Chapter 18
Bai Qian~
There are fates far worse than finding oneself amid a lively celebration at a breathtaking mountain-top school, surrounded by cherished loved ones and with an abundance of wine flowing endlessly.
For example, I might be relentlessly stalked by an unstoppable, tireless, formidable beast. I could be engulfed in flames, burning until nothing remains but ash, or I might be in the throes of a lethal heart attack. Strangely, though, everything I have just described seems to be happening to me at this very moment.
Tonight, he is Shifu, and I am Seventeen. He stoically sits cross-legged on a wooden platform, elevated several feet above us, a wise sage presiding over a gathering of disciples. Below, we rambunctious students gather around an expansive banquet table, our animated chatter filling the air with bursts of laughter and the melodic clinking of glasses and endless toasts.
From his elevated vantage point at the head of the long, polished wooden table, Shifu watches over us with the warmth and pride akin to that of a father observing his beloved children. His gaze lingers on Senior Brother Die Feng, his longest devoted disciple, who sits with cheeks flushed from drink and tongue tied from the unsolicited and suggestive marital advice being whispered into his ears from the master of romance, Zhe Yan and father of soon to be five, Zi Lan.
Next, Shifu’s gaze, deep and knowing as aged pools reflecting candlelights, settles on Zi Lan, whose time as a student pales beside Die Feng’s, yet who holds a son’s place in Shifu’s heart nevertheless. Each person around the banquet table is like a child to him—except me.
The change is palpable—a not-so-subtle pressure, a shift in the atmosphere’s very temperature. I have become, or perhaps always was, something different, a separate entity in his eyes. The smoldering intensity in his gaze, a slow burn, a silent, searing heat, leaves no room for doubt. His desire, thick and tangible even unabashed, hangs unspoken between us.
A slight smirk crosses his lips as I fidget with my hair, tousling it around, trying to hide the stubbornly set bite mark he left. His gaze is a hawk’s focus, unwavering and precise, locking onto me amidst the boisterous gathering. Subtle lifts of his eyebrow hints at his keen interest in my every action.
Mo Yuan, the formable stalking beast, knows I’ve had too much wine.
“It’s good wine. A little is fine, but excess is bad for your health.”
I can practically hear him in my head. It wouldn’t surprise me if he knew precisely how many glasses I’ve had. He has surely taken notice and isn’t pleased when my dear disciple brothers’ pats and hugs are too touchy-feely, overly affectionate from intoxicated states. He is probably keeping some strange tally in his head. For a stoic and composed man like him, putting his jealousy out in the open is making my entire body feel overheated like I’m burning alive.
Behind my relaxed facade, my heart races with intense anxiety, each beat pounding as if trying to break free from my chest. I’m panic stricken he might act unpredictably, just like he did the last time, though in this setting he wouldn’t dare. He has an image to uphold, but it’s not knowing. The teetering on edge. The uncertainty is what makes me feel like I’m about to have a heart attack, with a chaotic swarm of ten thousand agitated bees buzzing feverishly in my stomach, as if the hive is under attack.
“Seventeen, I’m winning. Beat you yet again. I am having my fifth child, while you’re still stuck at four. You better hurry and have another before you become too old unless it’s already too late for you.” Zi Lan is so smug, just as smug as the day he became my senior by mere seconds. When will this endless competition between us finally end?
I pull Changchang close, hugging her tightly. As I caress her soft, alcohol-flushed cheek, I declare confidently, “Quality over quantity.” I plant a kiss on her head, inhaling her delightful scent. “Look at my lovely daughter. She’s perfect. Just like her, I have three more who are equally perfect. Mother did well, didn’t I, daughter?”
“Xiao Wu don’t expect an answer from Changchang,” Crossing his elbow over one bent knee, the silk on silk rustling against his skin, Zhe Yan murmurs, “your rosy-cheeked darling is already asleep. You should put her to bed.”
====
It was easier when my daughter was little. Now, she was taller than me, being a tangle of arms and legs and endless hair. She fought me groggily as I changed her clothes. Or tried. “Stay still,” I said, her long limbs flailing in sleepy and intoxicated rebellion. “Let me take off your shoes.”
Changchang tittered in tipsy glee, kicking her feet to and fro, making it harder in her drunken state, just like when she was small and fussy. I resorted to the same trick I used back then, giving in to the inevitable solution: Magic. Suddenly, my daughter was in her night dress, top knotted hair down, glaring at me with a childish pout to her lips accusingly.
