I Refused to Be the Villainess

Then I remembered Lydia's life before she met Julian. Her mother died early, her father favored his second wife’s children, and she had to fight for everything she owned. I thought of Evan Forbes—how similar their situations were: early loss of a mother, a distant father.

Lydia had long stopped looking for family affection. Evan spent his life chasing it—at any cost.

I smiled at her. "Because you've always been good to me."

I glanced outside; the setting sun painted the sky in fiery red. "Alright, I won't keep you."

Lydia tried to walk me to the door but I stopped her. Just outside the room we heard Julian's voice—low, intimate.

"Lydia, have you missed me?"

"I knew it. You heartless thing."

He paused, then with tenderness thick in his voice: "I've missed you so much."

I shivered, felt goosebumps, and left quickly.

The next time I saw Evan Forbes was three months later in March—Grandmother Dowager had returned to the palace, and Lydia had been titled Lady of Anping.

Six months had passed. Lydia’s beauty had only deepened; she stood casually and became part of the scenery, impossible to ignore.

Like my lovestruck Third Brother… "Knock it off, knock it off."

I jumped up and waved at him, trying to get his attention. "Third Brother, your drool's leaking!"

He ignored me and brushed me away like swatting a fly.

I was exasperated. "You sneaking here to stare like some hero, what courage. Go look right in front of her if you're a real man and I'll respect you."

He ignored me again and muttered, worried, "I wonder if Miss Lydia still remembers me."

"She remembers, sure—probably just remembers."

"I wonder if the gift I had Julian deliver last year actually reached her."

"Trusting the wrong person."

"Whether she liked it or not…"

"You tell me."

I stuck my tongue out and was about to leave when Third Brother stopped me. Tears pricked my eyes. "Third Brother, you finally noticed me?"

He looked sincere and a little shy. "Miss Lydia is talented. If I were to give her the 'Moon Over the Vast Sea' by Master Xuanzhu, would she like it?"

I thought a beat, then said seriously, "I don't know if she'd like it. But my eldest sister definitely wouldn't."

He ignored me and sighed. "Under what name should I send it?"

I shook him hard, trying to wake him. "Be sensible—Sister will kill you!"

This wasn't a joke. That lute was the result of Sister's decades of effort. She'd planned to give it to Arthur Clay; in her view, the instrument belonged to Arthur—like the cold moon pairing with pale light, revered and untouchable.

Fate intervened and it never got delivered. Later, Third Brother saw it and Sister handed it to him casually.

To Sister, that lute belonged only to Arthur. If she saw it in Lydia's hands, she might very well kill Third Brother and then Lydia.

"Claire, stop shaking me."

Third Brother pushed me away with his right hand on my forehead. "You're making me dizzy."

I asked, "Are you awake now?"

My third brother pushed me a little farther away again, clearly not in the mood to listen.

I was so mad I was about to leave, and he yanked me back.

"What are you doing?"

I pressed my fingers to my temple; my head was throbbing.

"Claire, you're close with Miss Sinclair. Help your brother out."

He looked at me with such hopeful eyes.

I took a step back and refused flat-out. "No."

"Why not?"

He looked puzzled. "I'm your brother."

Julian was technically my cousin.

He really was my cousin—his mother was my mother's sister—but the two women had a falling out and never spoke. After my aunt died, I’d lost contact with him completely.

I said, "Brother, romance is about mutual feelings. You can't just—"

He cut me off before I finished.

"When did I ever one-sidedly pursue her?"

His face flushed a visible shade of red. "I'm—I'm just friends with Miss Sinclair!"

His words didn't match.

"Wow, okay, fine, just… friends."

"Claire!"

He stamped his foot with that shy, petulant expression.

Help him? No way. Not a chance.

If I helped, I'd slip right back into the role of the vicious side character.

The moon hung low, stars sparse. Occasionally a bird flustered out from the trees.

One moment I was dizzy from drinking at my cousin's wedding and planning to rest in my room, the next I was dangling over someone's shoulder.

The scenery kept rushing past; the night wind bit cold. I tugged at his coat, queasy. "Wait—sir, I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"I advise the princess not to try any tricks," the masked man said without slowing.

Then I puked—right onto his pants.

He finally stopped and dumped me aside.

I was dazed from the fall, staggered up, and vomited some more.

Lesson learned: don't immediately get into a carriage after overeating.

That delay gave my people time to catch up.

I only managed to shout "Help!" when the masked man hoisted me onto his shoulder again, used light-footed skill to fly forward, and left them far behind.

I felt much better after vomiting. I demanded, "Why are you kidnapping me?"

He didn't answer.

"For money? How much do you want? If you let me go I'll give you everything. Or is it for someone—who is it? As long as it isn't some criminal, I can beg Father to pardon them. Hey!"

He still ignored me.

I tried to think if anyone had reason to hate me—grudges, vendettas—but nothing came to mind.

I jabbed his back, about to ask if it was an old family feud, when a sharp pain hit my neck and his palm knocked me out.

When I came to, I was in a run-down temple. Dawn had already broken.

My ankles were chained to a pillar. I rubbed my neck and sat up slowly—every part of me ached.

"Awake?" croaked a hoarse, unpleasant voice. I glanced over. Under the statue of Buddha stood a masked person. Though dressed like a man, the figure's build was clearly feminine.

The woman who had kidnapped me was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

"Who are you?" I asked.

She smiled—a chilling, grinding smile. "Princess, maybe you don't recognize me, but even if I turned into a demon, I'd still know you."

Her hatred startled me. I genuinely didn't know her.

"Well, maybe there's been some misunderstanding," I offered with an awkward laugh.

