint smile touching his lips. "You requested to speak with me before the wedding. Tell me—what is it that you wish to say, which could not wait until after we have completed the rites?"
His voice carried easily through the hall, deep and composed.
Li Xian slowly lifted his gaze. When his eyes met Zhao Wei's for the first time in this private audience, the moment stretched taut. Zhao Wei felt a strange pull, but steadied himself.
Li Xian's voice, when it came, was quiet but clear. "Before the wedding, I wish to ask Your Majesty to agree to certain conditions."
A low ripple moved through the hall—murmurs from both Yan and Liang sides. The attendants quickly regained their composure, but curiosity flickered across many faces.
Zhao Wei's smirk deepened almost lazily. "Conditions?"
He leaned back slightly. "Very well. Speak. Let everyone hear what Prince Li Xian of Yan dares to ask of the Emperor of Liang."
Silence thickened. All eyes focused on the prince.
Li Xian inhaled softly, fingers pressing into the fabric of his robe where they rested on his knees. He did not look at his parents, nor at Han Shen. He kept his gaze forward.
"First," he said, "I ask that, once I become Your Majesty's spouse, the people of Yan will never again be forced to kneel as criminals in front of Liang's banners. If they bow, they bow as subjects of the realm—not as conquered captives. Yan's name must not be wiped away in humiliation."
The hall trembled with the unspoken shock. A few Liang officials stiffened outright; some Yan ministers' hearts leapt into their throats. Even Zhao Wei's eyes flashed, a spark of anger breaking through his mask.
How dare a defeated prince speak of humiliation here? some thought.
Zhao Wei's jaw tightened, and for an instant his hand curled slightly on the armrest—but he did not interrupt.
Li Xian continued, voice calm, almost too calm. "In other words, Yan must be allowed to exist with dignity, under Your Majesty's rule. No burning of our ancestral halls. No public degradation of our people."
The emperor's gaze grew darker. The air in the hall thickened, the courtiers holding their breath.
And then Zhao Wei said, clipped but controlled, "Yes."
Many heads turned sharply toward him in disbelief.King Li Zhen's shoulders loosened a fraction; Queen Lin Mei exhaled softly. On the Liang side, several ministers could not mask their surprise.
Li Xian felt his heart jolt. He had expected anger. Refusal. This was a condition any conqueror could find hard to accept.
Still, he pressed on.
"My second condition," Li Xian said, voice slightly lower now, "is that, once I become Your Majesty's husband, I will not be forced to share a bed, nor warmth, nor any... intimate duties until I myself agree to them. This marriage must not become a chain that forces my body without my consent."
The hall erupted in tiny, suppressed sounds—sharp intakes of breath, muffled gasps, eyes widening like lanterns in the dark. Such a condition, spoken plainly in open court, in front of both dynasties—it was scandalous, daring, unprecedented.
Even Zhao Wei jerked upright, his hand lifting from the armrest as he half rose. Heat flared in his chest—insult, desire, and surprise tangling together.
Han Shen, standing in the back, felt a strange, wild hope. He looked down quickly to hide the faint, desperate smile tugging at his lips.
Lord, please, he thought, let this work. Let the emperor reject this. Let him refuse.
Li Xian's eyes dropped to the ground again, heart pounding so hard he thought it might shake the floor. This was his final card, his last shield.
He thought: He will say no. No emperor will accept such conditions. He will refuse this marriage. And then—Silence stretched like a drawn bow.
Zhao Wei stared at Li Xian, anger and something more burning bright. This boy—this prince—had called him here not just to speak, but to test the limits of his pride in front of everyone.
Slowly, Zhao Wei exhaled and let his face smooth over into a calm mask.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of a sovereign used to having the last word.
"Your conditions are large, Prince Li Xian," he said, each syllable deliberate. "Very large."
The hall braced itself.
Then he continued, "But they are not so large that the Emperor of Liang is unable to fulfill them."
Gasps broke out openly now on both sides. Some Liang officials stared in disbelief; some Yan ministers almost sagged with relief.
Zhao Wei sat down fully, his fingers relaxing.
"I will accept both of your conditions."