“You cheated, mother. You always cheat.” Her index finger wobbled as she accused me and then collapsed onto her bed. Her hands reaching out pleading, her voice was a whisper. “Come lie with me,” she insisted, “until I fall asleep.” She presented me with an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
The bed was smaller than I recalled. She used my arm as a pillow, burying her face into my chest between the fall of my breasts like she did when she was little. All that’s missing was her reaching for my breasts. I listened to her slow, deep breaths. It began to sound like an ocean, waves crashing in and pulling out again. Her body twitched slightly with each exhalation.
I’ve laid in this bed with her countless times, but I feel as if I’m seeing everything anew. This room, once a nursery for newborns and later a suite for their growing years, had felt like a prison to me in the past. Back then, all I could focus on was getting the girls away from this place and Mo Yuan. I was convinced it was dangerous, fearing he might harm them once he discovered the truth about their birth.
How could I have ever worried he might hurt them? These were the children he longed for, yet I couldn’t provide, so he showered all his love and attention on them, including Yingpei. I had been blind to this until recently.
Perspective changed everything.
Now, I saw how every corner of the room was touched by Mo Yuan’s meticulous efforts, his silent quest for redemption for mistakes, efforts that had once been invisible to me.
The expansive room stood in stark contrast to the other austere chambers scattered across Kunlun Mountain, adorned only with the finest furnishings. Nothing but the best filled this space. There wasn’t a bedchamber in the Nine Heavens that could rival its splendor.
The rich yellow silk walls, shimmering under the soft light, were alive with butterflies—azure, emerald, ruby—their painted wings seemingly about to take flight. Reverence was deserved for the items in this room. Unique art pieces that spurred lore and legends are set beside dolls and other childish things. He had decorated this room with all his cherished collections acquired over his long life, alongside his most precious treasures—the girls.
The arrangement was a perfect symmetry, an intentional design with pairs of everything: Two rosewood beds with crane, lotus, and mist carvings faintly fragrant with aged wood were draped in plush, cream-colored comforters. Ivory veils, the weight of silk and a gentle caress, drifted over the beds, their beige and gold hues whispering opulence under the soft glow of the room.
Changchang’s vanity held toiletries and makeup, Yinger’s, elixirs and potions; both elegant, their mirrored surfaces had caught the light. Two generous wardrobes of dark, polished wood, smelling faintly of cedar, overflowed with clothes—a vibrant contrast that differed from other twins’ who usually dressed in matching outfits.
Two solid desks where Changchang wrote unsent love letters and Ying’er lost herself with her nose buried in one of her many books.Everything reflects itself in this tranquil space, yet this was Mo Yuan’s way of encouraging the twins to cultivate their own individuality, which they did within this home on top of mountain peaks.
A slight change in posture caused her eyes to flutter and open halfway. She murmured almost unintelligibly, “Mother, please never leave us again.”
“I promise.” My lips brushed softly against her forehead, greeted by the wine-warmed smoothness of her skin. The whispered assurance, “Never. I’m never leaving you or your siblings again.” I hummed the same gentle lullaby I had when she was young, soothing her back into the embrace of sleep as I precariously hung off the edge of the bed.
Only when her breathing settled into a slow, rhythmic pattern and a faint snore gently broke the silence did I carefully disentangle myself from her embrace. I tiptoed across the room and a familiar sense of déjà vu swept over me like a tide as I one by one extinguished the flickering candles, their flames dancing briefly before succumbing to the darkness that gradually enveloped the room.
Warm, honey-colored light spilled under and through the slightly ajar door, stretching shadows across the cool, painted walls. Shivering, I hugged myself and stared out the bay window. My breath fogged the glass as I gazed at the inky blackness, pricked with a million diamond-like stars. My reflection stared back, then I saw him behind me, silent as always, his presence a weight in the still air.
A piercing, icy memory of the past impaled me: That’s exactly how he must have looked when we left him for Ye Hua. He had stood here, solitary and forsaken, as I escaped with the girls, leaving him in the shadow of our absence. A tsunami of guilt crashed over me, leaving a rancid bitterness in my mouth, yet the desperate words of apology lodged in my throat and caged in my mouth, refusing to emerge since we both committed deplorable mistakes.
