"Crimson threads bound eternal. Yet the vanished shade haunted, a riddle etched in wedding incense."
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The first blush of dawn crept through the latticed rosewood screens of Prince Li Xian's private chambers, gilding the air in hues of peach-blossom pink and pale gold. Auspicious red silk banners draped the rafters, embroidered with interlocking dragons and phoenixes-symbols of the Six Rites now inexorably binding Yan to Liang's imperial might. The hair-combing rite had concluded moments before; palace maids had withdrawn with trays of osmanthus oil and ivory combs, leaving scattered betrothal gifts upon the low ebony table: paired jade mandarin ducks for fidelity, lacquered boxes brimming with gold leaf and dragon pearls, and the weighty phoenix coronet awaiting the procession's clamor.
Li Xian stood before a polished bronze mirror, fingers tracing the crimson xiapei robe's phoenix embroidery, its gold threads catching the light like captive sunlight. The weight of ceremony pressed upon him, heavier than the brocade layers. His reflection gazed back-calm imperial jade, yet hollow within.
A soft rustle at the cedar door announced Han Shen's entry. The loyal bodyguard, clad in unadorned guard's tunic of deep indigo, moved with uncharacteristic hesitation, his steps faltering like a colt before thunder. He knelt briefly in salute, then rose, eyes darting to the floor, fingers twisting the silk sash at his waist.
Li Xian turned, sensing the tremor in the air like an ill wind before storm. "Shen," he said evenly, voice steady as river stone, "you carry words unspoken. Speak them."
Han Shen swallowed, throat bobbing, sweat beading faintly at his temple. "I... Your Highness, I..."
"Say it plainly," Li Xian urged, though a faint unease stirred beneath his composure.
The guard's voice emerged in a rush, low and strained. "Do you... wish to speak with her before the rites commence? Before Heaven seals this union eternal?"
Li Xian's face drained of color in an instant-shock etching his features like frost on plum blossoms. How could memory betray him so? Her-the shadow-vow of youth, the one pledged to flee Yan's gilded cage at his side, to wander free under endless skies. A promise forged in stolen moments, now crumbling beneath the emperor's decree. A faint pang twisted deep, sharp as hidden steel.
He rose abruptly from the daybed, mind whirling with ghosts of what-might-have-been-whispers of escape, laughter unbound by thrones-when the door whispered open once more.
Queen Lin Mei glided in, her movements fluid as willow in breeze, outer robe of silver-threaded azure trailing like mist. Her eyes, lined with subtle court kohl, held quiet command amid the gathering rite's inexorable tide.
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The grand hall of Yan's imperial palace thrummed with the pulse of destiny, its vermilion pillars soaring to coffered ceilings painted with coiling dragons pursuing flaming pearls amid auspicious clouds. Dawn's light streamed through vast latticed windows, illuminating the crimson carpet unrolled from the ancestral shrine to the nuptial dais-a path sanctified by the Six Rites, where firecrackers burst in staccato rhythm and guqin strings wove melodies of eternal union. Dignitaries filled the ranks: Yan ministers in flowing azure hanfu, Liang envoys in stark imperial black embroidered with silver claws, all kneeling in precise formation as braziers exhaled sandalwood incense toward Heaven's vault.
Prince Li Xian processed at the rite's heart, borne forward by thirty-two silk-clad bearers in a phoenix-litter veiled in dragon-phoenix brocade. His xiapei robes of layered crimson silk, heavy with gold phoenix embroidery and nine-tailed coronet, gleamed like captured sunset. The air hummed with ritual chants from white-robed Daoist priests, invoking harmony between yin and yang, empire and tributary.
First bow: to Heaven and Earth. Li Xian knelt before the altar, forehead touching the embroidered cushion as thunder-drums rolled, sealing cosmic witness.Second: to high heaven and imperial ancestors. Incense coiled from the nine-dragon burner, serpentine prayers ascending.
During the third bow-to parents and forebears-Li Xian's gaze swept the shadowed wings of the hall, custom demanding poise yet granting a breath's glance. There, amid veiled courtiers, a silhouette pierced him like a hidden arrow: cloaked in muted gray, form achingly familiar, stance evoking whispers of forgotten vows. Recognition jolted faint-a shock rippling beneath his ceremonial calm.
A herald's cry shattered the trance: "Fourth bow-to the noble spouse!"
Li Xian blinked; the figure dissolved into throng-shadow. Heart stuttering faintly, he sought Han Shen among the rear guards, their indigo tunics blending with pillars-yet averted his eyes, steeling against vulnerability's reveal.