Li Xian's eyes snapped up despite himself. He could not stop the slight widening of his gaze, the raw shock in his dark irises. Terror and disbelief flooded him.You… accepted?
His family looked subtly relieved—King Li Zhen's lips trembled with a mixture of pride and gratitude, Queen Lin Mei's eyes softened with tears she did not allow to fall.
But Han Shen's heart dropped like a stone. The faint hope he had dared to hold shattered in an instant. His fingers clenched at his sides.
Across from them all, Zhao Wei watched Li Xian closely, catching every flicker in his eyes, every small shift in his expression.
He rose then, the movement smooth and final.
"Liang does not break its word," he said coldly. "Since I, Zhao Wei, have spoken, the world will know that these conditions were accepted by the Emperor himself."
He stared down at Li Xian, who now looked at the floor again, lost and trembling inside.
Zhao Wei's lips curved into a slight smirk that only those nearest might catch.
"And once you are my husband," he added in the privacy of his own mind, though his eyes said enough, "you will learn that no condition can shield your heart from me."
Aloud, he merely inclined his head.
"The discussion is concluded. Prepare for the rites."
Everyone bowed as Zhao Wei turned to leave. The Liang attendants followed him out of the hall like a dark tide, their footsteps echoing behind him. Just before he crossed the threshold, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time at the still figure of Li Xian, seated and staring at the floor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
Then he disappeared beyond the screen.
The hall slowly emptied of Liang's presence, leaving Yan's side in a quiet, trembling aftermath.
Li Xian remained where he was for a long moment, his hands cold against his knees, his heart hollow.
He had played his last card.And still, the emperor had said yes.
----------
The hall had quieted, the echoes of Zhao Wei's departure still lingering in the carved wood and painted silk. Courtiers and servants retreated to whispers, leaving the royal family in a fragile stillness. King Li Zhen and Queen Lin Mei approached their son, the weight of many unspoken words heavy between them.
The king's steps were steady but slow as he reached Li Xian, eyes softening with fatherly pride.
"Xian," he began with a rare gentleness, "I have always been proud of you." His voice trembled slightly, a hint of emotion carefully restrained. "When you came to me asking permission to speak to the emperor, I feared for you, for what you might face. But seeing the courage and honor with which you presented your conditions—my heart no longer fears for your future."
Queen Lin Mei knelt beside her son, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her voice was a soft melody. "You have done exceedingly well, my child. The acceptance of your terms by the Emperor speaks volumes—not merely of his power but of his willingness to respect who you are."
Li Xian's gaze drifted to his parents, the bittersweet relief clear in their eyes. "You have won, Xian," his father repeated firmly. "Not through the battlefields' bloodshed, but through wisdom and fortitude."
A faint smile flickered across Li Xian's lips, yet his eyes betrayed another truth—one harbored deep within.
As the courtiers slowly filtered away, the once-bustling hall fell silent. Only Li Xian and his loyal bodyguard, Han Shen, remained.
Li Xian's eyes, now glistening with unshed tears, met Han Shen's steady, sympathetic gaze. "How can I tell my father I have not won?" His voice was a fragile whisper but carried the weight of his despair. "I have failed to stop this wedding. I have lost everything."
Han Shen's voice was thick with emotion as he stepped closer, the loyalty of years evident in his determined glare. "Your Highness, please do not let these tears fall. Though others may not stand with you, I will always be by your side in spirit—and flesh, if you wish. I will accompany you to your new home if you desire."
Li Xian shook his head, the pain evident on his face. "I could never ask that of you. It is my sacrifice, not yours."
Han Shen's expression was fierce yet tender. "I would have died outside those walls if not for you. You saved my life, and I owe you my every breath. I swear—I will never break my promise to you, Xian."
A single tear traced down his cheek, hastily brushed away lest his lord sees his vulnerability.The two embraced quietly, a silent vow amid the turmoil.
----------
The imperial procession had traveled for three full days along the ancient post roads, the rhythm of horse hooves and carriage wheels marking time like the steady beat of a war drum. Dust from the northern plains still clung to the banners of Liang, though now they rested at a grand yìdiàn—a government post station built in the Tang style, its courtyards wide and walled, stable blocks echoing with the snort of weary mounts. Lanterns of red paper glowed against the deepening dusk, casting long shadows over low wooden galleries where travelers exchanged relay horses and sealed missives.