“I remember when you built the window so I would have somewhere to sit while nursing the girls,” I sighed, my breath fogging the cold glass before me. The thickness of intoxication and nostalgia swirled in my mind, each turn of thought spinning me faster, inciting my inner voice to become my outer voice. “Do you remember how little they used to be? Doesn’t it all feel like just yesterday?” I couldn’t tell if I was expressing a lament, a joy, or a confusion. Maybe all three at once.
The reflection in the window changed as he moves. Contours shifted like shadows in the dim light, transforming as he steps toward and behind me, his presence a silent whisper until his arms enveloped my waist. What began as a faint outline of his figure becomes a living embrace, wrapping around me with a comforting familiarity. We fitted together like a well-worn garment, our bodies merging into a single silhouette on the other side of the glass.
I felt his chin resting gently on my shoulder. “I remember when they first started walking,” he breathed, a tender murmur that vibrated against my collarbone. His voice was rich with nostalgia, each word loaded with memories that made my heart both ache and falter skipping beats equally.
I didn’t need to turn to him to know that sadness clouded his thoughtful, faraway eyes, the deep brown now dulled, mirroring the twilight sky outside. The familiar weight of our complicated past pressed down, a heavy, suffocating fabric woven with regrets and mistakes by the hands of fate—each thread a moment in time. Where would I even begin to untangle this mess that was us? The question felt heavy on my tongue, yet here I was, considering it. It must be the wine.
“When they were crawling,” he continued, each word a stitch in our shared story, “I always worried about their little knees bruising. I couldn’t wait for them to start walking, and then they did—but they ran everywhere, and I found myself wishing they were just crawling again.”
His sigh was audible, a soft exhalation that carried the weight of his sentiments. I closed my eyes, absorbing the familiar sound of this lament—a lament haunted by the times when his body was not his own, when Xuan Nu possessed him and filled our lives with chaos and devastation.
Gently, I placed my hands over his, our fingers weaving together in a reassuring squeeze. I knew that he needed this touch, this simple act of connection that said more than words ever could. “You were a wonderful father to the girls,” I reassured, though I could feel the tension still there, lingering beneath the surface. “And… it wasn’t all terrible. It never was. It couldn’t have been. Look at the children now. They are brilliant and healthy. Look at us celebrating together when we shouldn’t be.”
Mo Yuan’s response was immediate, each word dripping with the guilt he had carried so long he didn’t know how to live without it. “I shouldn’t have been their father at all,” he whispered, his voice coated with layers of self-reproach. “I stole my brother’s children… and wife, but thank you for making me sound less sinister than I was.”
I couldn’t argue with the facts that had haunted him, so I didn’t, but I knew better than anyone else the truth was more complicated than a string of events. “You shouldn’t do this to yourself anymore,” I insisted. “Blame yourself, I mean. You were possessed. The things that happened were out of your control.”
His mustache brushed softly against my cheek with his kiss, bringing a playful breath of warmth that tickles my skin. His words were lighthearted, but they carried so much of what we were to each other. “I’m still possessed,” he said, his tone laced with affectionate flirtation so genuine it made my heart not falter but stop altogether. “But this time by a cruel seductress who pushes my buttons and shatters my control.”
Incredulously, a single forced scoff, “Ha,” escaped my lips. Who is this intriguer calling a seductress? “You’re one to talk. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this new side of you. You’re so different now. Was it the trial? What exactly happened during your mortal trial? Tell me. What happened after Yueli died and tell me about the children?”
Mo Yuan~
What cataclysm reshaped me? I’ve heard that question often. Many assume it was my trial—and they’re right. How could any man remain unchanged after sipping the true bitterness of existence, its foul taste of ash and wormwood lodging in his conscience? He couldn’t be as before ever.
The deaths of my beloved Empress Yueli and my dear brother Jinghua shattered me. Even knowing their spirits were freed from mortal flesh, even accepting the impermanence of the trial and believing they were together, I felt myself crack and that sorrow never went away. I believed no torture could surpass laying them to rest—until I tasted a deeper, crueller grief: burying my own children.
My life revolved around first Prince Haoyu. He was pure light, shining like dawn’s first light in the palace; his laughter spilled warmth across corridors. But on the night his mother died, shadows crept into his boyish heart. Grief eclipsed his spirit, and at fourteen he chose death’s finality—stringing himself from a beam in his mother’s palace. Unlike his parents whom I buried in their tombs, Haoyu, I buried him forever in the hollow of my heart.
