The market slowly transformed as night deepened.
Lanterns were lit one by one, their glow spilling across narrow streets like scattered stars. The scent of food thickened—sweet pastries, roasted meats, warm wine. Laughter rose and fell, mingling with music.
Xin Ying stopped suddenly.
"Listen," she said.
From a nearby square came the sound of drums and flutes—light, lively. People gathered in a small open space where musicians played on a low wooden platform. Couples danced barefoot on the stone, sleeves fluttering, joy written openly on their faces.
Li Hua watched from the edge, transfixed.
"They look… free," she said quietly.
"They are," Xin Ying replied. "Just for tonight."
They moved closer.
A vendor passed by, offering skewers dusted with spice. Xin Ying bought two without thinking and handed one to Li Hua.
Li Hua laughed softly. "You keep feeding me."
"Because you forget to eat," Xin Ying said simply.
Li Hua took a bite—and smiled, unguarded.
Nearby, a stall displayed small trinkets—hairpins carved with flowers, bracelets of braided cord. Xin Ying picked one up, turning it thoughtfully.
"For luck," the vendor said.
Xin Ying glanced at Li Hua, then bought it.
She hesitated only a second before tying the bracelet gently around Li Hua's wrist.
Li Hua looked down at it, then back up at Xin Ying.
"…Thank you."
The music quickened. A dancer spun too close, laughing as she pulled a companion into the crowd.
Li Hua's gaze flicked to the shadows instinctively.
"The guards," she murmured.
Xin Ying followed her eyes—and smiled faintly.
"They're good," she said. "But not perfect."
Before Li Hua could ask what she meant, Xin Ying took her hand.
"This way."
They slipped down a narrow side street, then another—ducking beneath hanging cloth, weaving through people, laughter masking their steps. When they finally stopped, they were breathless, hidden beneath a flowering tree at the edge of the square.
For the first time that night—
They were alone.
Li Hua leaned lightly against the tree, catching her breath.
"We outran them," she said incredulously.
Xin Ying grinned. "I used to do that a lot."
Silence fell—not awkward, but charged.
Lantern light filtered through leaves, casting soft shadows across Li Hua's face. Without the crown, without the Palace, she looked younger. Vulnerable.
"Xin Ying," Li Hua said quietly, "if this night did not end… I think I would forget who I am."
Xin Ying stepped closer. "Then forget," she said gently. "Just for now."
Li Hua's breath hitched.
Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out—fingers brushing Xin Ying's sleeve.
"You make the world quieter," Li Hua whispered. "And that frightens me."
Xin Ying lifted her hand, stopping just short of Li Hua's cheek. "I would never ask you to abandon who you are."
Their eyes met.
"But if you choose me," Xin Ying continued, "I will stay. Even when the world is loud again."
Li Hua closed the distance.
Their foreheads touched first.
Warm. Steady.
Then Li Hua leaned in, pressing a soft, trembling kiss to Xin Ying's lips—brief, careful, as if afraid the moment might shatter.
Xin Ying kissed her back.
Slow.
Certain.
When they finally pulled away, Li Hua rested her forehead against Xin Ying's shoulder, eyes closed.
"Just tonight," she murmured.
"Just tonight," Xin Ying agreed.
Music drifted after them, laughter echoing faintly in the distance.
The Empress and her guard stood hidden beneath the lantern light—two women stealing a moment from history.
Unaware of how dearly the world would one day demand payment for it.