Nuptial cups exchanged under priestly gaze, crossed arms sealing vows before the Mandate. Crimson threads bound eternal. Yet the vanished shade haunted, a riddle etched in wedding incense.
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Three days' journey had carved the wedding procession westward along the ancient post roads, where phoenix-litters borne by thirty-two crimson-clad bearers swayed amid relay banners and thundering hooves. The palanquin-draped in dragon-phoenix brocade, its silk curtains embroidered with paired mandarin ducks-led columns of Liang cavalry, dowry carts laden with Yan silks and jade, and gongs heralding the union under Heaven's rite. Dusk cloaked the Liao River plains as the vast encampment rose: felt tents ringed by braziers, relay horses snorting steam, stars wheeling above like indifferent ancestors.
In Zhao Wei's central pavilion, ringed by iron braziers exhaling pine resin, Minister Gao Ren knelt amid grizzled generals, their armor glinting like frost-lakes. "Your Majesty," he ventured, voice measured as court edict, "permit a humble request. The troops crave celebration-magicians with fire-silk tricks, feasts of roast lamb and rice wine. It honors your nuptials; the men rest well for the morrow's march."
Zhao Wei reclined on a brocade dais, fingers tracing a jade wine cup, eyes distant as imperial decree. After a measured pause, a faint smirk curved his lips. "Where resides Prince Li Xian? Whispers claim his voice rivals the dawn oriole-sweet as osmanthus nectar." He inclined his head; servants bowed low, hastening into the night with sealed missives.
Moments stretched taut as bowstring. Murmurs rippled among aides by the brazier: "None dare keep His Majesty waiting-least on this first bridal night, when vows bind eternal!"
Zhao Wei rose fluidly, approaching with eyes narrowed to obsidian slits. "More wisdom to share?" His tone carried winter's edge.
"Nay, Majesty," they stammered, kowtowing deeper. "The messenger tarries overlong."
He waved it aside, gaze drifting to the tent-flaps. "Delay matters naught. A worthy wait proves sweetest fruit." Turning away, he smiled-a rare glint warming the sovereign mask. Mirth echoed softly through the ranks, generals exchanging nods.
The messenger returned at last, robes dust-streaked, dropping to knees before the dais. "Apologies, Your Majesty, for the wait unworthy of your grace."
Zhao Wei's brow arched. "Speak."
"Prince Li Xian... refuses the summons."
"Refuses?" The word hung like drawn steel.
"He remains in his separate tent, erected by his own decree apart from yours, Majesty."
Silence fractured. Zhao Wei's expression darkened to gathering storm-jaw set like granite cliff. Without another word, he swept from the pavilion, outer robe trailing like thunderhead shadow, striding into the brazier-lit night toward the distant silhouette of Yan's isolated pavilion.
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Moonlight pierced the silk tent-flaps like silver daggers, gilding the low camp bed where Li Xian lay in exhausted repose. Brocade quilts of dragon-phoenix weave, scented with sandalwood and pomelo to ward bridal ill-fortune, draped his form; the rites' clamor had yielded to deep slumber, vows sealed yet heart unrested. A virgin boy's rite had blessed the bedding earlier, scattering jujubes and lotus seeds for heirs-customs observed even amid campaign tents.
A shadow stirred beyond the gauze inner curtain; fabric whispered like conspirators in night-wind. Half-sensed, Li Xian's hand glided beneath the bolster, fingers closing on the concealed pu dao-a soldier-prince's short blade of folded damascus steel, etched with Yan crane motifs, ever at hand against shadows of empire.
Eyes flaring open, he surged half-upright-tip grazing Zhao Wei's outstretched palm in the moon-glow. Crimson welled instant; the emperor seized the wrist with iron grip, hurling the weapon clattering into darkness.
Li Xian recoiled against the bedframe, terror flashing raw before recognition struck: Zhao Wei, looming at bed's right edge, eyes abyssal voids amid the prince's leftward turn. As Zhao Wei leaned closer, unyielding, Li Xian bent backward, spine arching toward quilts.
"I summoned you to parley," Zhao Wei murmured, voice deep as nether-realm thunder, gaze unreadable as oracle bones. "You spurned it. Know this: I am your husband by Heaven's rite. Your place kneels at my summons. Why so mute, my prince?"
Li Xian averted eyes, blinking rapid as caged sparrow-dread flickering faint beneath lashes.Zhao Wei pressed inexorably: "The san bai liu-three bows, six rites-bound you eternal. Vows before ancestors: heed your spouse, fulfill every connubial duty. Forgotten in bridal shadow?"