After Haoyu’s death, came the coronation of second prince Crown Prince Haoqiang—the older of the twins. With him, who was like Haoyu in temperament and heart I had a sense of hope until he passed away mysteriously at twenty-two and he too, I buried in my heart and with his death I learned just how human even a god like me could be.
When I learned Haoqiang was killed by his younger twin Haotian for the throne and his sister-in-law who was with child and waiting until childbirth to follow her husband into death. I ignored the cries and appeals. I turned a blind eye to the blood that flowed like dark wine through the halls of our dynasty because I loved my son and I believed he could change. I even considered his ways were purely to show me my sins. He brought me faced to face with my own demons
Memory of my own sins—creating and taking pleasure in Ye Hua’s pain. Abducting his wife and children—haunted me. I grew white haired and frail in three years. Night after night I howled to Si Ming, begging an end to this trial. I’d paid my price. The trial had been decided. I rejoiced Bai Qian’s return to Ye Hua. But fate’s cruelty stretched thirty more years before me, forcing me to witness my third son Haotian’s rampage as he tore apart everything I’d built.
All the virtues of my reign, every glimmer of hope, Yueli’s schools were razed by that deranged beast. Perhaps his madness was seeded in his violent birth—welcome to the world by his mother’s last gasp, baptized in her blood, and that caused his bloodlust. He murdered every sibling. His sisters posed no threat, but he killed them, driven by suspicion like a rabid dog. After his sisters, it was his cousins, uncles, nieces and nephews, anyone who could challenge his seat until there was only one male left. My five year old great grandson, a bastard child who knew nothing of his bloodline, was the only one left of my reign.
This child, a mirror image of Haoyu, sparked a dying ember of hope—a fragile flicker like a fading star in the inky dawn. The chilling news reached my third son, igniting a murderous plan. I, the creator of this roaming madness in the guise of a man, felt duty’s chilly hand. The scent of the jasmine tea couldn’t mask the metallic tang of the blade as I ended my son’s life during the morning’s hushed greetings. My choked apologies and ragged sobs were his final sounds—the rasping, shuddering sigh of Haotian’s last breath severed the last thread of my humanity, leaving only an empty, hollow shell.
That night I cursed the heavens and Si Ming alike. I’d lost everything. Far too much. What more could I learn from this trial? When would this torment end? Foolish pride: I was punished yet again—ten more years of agony, pain deeper than any blade could carve. When I finally died, alone and childless, I was weary, but I felt utter peace. Death would carry me home.
Home awaited. There I would atone and kneel before my brother and her to beg their forgiveness. But destiny struck again: my beloved Shi qi was no more. She had died by choice with the demon who possessed me in my seclusion cave of all places. When my soul splintered anew for the second time in my life, I made a promise. Each fragment was a vow: if fate reunited us, I would never hurt her again. I would spend lifetimes making her happy in whatever capacity even if she was my sister-in-law, but when Ye Hua remarried, I recognized things could be different.
While some believed Bai Lianhua to be her reincarnation, I and others knew better. That submissive girl could never be my beloved, so I waited for her as she had waited for me. She was more thoughtful than me. She shortened my wait by twenty thousand years.
“My trial was a revelation. Being married to you and having children with you was everything good and wonderful.” I murmured as she nestled against me, her warmth a balm to my ragged spirit unbeknownst to her.
“You would have been so proud. I was fortunate to witness all our children flourish. They were loyal and loved each other. I’m sure they lived much longer after me. I was surrounded by them, and all their spouses and children. Too many to recall. Our Haoyu, Emperor Haoyu held my hand when I died.” I lied.
She sighed into my shoulder, relief softening her features. “That comforts me. Our Haoyu became emperor, after all.” I hear the pride in her voice even when she whispered the words like a sigh of relief on the warm, still air, a faint scent of wine clinging to them. “But it still doesn’t fully explain…what truly changed you into this…” her voice barely a rustle, a soft tremor in the quiet.
Before I could answer, Zhe Yan’s voice sliced through the quiet like a drawn sword. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said from the doorway, eyes shadowed with urgency. “Ye Hua summons us all to the Nine Heavens. It appears our Ying’er’s trial was supposed to end six weeks ago, and she has vanished.”
Second Phoenix Princess An Lan~
The jewel of fire was an exquisite golden hairpin, a masterpiece adorned with two thousand tiny fire rubies that formed its long, elegant, feathered tip. It was a magnificent, one-of-a-kind piece, a treasured heirloom from her late mother’s dowry.