In the private upper chamber reserved for the emperor, Zhao Wei sat cross-legged on a cushioned kang heated by a hidden brazier.
The air smelled of roasted chestnuts from the kitchens below, mingled with the faint tang of horse sweat and road dust. Before him lay a simple map of the realm, inked with post routes and tributary lines. At his side sat his uncle, General Zhao Kang, a grizzled commander whose armor bore the scars of a dozen campaigns, and Minister Gao Ren, whose sharp tongue had advised many a battlefield decision.
Minister Gao Ren broke the comfortable silence first, his brow furrowed beneath his official cap.
"Your Majesty, forgive my bluntness, but I must ask—what possessed you to accept such outrageous conditions from Prince Li Xian? You know well the implications of those demands. Why did you not refuse outright?"
Zhao Wei's gaze remained fixed on the flickering lantern flame, his voice serene as still water. "Because I am the emperor. And an emperor does as he wills, without needing counsel from any man."
He paused, letting the weight settle, then turned to face his uncle directly, eyes like polished obsidian. "But I will explain nonetheless, Uncle. The truth is this: had I refused Prince Li Xian's conditions, I would have ceased to be emperor in that moment—and become merely another ordinary man."
General Zhao Kang leaned forward, confusion etching his weathered face. "Your Majesty?"
"Listen closely," Zhao Wei continued, his tone unyielding as imperial edict. "If I had refused, Prince Li Xian would have achieved his true aim. Those conditions were no more than a pretext—a trap laid to force my refusal of the marriage itself. He would have walked away victorious, his pride intact, and Yan's defiance celebrated. I cannot allow that." Zhao Kang nodded slowly, beginning to understand. Gao Ren's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Zhao Wei's voice grew colder, his gaze shifting to the shadowed wall as if addressing the ancestors themselves.
"Moreover, had I refused, the world would mock me—the King of Kings, the Son of Heaven—unable to fulfill two simple requests from a mere prince. They would whisper that Liang's emperor bends not to swords, but cowers before the words of a boy. Prince Li Xian did not offer conditions; he sought to beg charity from me publicly. To refuse would have insulted Liang itself."
He turned fully to his uncle now, chin lifted in sovereign command. "By saying yes, I proved that no man—no prince—stands greater than I. I am the emperor. My will is law."Gao Ren bowed his head. "I understand your wisdom now, Your Majesty. But—"
Zhao Wei cut him off sharply. "Remember this, Uncle, and all of you: whatever I decree becomes the Mandate of Heaven itself. No condition from Prince Li Xian alters that. Once he is my husband, he will come when I summon, bow as I command, and learn his place beside the dragon throne."
A faint smirk curved his lips, eyes glinting with anticipation. "Uncle, when we reach Chang'an, I want Prince Li Xian welcomed with splendor unmatched in our histories—processions of a thousand silk banners, feasts for ten thousand souls, music from the greatest orchestras of the inner court. Let the world see how Liang honors its consorts."
General Zhao Kang's stern face cracked into a knowing smirk, the grizzled warrior approving of his nephew's cunning. "As you command, Nephew. It shall be done."
Zhao Wei rose smoothly, his dark robes whispering against the tatami mats. He strode to the latticed window overlooking the moonlit stables, where grooms brushed down the imperial relay horses. Without another word, he departed for his private chambers, leaving his advisors in thoughtful silence.
General Zhao Kang stared at the map for a long moment, then smiled to himself—a slow, predatory curve. The boy-prince had played a clever game. But the emperor had turned it into checkmate.
Outside, the post station lanterns swayed in the night wind, carrying the procession one step closer to a union sealed not by love, but by the unyielding will of empire.