"Misunderstanding?" she came at me, hands clamping my throat. My breath hitched. "My father, mother, brother, sister—all dead. You call that a misunderstanding?"

"Cough, cough!"

I grasped her hand to ease it. Her eyes were bloodshot, full of hatred.

I tried, "Miss—Lydia?"

She released me at the sound of the name. I collapsed to the floor, gasping.

"Looks like the princess isn't as forgetful as nobles are supposed to be," she said, squatting to study me. Her tone softened disturbingly, the rough voice making it even creepier. "Since you guessed, I'll give you what I deserve."

"Aning," someone called from the shadows. "Just kill her. Anything else risks drawing people here."

She shook her head and began smashing jars that had been hidden around the room; the smell of liquor spread.

"Whether she dies or not doesn't matter. I want her to be like me."

She ripped off her mask. The left side of her face was breathtakingly beautiful; the right side was hideously scarred by burns.

She crouched before me, smiling. "Aren't you scared?"

Then she laughed, and after that she pointed to her ruined cheek. "If you're lucky, you'll die. If you live, you'll be like me—neither fully human nor ghost."

Honestly—she'd scooted so close I couldn't help feeling afraid.

She grabbed a jar of liquor and poured it all over me.

I tugged at the chains with my feet, certain I was finished.

When she didn't strike a match, I let out a breath.

"Why would I let you die so easily?" she said.

Flames caught. They stood at the doorway. "Good luck," they called, and shut the door.

This Lydia was unhinged.

The fire spread fast. I couldn't do anything to save myself.

Sitting amid the flames, I ran through my life in my head. The only things I regretted were causing my parents and the countess to die prematurely, and that I hadn't even worn the new dress my fourth sister had given me. Otherwise, I had no great regrets. So I settled and waited.

I realized how cold and detached I'd become.

Suddenly the door was kicked open. A dark figure leapt through the blaze, scanning wildly. "Princess?"

I silently cursed him—idiot, didn't he know to wrap himself in wet blankets?

My mouth opened and I couldn't speak. My eyes wouldn't focus. My mind faded as I heard the clink of chains and felt myself being carried. Heat ebbed away.

I came to in a cave. My feet were no longer chained. Outside it was pitch black.

I thought, This year really has been relentless.

A good fire burned nearby, and a wooden rack had been set up beside it. I lay on straw, wearing only my undergarments and a black cloak. I sniffed my sleeve—there was only a faint scent of alcohol. At least my clothes were thick enough.

Footsteps approached the cave entrance. I pretended to sleep and opened one eye. It was Evan Forbes.

I relaxed. He was hanging wet clothes on the rack to dry.

If I'm right, the usual plot point where I fall off the cliff at Wynton Temple happened here instead.

I muttered a curse at the author in my head.

Maybe I was too tense—Evan glanced over. We caught each other's eyes and both looked away.

When he'd finished hanging the clothes, he began to explain, "It happened so suddenly—I had no choice but to—"

"I know, I know," I interrupted quickly.

I sat up and wrapped the cloak tighter. Evan stood still, unmoving. It was still March and bitterly cold; he wore only thin garments, his hands red from washing clothes.

"Evan, you—" I was about to ask him to come warm himself by the fire when I noticed a large stain of blood across his back. "You're hurt?"

He glanced at it and dismissed it, "It's been tended to."

Where would you tend a wound out here in the middle of nowhere?

I didn't believe him. "Don't lie to a girl."

Evan smiled faintly and didn't explain. Well, maybe he was lying to me.

I patted the fire with my eyes, signaling for him to sit. He had no choice but to join me.

I wanted to look at his injury, so I started to pull at his shirt. He reflexively clutched his garments to stop me and at the same time kept me steady from toppling.

His movements made the wound bleed again.

I felt embarrassed and touched my nose. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Evan said. "The princess is just concerned."

I nodded vigorously. "Okay—then take off your shirt so I can examine it!"

Of course he didn't take it off.

Evan roasted a fish over the fire while I sat beside him watching. Lucky for us there was a river and food. Lucky for me that Evan was here—otherwise I wouldn't be alive to eat.

He summarized what happened at the cliff: he followed the trail of trinkets I’d left behind, but he hadn't brought enough men. Lydia had not only had that skilled masked fighter with her but a whole ambush nearby. Evan broke through the trap carrying me, but the temple behind the broken shrine had a cliff, and we were forced over it. Evan tried to hang us from vines so he'd wait until the pursuers left and climb back up, but at the critical moment I made a sound and the vine was cut. I woke briefly, saw the clouds below, and thought I was dreaming.

I ate a fruit and then changed the subject. "You've been carrying this a lot—is it important?"

I pulled a jade pendant from my bodice. It wasn't very fine.

Evan's smile froze. After a long moment he said, "It's the only thing my mother left me."

"Oh?" I hurriedly handed it back. "So it's important—keep it safe."

He blinked back to the moment and said, "I thought I lost it when we fell."

I had just fished it out without thinking.

He stood and bowed to me. "Thank you, Princess."

I stood too and waved him off. "No—no, I should be thanking you. You saved me. I haven't even thanked you properly."

So I made a deep bow that would have been considered a ninety-degree bend in court.

Evan froze.

I froze.

The whole thing was mortifying to the point my scalp tingled.

Before I could recover from the embarrassment, Evan spoke first. "Princess, the fish is ready."

"Okay, okay." I grabbed it and bit in, yelping from the heat. "Ow! Hot! Hot! Hot!"

Evan fought back a smile. "Just cooked, so take it slow."

I cooled the fish and sat obediently. "Mm."

Full, warm, and tired but unable to sleep, I watched Evan gazing absently at the jade pendant. On impulse—because curiosity beat caution—I asked, "Will you tell me about your childhood?"