The Empress Mother had bestowed it upon her elder sister, Lian Xu, on the day of her marriage. The Second Phoenix Princess, An Lan, had always assumed that her jiejie would pass it down to her on her own wedding day. To see this heirloom—one An Lan had only glimpsed a few rare times, as her sister deemed it too precious for regular use—bestowed upon a mere mortal girl was utterly infuriating.
Who was this girl who had so thoroughly captivated her father, her sister, Ruilin, and the servants?
The stories about her saving Ruilin and her young nephew, Prince Jing’er, seemed too cliché. It wouldn’t have shocked An Lian if the mortal intentionally coaxed little Jing’er in the lake to gain merits she didn’t deserve. This would have been child’s play, literally. Little Jing’er was going through the stage where he didn’t want to be a Phoenix who couldn’t swim, but a swan.
“Lady Yi Nuo, you’ve returned!”
An Lan spun, her dark eyes narrowing as she watched Lue Lue’s bright smile crumble, the change as swift and silent as a falling stone, her face deflating like a punctured balloon.
“Oh, I guess seeing me doesn’t make you as happy,” An Lan said, her voice a brittle whisper, edged with the sharpness of a blade. She snatched the jeweled hairpin from the vanity, its cool metal a stark contrast against her warm skin, her fingers tightening possessively around it.
Lue Lue quickly covered her mouth, halting the words she was about to say, as if her mouth and tongue had a will of their own that her hands were needed. Her cheeks turned red with a blend of embarrassment and anxiety, while her body emitted a bioluminescent glow because of her anxiety. She spoke while nervously wringing her hands and fidgeting, her eyes cast downward.
“Second Princess, you’ve returned. Did you enjoy the hot springs and respite on the Sacred Mountains?” Lue Lue asked. Proper yet, her words were distant, dripping with feigned politeness.
It was as if An Lan’s presence was an intrusion, an unwelcome disruption to Lue Lue’s newfound allegiance to her new mistress. She could feel the tension in the air, the way Lue Lue seemed too eager for her departure so she could restore the room to its new order. By tidying up, she meant placing the hairpin back where it was, as if its new owner had any right to it.
“Where’s the mortal? Where did she go? I’d like to meet her.” She asked.
She was quiet for so long. An Lan thought she was disregarding her. When Lue Lue finally spoke, her eyes were blurred from unshed tears. “Lady Yi Nuo has left.” Lue Lue’s lips quivered on the verge of crying, “I thought perhaps she might have returned to say goodbye and to take her belongings. She left everything behind but the clothes she came in. She took nothing else.” Again the firefly spirit’s gaze flickered on the hairpin in An Lan’s hand.
What a bizarre notion it was for Lue Lue to cherish the stranger so. An Lan’s mouth tasted bitter, her emotions boiling up as she thought about the mortal, Lady Yi Nuo, and the splendid possessions she had been given. Her chest constricted as she spoke, each word laced with barely contained disdain. What right did a mere mortal have to indulge in luxuries she had no claim to? She had none.
“At least the girl wasn’t shameless and had the decency to reject what wasn’t hers to take. You must forget her. Soon you will be at the service of Ruilin’s princess consort, Princess Changying. Keep your loyalties clear and unambiguous.” When An Lan shoved the hairpin into her pocket with a defiant thrust, Lue Lue reached out a trembling hand, “But Princess, that hairpin belongs to…”
A sharp flash, a fierce glare fixated on her, Lan’s eyes blazing with an unspoken warning that cut her off mid-sentence. The words caught in Lue Lue’s throat, her protests smothered by the sheer intensity of her gaze. She recoiled, silenced and immobilized, as An Lan swept out of the bedchamber without a backward glance, muttering curses at Ruilin under her breath.
Only you would bring a mortal into the room intended for your princess.
It was typical of him to bring home riffraff and treat them like royalty while leaving genuine visitors unattended. Ahead in the courtyard, two tall men stood with their backs to An Lan.
Judging by the dignified clothing and immortal aura that surrounds them, they were highly distinguished figures. The almost imperceptible sound of her shoe against the floor caused one to speedily glance over his shoulder and turn to face her. His stern expression was one of a stone and his green eyes narrowing on her face made her tremble and her mouth went dry.