----------
The inner chambers of the Yan palace glowed softly under the light of pear-wood lanterns, their flames dancing behind translucent silk screens painted with peonies and cranes—symbols of enduring prosperity and longevity. The air carried the faint, comforting scent of osmanthus incense from a nine-dragon burner, mingling with the subtle fragrance of Queen Lin Mei's jasmine-essence hair oils. Outside, the evening wind rustled the bamboo groves, a gentle reminder of the fleeting world beyond these walls.
Li Xian sat motionless on a low daybed cushioned with layers of embroidered satin, his gaze lost in the intricate patterns of a lapis lazuli screen. The weight of the day's events pressed upon him like the stone lions guarding the palace gates—unyielding, immovable. His ceremonial robes had been changed for simpler moon-white silk, but the invisible chains of fate felt heavier than any brocade.
The quiet slide of a cedar door announced his mother's arrival. Queen Lin Mei entered with the graceful poise of one who had navigated court intrigues for decades, her outer robe of deep indigo embroidered with silver phoenixes trailing softly behind her. She settled beside him on the daybed, close enough that her warmth bridged the chill in the air, yet her hands folded demurely in her lap as propriety demanded.
Li Xian felt her presence before he saw her. Slowly, he turned, emerging from his reverie. "Mother," he murmured, voice soft as falling plum blossoms.
Her eyes, lined with the subtle kohl of court ladies, held his with a tenderness that pierced deeper than any blade. So much lingered unspoken there—fears for his safety in Liang's dragon-haunted halls, regrets for the betrothal gifts long exchanged under the Six Rites, prayers to the ancestors that destiny might yet show mercy. But she was a queen, bound by the rites of the Liji, and thus she steadied her breath.
"I do not know how to prepare you for what lies ahead, Xian," she said, her voice cracking like fine porcelain under strain. "My child..."
She paused, composing herself with the discipline of one who had borne the weight of dynastic harmony. A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.
Li Xian's hand rose instinctively, his thumb brushing it away with exquisite gentleness, his own eyes shadowed with shared sorrow.
"Whenever doubt clouds your path," she continued, voice regaining its melodic strength, "remember your father's words. Destiny... Destiny always chooses its warriors. And it chooses those who do not flee from fate, but grasp it firmly and shape it to their will."
She placed her hand over his, the maternal bond transcending the rigid hierarchies of empire. "Your future in Liang will not be a bed of lotus flowers, Xian. Trials will come like winter gales over the Yellow River. Yet you must make it worthwhile—fulfill your duties there with the same unswerving loyalty you have shown Yan. Some run from the path of heaven's mandate; the Lord has placed you upon it. Run it with honor."
Her gaze searched his face, knowing his heart as only a mother could—the quiet valor, the hidden tempests. "My son," she whispered, drawing him into her embrace.
As their arms encircled one another, Queen Lin Mei's thoughts turned inward, a silent prayer to Guanyin, the goddess of mercy: May the heavens go gently on you, my jade lotus. May the dragon throne not crush what is pure.
In the flickering lantern light, mother and son held fast, two souls adrift in the vast river of imperial duty, bound by love amid the inexorable tide of empire.
----------
The night before the wedding rites hung heavy over Yan's capital like ink spilled across mulberry paper. Stars pierced the velvet sky above the tiled rooftops, their cold light glinting off the winding streets where lanterns swayed from bamboo poles, casting pools of amber on cobblestones worn smooth by generations of sedan chairs and ox carts. The air carried the mingled scents of street vendors' sesame-seed cakes cooling on wire racks, nights blooming jasmine from hidden courtyards, and the faint, acrid smoke of charcoal braziers where late workers huddled against the chill.
Prince Li Xian wandered these familiar lanes in plain scholar's robes of unadorned gray silk, his face half-shadowed by a wide bamboo hat. No one spared him a second glance; here, away from the palace's vermilion gates and dragon banners, he was just another young man seeking solace in the city's quiet pulse. His footsteps echoed softly, aimless at first, until they led him—unbidden—to the familiar glow of Lao Wang's noodle stall, tucked in a narrow alley off the eastern market. This was his secret refuge, visited weekly in disguise, where the steam of pork broth and hand-pulled lamian drowned out the weight of princely duty.
