The city of Hǎilán (海蓝) - The Manor of His Excellency, Liángwáng (良王)
The languid morning sun brushed the surface of the small courtyard pond with its golden rays. The cool air was a delicate blend of damp stone and the heady fragrance of cherry blossoms. Like a polished mirror, the pond bore a cloud of fallen blooms upon its breast—a mirror that neither reflected the sky as it truly was, nor betrayed the secrets stirred within its depths.
Hàn Yuè (汉月) sat nestled in the dappled shade of the trees upon a stone bench. Her bare feet were drawn up against her chest, resting on the cold stone; a childlike posture that bore no resemblance to the poised dignity expected of a Governor's daughter. Her thin, pale green robe hung motionless about her. She held a sprig of blossom in her hand, plucking the petals one by one without count, surrendering them to the water's whim.
Each petal that met the surface sent out a faint ripple before vanishing into the silence. Her gaze followed those concentric circles, yet her mind wandered much further afield—beyond the high walls of Hǎilán and far from the chilling security of this tedious manor.
In that moment, the soft patter of footsteps approached from behind. Before Hàn Yuè could react, her handmaid skipped forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"My Lady, whatever are you brooding upon so deeply?"
Hàn Yuè started, her hand instinctively flying to her chest.
"Nothing! It is nothing... I am merely bored."
The handmaid let out a soft giggle, standing by the bench with eyes full of jest.
"My Lady... it has been months since you last stole out of the manor in secret!"
She punctuated her words with a knowing wink.
The colour drained from Hàn Yuè's face. She lunged forward in a fluster, pressing a finger to her lips.
"Hush! Do not speak so loudly. Do you wish for my head? If anyone should overhear..."
The handmaid lowered her voice, though her tone grew more intimate.
"Be at ease, My Lady; I have served you for many a year and I know your heart well."
She paused, her smile hovering between a tease and a comfort.
"The longing is quite stifling, isn't it?"
Hàn Yuè averted her gaze, looking back toward the pond and the blossoms trembling together upon the water. She let out a faint sigh.
"It has been so long since I last saw him..."
Her voice was so low it seemed she was whispering only to the water.
"Is he truly so preoccupied?"
The handmaid arched a brow, her voice taking on a theatrical flair.
"Well... handsome noblemen always have many devoted admirers. Perhaps he has found another companion and …!"
Before the sentence was finished, Hàn Yuè spun round and gave her arm a sharp thump with a clenched fist.
"Hmph! Such talk does not suit you at all!"
She knitted her brows in a feigned scowl to hide the tremor in her voice. Retreating with a laugh, the handmaid added,
"I was only jesting, My Lady. Forgive my impudence."
But Hàn Yuè did not return the smile. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the manor's towering walls met the sky. With an odd, firm certainty, she murmured,
"He would never trade me for another."
A brief silence fell between them. Even the birds grew still. The handmaid, knowing that tone of resolve all too well, said no more, watching her mistress in the quiet.
In that moment, the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots suddenly echoed across the courtyard flagstones. Liángwáng appeared, his stature imposing and his black robes billowing like a dark omen in the gentle breeze. A retinue of attendants followed in his wake, their heads bowed in practiced submission.
Hàn Yuè rose hastily from the bench. She and her handmaid performed a simultaneous bow of respect. Attempting to reclaim her scattered poise, Hàn Yuè asked softly :
"Father, are you departing for somewhere?"
Liángwáng paused. His piercing eyes rested upon his daughter for a fleeting second, but no emotion escaped from behind that frigid mask. He spoke in a low, measured baritone.
"I am going to see Lady Shīyí (诗仪). She has finally regained consciousness."
Hàn Yuè's eyes flashed with a spark of concern.
"I shall accompany you." She said.
Without turning his gaze, Liángwáng spoke with a finality that brooked no dissent.
"No. The presence of anyone else will not be necessary."
Hàn Yuè felt frozen in time. She had not expected such blunt coldness. Bowing once more, she murmured :
"As you wish, Father."
Inside the chamber, a palpable silence reigned. The acrid scent of medicinal herbs mingled with the bitter fragrance of sandalwood, weighing heavily upon the air. Lady Shīyí lay amidst the vast wooden bedstead, shrouded by thin silk curtains. Her long, black hair spread across the white linens like streaks of midnight, and all color had fled from her face. Her lips were parched from exhaustion.
At Liángwáng's entrance, she leveraged the nurse's aid to pull her frail body upright, leaning against the headboard.
Liángwáng approached, inquiring after her health with a tone that bore the scent of formal respect. Shīyí replied in a raspy, weakened voice,
"I am... better. I thank you, Your Excellency, for saving my life."
For several seconds, a heavy silence filled the room. The cold, analytical eyes of Liángwáng locked with the trembling yet perceptive gaze of the Seer. With a sharp gesture, Liángwáng dismissed the attendants. When the last soul had departed, he took a seat upon a wooden stool beside the bed.
Shīyí spoke with a shuddering breath.
"Two years ago, when you sheltered me in this manor, you asked of my prophecy. I revealed to you then what destiny had ordained."
Liángwáng nodded in grim affirmation.
"And do you still stand by your word?"
Shīyí paused. A tremor ran through her voice—born of terror, not weakness.
"Now, I can say it with even greater certainty."
She offered a faint, ghostly smile.
"Your Excellency... you possess a great and salvific soul."
Then, the smile vanished, and she stared into the distant void, as if still witnessing visions beyond the grasp of ordinary eyes.
"I saw him! He has been unleashed. He has returned to ensure the Sacred Stone does not perish."
She turned her gaze toward Liángwáng with mounting dread.
"Your Excellency, you are making a mistake. You cannot wage war against your own fate."
With a shrewd look that seemed to peer into the distant reaches of history, Liángwáng replied,
"The fate you speak of would see my nation destroyed. With the knowledge of what lies ahead, I shall make a choice that is both wiser and more calculated."
Shīyí closed her eyes. A bead of sweat glistened upon her brow, and she shook her head in sorrow.
"You are merely fleeing from the confrontation with your destiny."
A deep furrow etched itself into Liángwáng's forehead. He rose abruptly, clasping his hands behind his back.
"You may call it what you wish," he said coldly. "Be it fear, or be it providence."
He turned his back to her and strode toward the exit.
"Your Excellency!" Shīyí's voice halted him at the threshold. Liángwáng remained still, his back toward her. With every shred of strength left in her throat, she cried :
"The safest path is not always the right one!"
He remained still, his back toward her. For a fleeting heartbeat, his broad shoulders tensed, and the iron grip he held on his own hands behind his back loosened. A shadow of a doubt flickered in his eyes. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
But then, his jaw tightened. In a hollow, soulless voice, he said,
"I wish you a swift recovery."
With heavy footsteps, he departed, leaving the room submerged in the darkness of unspoken words.