Honestly, it was a personal topic, but I'd already asked. I was genuinely curious and couldn't help it.

Maybe it was the quiet of the night, or maybe seeing the jade pendant stirred something in him. He said, “It wasn’t anything special—just the usual life of a son by a concubine.”

He thought for a moment. “Only that my wife didn’t like my mother much. But most proper wives wouldn’t like a concubine, anyway.”

Then he paused. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

I cut him off. “It’s fine. Keep talking.”

“And don’t keep calling me ‘your servant,’” he said with a wry tone. “It sounds awkward to me.”

“Could you tell me more about your mother?” I asked.

Evan Forbes gave a helpless little smile and then spoke slowly. “I was very shy as a kid. I didn’t like talking. If there were strangers, I’d hide behind my mother. She scolded me a lot, but I never changed.

“I remember when I was seven—that was the first time I saw my father. He was so imposing and stern, I was terrified and crawled under the bed. No matter how my mother called, I wouldn’t come out.”

He chuckled. “It was my mother and a string of candied hawthorns that finally coaxed me out.”

He snapped a twig and tossed it into the fire; it crackled.

My heart ached watching him. Seven years old and only meeting his father then—what had his life been like before that?

Maybe I’d been silent too long, because Evan looked over at me.

“You’re not afraid I was lying to you before?” he asked.

I looked puzzled. He explained, “I only said those things to get you to feel sorry for me.”

I smiled faintly. “If that’s true, that’s actually even better.”

He blinked, confused. I went on, “If you were lying, it means your childhood wasn’t as miserable. That would be a relief. I’d be glad to think that.”

Evan added more wood; the fire roared brighter. The flames lit most of his face, and he kept his head bowed, lost in thought.

After a long moment he finally said, “It’s late. Princess, you should get some rest.”

“And you?” I asked.

He looked up and smiled wryly. “I need to rest too.”

I froze. Was Evan being…cute with me?

“Princess?” he prompted, puzzled.

“Oh.” I snapped back to myself. “Okay, then—get some rest. Goodnight.”

I slept on the dry straw he’d prepared, wrapped in his cloak.

After a while I turned over and, slyly, opened one eye to watch him. He sat a little away, leaning against the stone wall, eyes shut like he was asleep.

So I opened my eye properly and stared.

He smiled, corners of his mouth lifting. “Goodnight.”

It was warm with amusement.

I slammed my eye shut, my head going blank while my heart hammered.

20
After breakfast Evan led me along the river. We walked who-knew-how-long before we finally reached a farmhouse.

Just as I was about to knock, Evan suddenly collapsed.

I held him, panicked. “Evan! Evan! Anyone! Help!”

He didn’t move. His lips were pale, his face drained, and he felt fever-hot.

The house’s owner returned—an old woman. She and I together carried Evan to a bed and she ran to the village for a doctor.

I sat by his side and wiped his face. He’d been asleep for more than a day.

The doctor said he’d lost a lot of blood and caught a chill, but it wasn’t life-threatening.

“Little Tong, I’m heading to the back hill to gather firewood. If your brother wakes, there’s porridge warming on the stove—remember to bring it to him,” Old Mrs. Yang told me at the door.

“Yes, Mrs. Yang!” I answered.

I told her my name was Fang Jiangtong and the man on the bed was Fang Jiangjin—my brother. We were on our way to find relatives when bandits ambushed us, robbing our things and trying to force me to be their boss’s wife. I refused, and my brother got injured defending me. He was near death and then fell off a cliff. By a miracle the drop wasn't high and we survived.

Mrs. Yang cried as she listened and kept saying, “Those blasted bandits. You and your brother should stay. Our village is hidden; they won’t find you.”

I was about to fetch water when Evan’s lashes fluttered. In the next instant he opened his eyes.

He sat up, bewildered and on guard, scanning the room. When he saw me his eyes widened a fraction. “Princess?” His voice was hoarse.

I nodded and glanced at myself—rough linen clothes, two plaited braids—simple and plain.

He tried to get up. I hurried to support him, propping pillows behind his back and bringing a bowl of porridge from the kitchen.

I scooped a spoonful of jujube porridge, blew on it, and offered it to him. He declined. “Your servant’s hands are unhurt.”

“All right.” I handed him the bowl. He ate slowly, with a refined, almost gentlemanly air.

After he finished I reminded him of the names and the story I’d made up—so he wouldn’t slip and reveal anything.

“You don’t have to call yourself ‘your servant’ anymore. Now I’m your sister—call me Little Tong. I’ll call you Little Jin.”

21
Once Evan was well enough, he took over most of the chores—cooking, washing dishes, sweeping, laundering. If he weren’t limited by his strength he’d have been chopping wood too.

Honestly, Evan was a marvel.

Me? Cough. I helped where I could, of course.

One day Evan was at the river washing clothes and I, bored, tied a string around the hen’s neck and walked her along, looking for tasks—like helping him wring out clothes or carry the washbasin.

After crossing a vegetable patch and a few small slopes I finally saw Evan squatting at the river—only there was another girl beside him, tugging at him.

I instantly recognized her: Wu Fengfeng, the barefoot healer’s daughter who had treated Evan.

I dragged my reluctant hen—pecking at seeds—and approached.

“Cluck, cluck!” The hen protested loudly. They stopped and turned.

“Little Tong!” Wu Fengfeng frowned. “Fang brother isn’t healed yet. How can you let him wash in such cold water?”

Evan glanced at me and replied to Wu Fengfeng, “Miss Wu, thank you for your concern. I’m almost fully recovered.”