Present were horrifying Ice Crown Prince A-li and his brother Monarch Yingpei.
Crown Prince A-Li~
I know girls like Princess An Lan well. Cute and from a powerful family. She is nothing but a drop in the ocean. There are thousands of girls just like her, for she is like the others, yet thinks herself greater than she is. She’s one of those spoiled youngest brats who enjoys berating and pushing others down to feel better about themselves.
“Second Princess An Lan greets Crown Prince and Monarch of Qingqui.” She bows. The fluttering of her lashes, trying to make herself look cute and demure while sneaking peeks at me and Yingpei is typical. Predictable.
Folding my arms, I silently watch. The thick brocade of my sleeves rubs against my skin. Then Yingpei bursts in, a whirlwind of movement and energy as the sunlight catches the gloss of his hair. His voice, a warm baritone, “Aya, Princess An Lan, please rise,” breaks the quiet.
His deep brown eyes, soft as velvet, widen with concern as his hand, gentle against her skin, tenderly lifts her to her feet. Hos touch brings on a twin blush, like pansies in springtime, bloomed on her cheeks—a vibrant crimson wildfire licking up her neck and face.
Yingpei has done it again. He has yet to grasp the magnitude of his charms. She might as well be looking up at the stars, gazing at him with adoration, lingering before speaking.
My patience thins.
Finally, she finds her voice. “I don’t know where my brother is, but would you join me for tea in the main reception hall?”
“We’re not here for Ruilin or tea.” I state abruptly, leaving no room for misunderstandings, causing her eyes to flicker open widely. Her expression is one of pure intimidation: “I came to speak to you and Princess Lian Xu. We are aware some princess’s make it a sport to bully and harass their sister-in-laws. I’m here to clarify that can’t and won’t happen to Ying’er or else…” I let it hang tensely, just so she’s clear on where the pecking order is, and more importantly, where her neck is…. precariously on my cutting board.
My words are impactful and immediate. At least she has some sense. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. I see them in her trembling pupils. Yingpei interrupts me, grinning ear to ear as a disarming smile takes over his face. He has toned down his voice the way he does when he speaks to our younger siblings. “What my brother means is, we as brothers are concerned and want to ensure our sister is in the most hospitable environment that will be conducive to her peace of mind and happiness.”
“That’s not what I meant, Yingpei.” I snap.
My eyes narrow and my jaw tenses at the thought of letting Ying’er go sooner than I wanted and hoped. The four of us, Ying’er, Changchang, Yingpei and I have a sibling bond that others can’t and don’t understand.
”If you take it as a threat, then so be it.” I state. Her eyes widen as the warning of retaliation sinks in, and her face goes pale as she realizes I’m not one who bluffs, and my threats are the threatiest. “If you or anyone else makes our sister upset, uncomfortable…” I lean forward. “Any word that starts with “Un.” Remember Ying’er is an Imperial princess. In her royal veins runs the blood from the creator of all things, protected and backed by the Celestials, Foxes, Kunlun, Zhe Yan. She has over forty uncles but of everyone I’m the one you should fear most. I have no qualms about turning your Phoenix realm into a chicken roast. Are we clear?”
Her terrified nod is a delicate tremor, a subtle quiver that speaks volumes without uttering a single word. Her skin, as pale and smooth as polished rice, now appears almost translucent, ghostly in its absence of the rosy hue that had graced it just moments before. Despite her outward appearance of fragility and submissiveness, this is the intricate game that females like her often play, concealing a hidden fortitude of cunning beneath the genteel façade they present to the world.
“Crown Prince, an urgent message from the Skylord requesting you and Second Prince return to Nine Heavens,” my assistant murmurs with a sense of urgency, his voice just loud enough for Yingpei and me to hear.
While I walk away, I hear Yingpei lingering behind me and engaging in some time, wasting small talk, “Princess An Lan, my brother is well…”l… we cherish our sister. I ask for your understanding and I hope you won’t be offended, but I wasn’t aware Prince Ruilin had such an enchanting sister. I failed to bring a gift, but please accept this. It’s my favorite hairpin, and the luminous pearl matches your flawless skin perfectly. Had our siblings not been engaged, we could have made quite the pair. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
The rhythmic thud of Yingpei’s jog echoes closer, his breath puffing out. “Preposterous,” I growl. “How many hairpins is that now? At this rate, you should start carrying extras around for all the ones you give away.”