Li Xian's voice emerged calm as frozen mere, gaze sidelong. "All etched in memory. From this dawn, you claim husband's mantle." He met the obsidian stare squarely. "Yet you forget: I entered as equal consort. No rite grants servant's yoke over me, nor brute force. Not vows, nor Mandate, permit dragging me to feasts unbidden. True spousal honor yields to respect ere rights."
Zhao Wei's lips curved amused, blooming to genuine smile like lotus amid storm. "Masterful. You twist my grievance to verdict. Candidly-I relish that fear glazing your eyes. Uncertainty becomes you; let it root eternal." He rose fluid, glancing at bleeding palm, then back. "Next time, sheath the blade. Tremble not with me-I ward all perils from your path." Cunning smirk shadowed features. "Save one. None shields you from me." Echoing pause: "None." He swept into night, tent-flap falling like final edict.
Li Xian stared after, stunned-thoughts churning as blood-scent lingered.
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Moonlight bled silver across the encampment's fringes, where Liang's dragon banners hung limp in humid hush, as if wind itself bowed to the emperor's unrest. Zhao Wei emerged from Li Xian's tent like a specter unchained, low serpentine laughter trailing like forbidden incense. Guards and aides froze mid-whisper, faces paling beneath torch-glow; his uncle, General Zhao Kang, stepped forward with tiger-cautious tread, brow furrowed like Yellow River storm clouds.
"Your Majesty," Kang ventured, gravel voice anchoring unease, "the wound-summon healers? And that... mirth?"
Zhao Wei's gaze slid past, falcon-sharp, fixing the distant training ground. The cut throbbed venomously-Li Xian's desperate fang-crimson welled afresh, staining silk cuff like inked accusation. "Mirth?" Echo curled silken-mocking. "Nay, Uncle-vow's echo fulfilled. Leave me to blade's counsel; night claims its due."
Kang bowed, retreating wisely, murmuring to advisor Fang Xu: "Prince drew imperial blood, yet Majesty savors nectar from gods' cup. Six moons on Dragon Throne hone him razor's edge, but tonight... gods fathom his tempests alone."
The training ground sprawled forsaken under star-vault, packed earth scarred by drills, ringed by acacia ghosts whispering unborn battles. Zhao Wei shed outer robe disdainfully, brocaded dragon pooling slain at feet. Bare-chested, torso mapped in vengeance-scars-calligrapher's strokes from ash-clawed boyhood-he drew jian from lacquered scabbard. Blade keened free, air-cleaving wail thirsting retribution.
Forms flowed crane-grace in tempest: low sweeps humbling earth, high arcs smiting heaven. Wounded hand drummed insistent from marrow-memory, ten winters' frost unyielding. Seventh revolution-sword arcing phantom-throat-pain lanced true. World fractured; dust transmuted fetid border-mire, desperation monsoon-mist.
Twelve summers then: fledgling shadow from sacked halls, catastrophe yoke on narrow shoulders. Father's death-roar amid fray-"Flee, phoenixes! Seek Yan's Li Zhen; oath iron-forged!"-as hordes devoured ancestors. Mother silks rent rain-grief-sodden clutched him, Jian. Stolen mounts ghost-procession evaded wolf-packs; Jian-twenty, war-god burnished-led unbowed.
Yan's colossal gates mocked beggars' rags-no seal, no banner proclaiming truth. Sentinels' iron-lotuses barred: "No parley tokenless, phantoms. Dawn mercy if no enemy-spawn." Jian's pleas incense to deaf heavens-"Zhao blood! Crimson-oath pact; father perishes sans Yan aegis!"-portcullis swallowed dignity greedily. Zhao Wei clung brother's sleeve, hammering heart: Remember, old friend.
Dawn curdled despair. Bazaar labyrinth, lanterns hanged souls: belly clawed caged-tiger. "Gege," whimpered reed-fragile, "hunger devours like foes our halls." Jian softened breath-guardianship ache-then resolved steel. "Crate-shadow rest, kin. Sustenance procured. Winds thy cloak." Scarf-veil hid noble brow; lion-fleece vanished throng.
Eternal wait, tolling bells. Thunder-boots, guttural snarls: enemy scouts-"Zhao whelps skulk where?" Panic poisoned waves; vendors scattered.