Wu Fengfeng blushed and looked down. “But…but—”

“Cluck, cluck!” The hen’s clucking cut them off. I hauled the hen away, tugging and dragging.

Anger flared—I'd come to help, yet he chatted with another girl so happily!

“Li—Little Tong!” Evan called after me.

“Little Tong!” Wu Fengfeng echoed.

“Cluck, cluck!” I sped up with the hen.

On the way back we ran into Yang Zhao from the village—he was an outsider, dressed all wrong in flashy green silks and a green headband, like a garish turtle.

He hailed me. “Little Tong!”

He hurried over with a lecherous smile. “What luck, to run into you here.”

Lucky? I wanted to say you big-headed fool, you were lying in wait.

I replied dryly, “Yes, lucky. You said the same yesterday.”

“Cluck, cluck!” I tugged the hen to leave but Yang Zhao blocked me.

He pulled a bunch of wildflowers from behind his back, pleased with himself. “I saw these blossoms and thought of bringing them to you. Now I see you’re more radiant than the flowers—my bouquet pales in comparison.”

When did you pick them? I thought. He stammered, then offered, “Little Tong, you’re clever and quick—truly admirable.”

I finally understood what awkward flirting looked like.

I bobbed a polite curtsy in return—my version of “I appreciate you.”

Evan and Wu Fengfeng appeared then. Evan carried a basin between them; he was half a head taller than Yang Zhao.

Yang Zhao clapped his shoulder like an old friend. “Brother Fang—no, Fang brother!”

Evan subtly eased away.

Wu Fengfeng greeted him with “Mr. Yang.”

Evan asked, “Yang, do you need something?”

“No, nothing—just that I hit it off with Little Tong.” Yang Zhao flipped his fringe and winked at me—then Evan’s presence blocked him.

I picked up a stick and quickly drew a little sketch on the ground and presented it.

“Little Tong, your drawing’s superb!” Yang Zhao admired. “A duck soars, and a turtle looks up—are you saying that with effort, even the turtle can fly?”

Forget your duck and turtle—my drawing was a swan and a toad!

Wu Fengfeng burst out laughing, then stifled it when she saw no one else was amused. “Never mind, never mind.”

Evan interjected, “Yang, if there’s nothing else, we should be going.”

“Wait—hold on…” Yang Zhao grabbed at Evan. Evan gave him a look and somehow the man let go. “All right. Fine.”

He waved at me. “Goodbye, Little Tong!” Then he shoved the flowers into my hands and left.

Evan turned to Wu Fengfeng. “Miss Wu, it’s getting late. You should head home.”

“Huh?” She froze. “I…I—”

I glanced up; the sun hung high.

Evan nodded to her—a proper farewell.

“Cluck, cluck!” I tugged the hen ahead of him. He didn’t speak to me the whole way, and I felt awkward.

“Cluck, cluck—cluck!” I let the hen go; it hurried into its coop.

He hung clothes in the yard and I trailed after him, following every step but unable to form a single sentence.

Suddenly I felt off—like something had shifted.

22
Early the next morning Evan and the healer rode the ox-cart into town. In the afternoon Mrs. Yang said she’d go collect wood in the back hill and I should come with her. I slung my small basket on my back.

She carried a big basket, holding my hand with one hand and a wood knife in the other as we walked through the trees.

“Don’t wander off or you’ll cry when you get lost. Don’t go to the river—the water’s deep. Stay close to me, you hear?” Mrs. Yang warned over and over. Then she set the big basket down by my feet. “Sit on the basket and wait. I’m going over to that slope—there are lots of thorny bushes. Don’t go over there.”

She pointed the machete toward the path as she spoke. "If you need anything, shout for me. I'll come right away!"

Me: "Got it, got it, Grandma Yang. I'm not a little kid."

"You act just about the same as one."

Grandma Yang untangled the branch from my hair. "I'm leaving. If you're going to play, stay where I can see you."

"Mm-hmm."

I nodded so hard my head felt like a drum.

"Don't play in the water, you hear?"

"Got it, got it!"

"Then tell me what I just told you."

…After I gave a bunch of assurances, Grandma Yang finally felt safe enough to walk away.

I chewed on a blade of grass and idly stamped the fallen leaves underfoot.

I stood at the bottom of a hill. Not far off, a pond lay glittering, and a huge rock jutted up at the edge. Someone was sitting on it, fishing.

The longer I looked, the more familiar the person seemed. He happened to look up at the same time.

We stared at each other for a beat. My heart leapt and I shouted, "Evan!"

Evan nearly tumbled into the water.

"Grandma, I found a friend. I'm going to play with him. He's right here!"

I called back to Grandma Yang, then ran along the narrow path toward Evan Forbes.

"Be careful. Don't play near the water!" Grandma Yang's voice came from behind.

"Got it!"

I scrambled up the big rock using both hands and feet. Evan's expression was complicated.

"What's wrong? Too moved to see me?" I sat down beside him.

"Maybe," he said. He drew his gaze away and stared at the water, voice thin and distant. "Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be with Prince Robert?"

"I'm not being sold off to the prince, if that's what you mean."

Evan pulled his fishing line up. A tangle of waterweed came with it. He sat back down and, unusually concerned, asked, "Princess, are you all right?"

"Ah, that's a long story…"

He cut me off quickly. "Then don't tell it."

"Evan, I think you've changed."

I looked at him. His face was cool. "You didn't used to speak so… sharp."

Evan: "It's my vacation now."

He added, "Want me to send word to Prince Robert?"

I figured Julian had probably already told him.

"No need."

Evan looked at me puzzled. The fishing line twitched and he hauled it up again—this time a stick.

"Time to go, Little Copper," Grandma Yang called from the path.

"Evan, I'm leaving."