The shopkeeper, a weathered man with a face like carved walnut and hands scarred from decades at the boiling vats, spotted him immediately. "Young master! Welcome back," he called with a gap-toothed grin, wiping flour-dusted palms on his apron. "The usual? Beef lamian with extra scallions and that spiced vinegar you favor?"
Li Xian managed a faint nod, settling on a low wooden stool at the worn counter. Around him, patrons minded their own bowls—merchants tallying coppers, laborers sharing flasks of baijiu, a family of three huddled over steaming clay pots. Here, amid the clink of chopsticks and slurps of noodle soup, the world felt simple, unburdened by the Six Rites or the emperor's looming shadow. For a fleeting moment, calm settled over him like a worn quilt.
But his thoughts shattered the peace, swirling like the steam rising from his untouched bowl.
Tomorrow, the betrothal gifts will be exchanged anew. The hair-tying rite. The ancestral bows. Liang's banners will fly over Yan's halls...
A child's voice cut through his reverie, bright and innocent from the family table nearby. The girl, no more than five winters old, tugged at her mother's sleeve, her round face lit by lantern glow. "Mother, my friend said the prince is marrying the emperor tomorrow! Is it true?"
Her mother patted the child's head softly, exchanging a quick glance with her husband. "Yes, little lotus. It is true."
Li Xian froze, bowl halfway to his lips, heart stuttering. He strained to listen, half-hidden by the steam.
The girl tilted her head, braids swinging. "But... the emperor is a man, isn't he? Don't girls marry boys?"
The parents tensed, the father's hand pausing mid-reach for his chopsticks. Li Xian's breath caught, anticipation knotting his chest—what answer would they give this pure soul?
The mother smiled gently, voice steady as river stone. "His Highness is exceedingly handsome, my flower. Even a great emperor might wish to wed such grace."
Li Xian's eyes widened slightly, a flush creeping beneath his collar. He continued listening, unseen.
The child pondered, then piped up again. "But the emperor is our enemy! Why would the prince marry him?"
Her parents shared another glance, sorrow shadowing their faces. The father spoke this time, voice low and grave.
"That is precisely how His Highness has saved us all."
"Save us?" the girl echoed, eyes wide as lotus pods.
Her mother nodded. "Yes. By taking the emperor as spouse, he has spared our homes from fire, our fields from ruin."
"But how?" the child pressed, innocence unyielding.
The mother paused, then cupped her daughter's face. "The prince has done a deed worthy of legends—for you, for me, for every soul in Yan. We owe him our pride."
The girl beamed, misunderstanding but content. "Then everyone must be proud of the prince!" Her parents smiled softly, turning back to their meal.
Li Xian's throat tightened, torn between sorrow and a quiet glow of purpose. At least... I have given them this. His order arrived then—piping-hot lamian in a lacquered bowl, fragrant with star anise and ginger. "Thank you," he murmured politely to Lao Wang, eating mechanically, savoring the last tastes of home.
Bowl emptied, he rose and wandered deeper into the night, past fishmongers shuttering stalls, silk weavers extinguishing looms, families extinguishing hearth fires. He drank in the sights—the glow of oil-paper windows, the laughter of children chasing fireflies, the rhythmic creak of well buckets—as if etching Yan into his soul, knowing Liang's grandeur might eclipse it forever.
His steps slowed in a quiet grove near the city walls, where willows whispered secrets to the moon. Solitude enveloped him, broken only by his steady breaths and the weight of tomorrow.
A rustle in the shadows made him tense.
"Who goes there?" he commanded sharply, hand drifting toward the hidden dagger at his waist.
"Show yourself!"
Silence. He tapped his forehead in mild frustration, shaking his head. "Han Shen. Come out. I know it's you."
A beat later, his bodyguard emerged sheepishly from behind a gnarled persimmon tree, simple tunic blending with the night. "Your Highness," Han Shen said, averting his eyes. "I... was worried."
Li Xian sighed softly, gaze softening despite himself. Without a word, he resumed walking, the loyal shadow falling into step a pace behind—guardian, friend, constant through the gathering storm.
As the stars wheeled overhead, the prince and his shadow melted into the darkness, the eve of destiny drawing inexorably near.
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— End of Chapter 2 —