Jian returned loaves-laden, warrior-stride. Recognition dawned-scarf slipped, jaw unmasked-doom uncoiled. Jian's eyes sought crate-gloom, locked wide-void: Nay, little brother—stir not. Live flame I cannot. Father. Blood. Avenge.. Blood. Avenge. Head-shake warlord-decree willed survival. Then-blur-fray; world narrowed eye-lock: love's command eternal, severed night's mercy.
Encampment vertigo-snapped: horse-sweat oiled-leather, not rot; chill-dew, not lash. Six throne-moons, ghosts hungered. Vermilion pavilion reclaimed jackal-usurpers' hearts bloodied; horde turned Yan-perfidy gates mocking doom.
You, Li Xian: prince's visage overlaid Jian's unbreaking stare, twisted insolence. Mercy-cradled wielded wedding-dagger. Father's oath chaff-storm; "honor" gate slammed dying. Wound libation brother-ghost. Kneel that shadow. Feel silence denied. No storm-sanctuary—not vows, thrones, dragon unslaked.
Guttural invocation sheathed jian-clink fate-seal. Horizon Yan-spires reckoning. Laughter stirred-not mirth, empires-thunder unborn. Dawn crept indifferent; emperor strode maw.
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Morning light slipped through the tent flaps, warming the low camp table where congee steamed in simple bowls beside mantou buns and pickled radish. Li Xian sat with Han Shen, telling him about the night, voice low and steady.
"I pulled the knife on him in the dark-didn't know it was him until his face was right there," Li Xian said, stirring his bowl. "It cut his hand before I could stop."
Han Shen stared, chopsticks frozen. "You did that? To the Emperor?"
Li Xian shrugged a little. "What was I supposed to do? It was dark-I thought it was danger."
A servant came in quick, bowing. "Breakfast is ready in the central pavilion, Your Highness."
He left. Han Shen leaned in, eyes worried. "What now? What's he going to do to you?"
Li Xian looked out at the Liang banners waving in the wind. "I don't know. He doesn't show his plans."
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The central pavilion bustled quietly under morning sun, low dining table set with steaming bowls of congee, mantou buns, pickled vegetables, and braised pork belly. Zhao Wei sat already at the head, bandaged right hand resting on the table edge, his dark robes simple for travel. Servants moved silently, pouring hot tea from clay pots.
Li Xian entered with Han Shen and a few attendants, head slightly lowered. Zhao Wei's eyes followed him steadily, unreadable, until Li Xian sat beside him. Li Xian kept his gaze down, avoiding the emperor.
Zhao Wei reached for food with his right hand-the wounded one-fumbling the chopsticks awkwardly. He switched to his left, struggling more, bits slipping back to the plate. An advisor opened his mouth to speak; Zhao Wei silenced him with a quick hand gesture.
Han Shen leaned close to Li Xian, whispering low. "Help him. It's your duty now."
Li Xian glanced at the bandaged hand. Guilt flickered faintly in his chest-he was the cause. After a pause, he picked up a piece of pork with his own chopsticks and slid it toward Zhao Wei's side, still not looking up.
Zhao Wei caught Li Xian's hand mid-air, guiding the chopsticks straight to his mouth. He ate directly from them, calm as if it were nothing.
Li Xian's eyes widened in shock. He finally looked up, saw Zhao Wei chewing peacefully, then dropped his gaze again, heart racing nervously.
"Why aren't you eating?" Zhao Wei asked after a moment, voice even.
Li Xian picked up food with the same chopsticks Zhao Wei had used, putting it in his mouth shakily. He chewed, nerves tight. Zhao Wei watched with a faint, amused smile.
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Li Xian sat quietly beside Han Shen in the tent corner, his mind a whirlwind of doubt and duty. They spoke softly of what had passed and what might come. Han Shen urged caution, suggesting Li Xian consider making amends with the emperor, but Li Xian shook his head slowly, blinking away lingering doubts to find resolve.
With a breath steadying his heart, Li Xian rose and stepped from the tent. The morning sun warmed the ground as he made his way toward the emperor's training field, where Zhao Wei practiced his sword forms despite the fresh wound on his hand.
Watching Zhao Wei move with fluid strength, Li Xian frowned slightly, knowing from his own soldier's knowledge that such exertion risked worsening the injury. Yet, before he could speak, Zhao Wei brushed aside the bandage, smirked, and continued.
Turning away, the emperor's confidence and quiet strength stirred something deep in Li Xian's heart.
Han Shen approached, quietly noting, "He waited for you to feed him himself. That was his way of testing you-making sure you stand as his equal."
Li Xian met Han Shen's gaze but said nothing, thoughts a turbulent sea beneath calm waters.
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- End of Chapter 3 -