We said our goodbyes. Evan stopped me.

"Wait—Little Copper? Is your name really Clara?"

He widened his eyes.

I nodded.

"Then who's Constance?"

"That's Lina Sinclair. Why?"

"Never mind."

Evan shook his head, expression unreadable. "Yang Zhao will come tomorrow to ask for your hand."

I thought he smiled, but his face showed nothing.

My little basket was filled with small twigs. Grandma Yang had already reached the gate by the time I was still chasing the dog in the field.

The little black dog belonged to Finn Wu. Lately it loved wandering over to our place.

It was a real dog—if I fed it, it let me pet it; if I came empty-handed, it ran circles barking at me!

How could Claire Bennett stand for that?

I chased it through one patch of fields to another, back and forth…

Just as I was getting into the chase, Julian came back carrying a package.

He hauled me out of the field by sheer force.

"Julian, let go of me! Today I'm going to teach that dog a lesson!"

I was so worked up I even called him by his full name.

"Enough. The dog already knows how fierce you are."

He took the small basket off my back; the twigs had all fallen out.

"Woof! Woof!"

The dog trotted up and barked like it was making a point. When it saw me breaking free from Julian's grip, it sneaked away like a little coward!

I pointed at it, glaring. "See! It doesn't know anything!"

"You miserable mutt, just you wait! You're done for. I'm telling you, meeting me today is the worst thing that ever happened to you—dog life over!"

Julian half-carried me back as I struggled. I pushed and ran until he had no choice but to scoop me up in a child's embrace.

Honestly, I'd mostly given up at that point, but for the sake of appearances I kept pretending to struggle.

While we prepared dinner, Julian told me someone would come tomorrow to take me away.

I was tending the fire—Julian had stacked the wood and lit it; I was just keeping the flames alive—when a sudden pang hit me. The thought of losing this made my chest ache. I looked up at him; in the swirling steam his face softened in a way I'd never seen.

If I didn't already know I liked him, I must be an idiot.

I forced a laugh. "That's good, then."

Julian was chopping vegetables. I asked, "Evan, what are your standards for a future wife?"

He tilted his head, puzzled, keeping to the motion of cutting.

I explained, "Like, what do you want your wife to be like?"

He glanced at me, thought a second, then said, "Well-read, polite, understanding."

He walked over and lifted the lid off a pot.

I thought: that doesn't fit me at all.

If we weren't close, I could try to present myself as cultured and refined. The problem was we were nearly at the point where if he said yes, we'd start dating that instant.

So I said, "No way. That's too high of a standard."

Through the steam he looked at me, surprised.

"Can you lower it a bit? Swap 'well-read and polite' for 'lively and cute,' and 'understanding' for 'kind and beautiful'?"

I felt embarrassed even as I said it.

Julian: "What's wrong with Little Copper today? Why ask this all of a sudden?"

I couldn't bear to look at him. "I have a friend… I mean, a friend who is lively and cute, kind and beautiful—perfect for you."

He was silent.

I pushed, "Really, she's perfect."

"I'm not planning to marry yet."

He lifted the lid and scooped food into a plate, then teased, "Does Little Copper have a crush on someone?"

I denied it immediately. "No! Absolutely not!"

After denying it, my heart went cold. Now it really wasn't true anymore.

I tapped the bottom of the pot with my wooden spoon. "Oh."

Not planning to marry because of Lydia?

He noticed I was quiet. Between stirrings, he looked over with concern. "What's the matter?"

I shook my head, then hid my face in my sleeve and forced a laugh. "I just feel a little cold."

A sting spread through me.

After a while I told him about Yang Zhao. He just smiled and told me not to worry.

I felt oddly wronged.

After dinner I sat on the stone bench in the yard to let my food settle and stared up at the vast, star-filled sky. The stars were everywhere, the light weaving through the dark.

All this time I'd been falling alone—he'd only ever been dutiful, nothing more.

The thought grew lonelier and lonelier until I felt like crying. Grandma Yang called me in.

"Little Copper, your brother bought osmanthus cakes. Come inside."

I wasn't convinced. "He? If Finn sent them I won't eat them!"

"Look at this child," Grandma Yang smiled at Julian. "It was him."

Julian crouched in front of me. A moment ago I had been melodramatic and gloomy. Honestly, I didn't really want to talk to him, so I turned my face away and gave a cold snort.

"What?" he asked.

I ignored him. I knew I was being dramatic, but this was the first time I'd felt like this. My emotionally experienced older sister wasn't here; I only had my instincts.

I wanted to show him my best side, to prove I wasn't just a spoiled kid—that I could be gentle and proper.

But circumstances didn't allow it.

Chasing chickens and dogs wasn't exactly graceful.

I wanted to go back and shake some sense into my past self.

"Alright." Julian reached out and ruffled my hair. We both froze. He hesitated, then let his hand fall and started to explain. "It wasn't from Miss Wu…"

I didn't catch the rest. I knew my face was bright red—thankfully it was night, and he couldn't see.

"Mm." I nodded vaguely.

In the middle of the night, Yang Zhao woke with a full bladder. Half-asleep he called, "Light the lamp," but no one answered, so he got up himself.

When the lamp came on, he saw a figure sitting at the table. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake, and recognized Julian.

Yang Zhao was puzzled, but greeted him. "Brother-in-law… it's so late. Do you need something?"

Julian was busy wiping something, and didn’t answer.

Yang Zhao felt a chill at the fierceness in his eyes. He swallowed and noticed someone lying by the door—one of his night attendants. Blood pooled beneath the man.

Only then did he realize that Julian's calm, gentle persona was gone. Terror seized him and he slumped to the floor. "W-what are you going to do?"

"I heard you're going to marry my…" Julian paused and turned slightly, the object in his hand flashing in the lamplight. "Little Copper."

Yang Zhao finally grasped how serious it was. "N-no! Little Copper is a goddess, I'm a toad come to life. How could I—Brother! No, I mean—Evan!"

He nearly cried.

"Good," Julian said, tapping the man's face with the dagger. "Otherwise…"

"This family tonight won't just be unconscious," Julian finished, "they'll be done."

"Y-yes! Yes, Brother!"

Julian was bored by how quickly he'd folded and stood to leave.

He stopped at the doorway, and Yang Zhao, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, felt his heart leap to his throat. "B-Brother… is there… anything else?"

"Tonight?" Julian turned his head slightly.

Yang Zhao had never felt her mind so sharp: "Don't worry, don't worry, I definitely won't let Little Copper Auntie—no, the Little Copper Ancestor find out!"

23

It had been over a month since I returned to the palace, and I still hadn't seen Evan Forbes once.

I remember when my second brother came to fetch me—he was on horseback, I was in the carriage. We looked at each other through the lifted curtain, and in that instant the distance between us snapped back to how it used to be. All the things he'd put me through seemed to dissolve like smoke.

He rested my head on his shoulder and said in the carriage, "Claire, take a nap. When you wake, we'll go home."

When I woke again, we were in Longlight Palace. Carved railings, gleaming jewels, lights blazing—people in finery sitting and standing everywhere. The village life felt like a dream.

"Claire, what are you thinking about?"

My fourth sister's voice broke my reverie. I looked up: Evelyn was half-reclined on the couch, stuffing grapes into her mouth.

An idea flitted through my head.

"If you liked someone but weren't sure they liked you back, what would you do?"

Seeing both Evelyn and Sophie turn to me, I hurried to add, "I mean, hypothetically."

Evelyn clapped and sat up. "Tsk." Then she said, "Guilty conscience, eh?"

Sophie asked bluntly, "Are you talking about Evan?"

I nodded weakly.

At the answer, Sophie tilted her head toward the rafters and sighed theatrically, "Oh my god. Another Forbes boy?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Evelyn ignored Sophie's groan. She rummaged through her sleeve and finally produced a sheet of paper. She glanced at us and waved us over.

Sophie and I exchanged a look and crouched beside her.

"Look."

Evelyn spread the paper. The handwriting was exuberant and flashy. "See anything?"

Sophie squinted. "Nice penmanship."

I nodded. "Just a bit too messy."

"Not the handwriting—read the content!"

Evelyn tapped each of our heads and said, "Focus on the meaning!"

"Long time no hear, hope you are well, haven't met in ages, do you miss me? Since parting three years ago, you'll think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. A day apart feels like three autumns. A day apart and I think of you like a madman…"

Sophie couldn't finish. "Third sister, this is disgusting."

Evelyn sneered at us. "You don't understand—this is art."

I shook my head, mortified. "I won't copy this. It's way too explicit."

Sophie chimed in, "Seriously, Evan would die of fright if he saw this."

"Who said you had to copy that!"

Evelyn looked at us, exasperated. "I meant—why don't you write a love letter to test the waters?"

She folded the paper and slipped it back into her sleeve, pleased with herself. "You have to have genuine feeling or the recipient will just think you're reckless."

"So you have feeling?" Sophie asked, puzzled.

I caught on. "Third sister, are you reconciled with Arthur?"

Evelyn snorted "Mm" and adjusted the hairpin at her temple, looking languid.

"Someone I choose can't wriggle out of my palm," she said.

I realized she wasn't solving my problem—she was showing off.

I also thought she was unreliable.

Sophie muttered, "Arthur's going to have it rough. He won't get dumped twice, will he?"

I nodded. "Exactly!"

"Actually, being blunt isn't the worst," Evelyn said, changing the subject boldly. "If you have the nerve, anything's possible. Even if you get scolded, it's fine. As long as you don't sign your name, you can always say it was meant for me."

Sophie admired her. "Evelyn, you are something else!"

Evelyn waved modestly. "Practice makes perfect."

"When did you two patch things up? Why didn't I know?" I leaned in to ask.

Sophie echoed, "Yeah, I never heard."

"Why do you need to know the details?" Evelyn pushed a head away with one hand. "You only need to know the outcome. The process doesn't matter. It's not suitable for you."

Despite her unreliability, I decided to write Evan a letter. But subtle—subtle enough to be a test.

I tore through every book in the library for days and still couldn't put pen to paper. I was too embarrassed. My sisters were disappointed.

Opportunities favor the prepared. I was far from ready—but an opportunity arrived anyway.

The Dowager Empress's birthday banquet was coming. All nobles and royal kin would attend.

Sophie noticed Evan's name on the guest list. He'd been transferred out of the Royal Guard to another barracks—that explained his absence all this time.

Evelyn's letter—what she'd written on my behalf—lay on my dressing table.

Opportunities favor the prepared; people like me who weren't ready were meant to be weeded out.

In the end, I didn't make it to the Dowager's banquet. I was so jittery the night before I couldn't sleep. I went to the window for some cold air to calm down. The cold woke me up but didn't calm me, and by morning I had a fever. That night I tried to force myself out of bed—I was weak and twisted my ankle, and now I lay in bed waiting for news.

I couldn't send Evelyn's letter; it was an entire anthology of love poems—from "jade dice and red beans" to "let us be birds flying wing to wing"—not a hint of subtlety. That wasn't a test; it was a declaration.

I had to write my own. But I worried Evelyn would swap letters, so I gave mine to Sophie and asked her to find a chance to hand it to Evan.

The next morning, after breakfast, Evelyn and Sophie came to see me. Sophie looked like she wanted to speak but couldn't; Evelyn avoided my gaze.

My heart sank. "What is it? Did someone find out?"

Sophie shook her head. "No, not that. It's just—"

She looked to Evelyn.

Evelyn cleared her throat, sat, and poured herself tea. "I'll give you one good news and one bad. Which do you want first?"

"The good news!"

I said quickly.

"The good news is…" Evelyn sipped tea. "My letter reached him."

"Why did you deliver it?" I asked.

Sophie sat at my bedside, guilty-faced. "It was my first time delivering a love letter. I was so nervous." She held my hand solemnly. "But once you do it, it's easier next time. Next time I'll make sure it gets to him!"

"What about the bad news?"

I sagged back on the pillows, clinging to hope. "It wasn't Evelyn's letter, was it?"

"No, not that!" Evelyn returned with a cup of tea and Sophie propped me up. "Drink some tea and calm down."

I grew more frantic. "Don't scare me!"

"Here's what happened." Evelyn sat at my feet and began the tale of the previous night. "Sophie was so nervous she kept drinking water. She had to pee and was terrified of losing the letter, so she handed it to me to keep. I happened to have one to deliver to Arthur, so I slipped them both into my left sleeve. At that moment Evan came out, and Sophie hadn't returned. I didn't want to miss my shot, so I followed them out. All the way there I kept reminding myself the left sleeve was Evan's. But plans go awry. I reached to pull out the letter and—Arthur saw me."

Evelyn thumped her chest in mock horror. "His look could have eaten me alive. I broke into a cold sweat in April. I even forgot we'd recently argued. I handed the letter to Evan, then chased after my sweetheart. I kissed and soothed him and made up."

Sophie couldn't take the suspense and urged, "Get to the point."

"The point is…when I got home and bathed, a letter fell out of my robe. I picked it up and saw—"

Evelyn did a little flourish, snapping her fingers. The letter appeared between her fingers. "Turns out I delivered the wrong one. Ha!"

"But don't worry!" Evelyn patted my shoulder. "It wasn't a love poem! Like I said, I was arguing with my sweetheart."

"What was it then?"

"One word shorter than yours, but the meaning's about the same. Ha!" she said with an awkward laugh.

My line had been: Heart as the western river.

I didn't believe Evelyn could have written anything sensible while arguing with Arthur. Feeling guilty under my stare, she finally confessed, "Out of old friendship I sent a greeting to his mother."

Sophie gave me an encouraging look.

That night Evan came back to his home, drew the letter he'd kept against his chest and opened it by candlelight. The characters were bold and florid—four great strokes. They read: Go to your mother.

The flame flickered. Evan fell into silence.

At the Forbes house, Arthur slid open a landscape painting in his study, revealing a hidden compartment with two stacks of letters of roughly the same height. One stack full of sweet declarations, the other full of rude curses.

Arthur sneered and pulled one of the sweet ones at random. He read it, and then murmured to himself, "Well then—this time I forgive you."

His voice was calm, but the corner of his mouth twitched up.

24

I decided I'd go to find Evan myself.

I'd thought to use visiting my second brother as an excuse, but he was so strict—people shadowed me day and night. At least there were fewer attendants with him. If it had been my third brother following me, they'd have enough people to play two tables of mahjong.

Evelyn felt guilty about the earlier muddle and offered to help.

She brought Sophie and me to stay at the Dowager's eldest daughter's residence under the pretense of attending her son's first-birthday celebration. Who knew how close the party really was.

For days we've helped care for the little nephew. He was perfectly formed and marble-pale, beaming at us without a hint of shyness—so adorable we almost forgot our real reason for being out of the palace.

That day, the eldest daughter was busy running the household. The three of us were on baby duty.

Outside the window a garden was in bloom; butterflies circled the beds. A soft ray of sun slipped through the leaves and warmed my feet.

I grit my teeth. "Damn it! Little Hong's just the stumbling block on my aunt-of-six's quest for true love!"

Hong was my nephew's pet name.

Evelyn rocked the cradle and clicked her tongue, lowering her voice. "Shh. Keep it down—he just fell asleep."

Sophie paced back and forth in front of us, muttering something under her breath.

I'd been listening for a long time and couldn't make out one word.

"Sophie, what's wrong? Have you gone dotty from babysitting?" I whispered.

"No."

Sophie stopped and let out a long sigh. "It's not that—I was nervous."

Evelyn looked surprised. "Tonight it's Claire going to see Evan. What are you nervous about?"

Sophie faltered, a puzzled look on her face. "Oh—what was I nervous about?"

Then her eyes widened as if she suddenly remembered. "I forgot. I thought I had to deliver another letter."

Sophie sat down, and I started pacing the room. Now it was my turn to be nervous.

"This is too fast, isn't it? I'm not ready."

"When did you arrange this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Can I not go? I heard it's freezing at night. I mean, he probably won't even show up—ha."

Evelyn glanced at me lightly and finally replied, "Whatever. There's a lantern festival tonight. I heard Evan will be walking the festival with a girl."

"A girl?"

My voice shot up. I hushed myself when I heard little Hong mutter in his sleep, then whispered, delighted, "They say the lantern festival is so lively. We finally got out—how could we miss it?"

Sophie asked, "Are you going to catch them in the act?"

Evelyn couldn't help laughing, then glanced at little Hong to confirm he was still asleep before she said, "You can only catch someone if they're betrothed, secretly promised, or married. At most, Claire, you can—"

Evelyn paused, thinking. "—catch a romantic rival."

I wasn't in the mood for jokes. I desperately wanted to know who this girl was to him.

I stared at Evelyn, anxious. "Evelyn, who told you this? Who is she to him?"

I had never heard Evan liked anyone, never heard of an fiancée. I regretted not asking sooner. What if she was the woman he liked or his fiancée? What would I do?

For a moment I was relieved—thankfully he hadn't seen that letter, thankfully he didn't know I liked him… Then I told myself maybe it wasn't as bad as I feared. Maybe she was just a friend. But could a friend be someone he would stroll the festival with?

I hung my head, trying to comfort myself. It's okay, Claire Bennett. If he doesn't like you, it's his loss. He'll never find another girl as sweet as you.

"You're really giving up that easily?" Evelyn pulled me out of my thoughts. "You're—"

In the space of a few breaths I'd rehearsed breakups in my head more times than I could count. The worst part: we hadn't even defined anything between us. I am painfully talented at backing out.

Evelyn looked at me with exasperation. "Afraid? Even if she's his beloved, you're a princess—no one dares steal him from you."

Sophie chimed in, disapproving. "Evelyn, you're being aggressive."

Evelyn snorted. "So what? Being born royal is our greatest leverage."

I pressed a hand to my forehead. "Evelyn, you were clearly born in a bandit camp."

Sophie nodded. "I agree. Even if love isn't mutual, show respect and decorum. Otherwise, decades of life will be unbearably dull."

Evelyn huffed. "I'll make him chase me until I'm dead and buried."

I: "I'm done…"

Sophie: "Lucky for you Arthur adores you, or you'd be in a miserable state right now."

Our arguing woke little Hong. He opened his big, grape-like eyes and looked at us, calm and content. My heart melted.

Evelyn cooed, "Sweet boy." She carefully picked him up. "Let Aunt Evelyn hold him. Why are you awake? Go back to sleep."

With Evelyn's gentle pats, little Hong closed his eyes again.

Night fell. Evelyn led Claire, Sophie, and me outside.

The long street glittered with lights, carriages moving slowly. The festival hadn't peaked yet, but people were already thick.

Evelyn whispered, "When we reach the Sparrow Inn, you follow Luc."

Luc was a guard Evelyn had borrowed from her brother—a capable, formidable woman.

Sophie perked up. "Is this going to be a fight?"

Evelyn smacked her on the head. Sophie squealed and clutched her head.

"A fight? I'd love to hit you."

"Stick close to me tonight!"

"I don't want to watch you and Arthur all lovey-dovey—"

"You must!"

"Fine."

Luc threaded us through the crowd. The festival was well underway and I still hadn't seen Evan.

With so many people, finding someone was like fishing in the ocean for a needle.

I watched couples pass by and felt a pang. My fate with Evan seemed so thin. He always appeared when he wanted to; wanting to see him was harder than I'd thought.

"Princess, are you looking for them?" Luc's voice pulled me back. I turned. Lanterns swung, the moon hung high. Not far off, two people were emerging from the lantern glow—one carrying a lamp, the other holding a fan, smiling and chatting.

A line of his words from that day ran through my mind—gentle, refined, considerate.

Just then fireworks burst above us, then more. I looked up: east wind scattering a thousand blossoms—stars falling like rain.

I had searched the crowd for him hundreds of times; when I turned, there he was at the dimmest lantern.

Too bad the fireworks dazzled and she stood at his side.

I tried to look away, to leave quietly, but our eyes met. He blinked, then slowly smiled.

Smile, smile, smile—of course he'd smile. I cursed him silently, yet my feet carried me toward them. To be precise: toward them both.

By the time I realized, I'd missed the best chance to slip away.

"Who is this young lady?" The girl beside him spoke first, her voice soft.

Even behind a veil she looked beautiful.

Evan was about to answer when I cut in. "Who are you?"

I regretted the sharp tone immediately—too pointed, a little petulant.

She glanced at Evan. "I'm Meredith Hale—his cousin."

Evan nodded.

Cousin? She never showed up before—this cousin is now showing up from across the ocean, apparently.

"Coincidentally, I'm his sister." I refused to be outdone.

Meredith looked confused. Evan shook his head lightly.

Watching their exchange made my eyes burn with anger.

"Now you heard, didn't you?" Meredith lifted a lotus lantern toward me. "What's your name? Tell me and I'll give you this lantern."

I turned away—it's just a lantern. Pretty, finely made, but still just a lantern. She added, "Evan won it."

"Evan?" If I had hair, it would be standing on end. I rolled my eyes inward.

"Meredith, stop teasing her." Evan finally spoke. "She's—thin-skinned."

Thin-skinned. Really? Meredith calls Evan "Evan" so familiarly—when have you ever called me Claire Bennett like that?

I spun on my heel and left. I was furious; I wouldn't confess or say another word.

As I walked off, I could hear Meredith's voice trailing after me.

"So this is the well-mannered, understanding little girl you spoke of?"

I hadn't expected Evan's opinion of me to be so lofty—my anger evaporated. I slowed, trying to hear what he'd say next.

"You got it wrong. That was her imagining herself."

What the—does anyone actually talk like that?

Evan was infuriating. I felt on the verge of tears from how maddening he was.

"Princess? Princess?" Luc had to steady me. "What's wrong? Want me to teach those two a lesson?"

I shook my head. "No. You can't beat them."

If he doesn't like me, why would I go beat someone up? And besides, Luc would lose.

The festival's highlight was the "Return of the Gentleman"—the performance on the lake where the top courtesan danced from a boat.

Legend said a hundred years ago a courtesan and a general loved each other. The general wanted to marry her despite society's scorn. The princess wanted the general for herself and, combined with his mother's suicide threat, the couple was torn apart. The general went to war and died. The courtesan danced by the river until she heard the news and threw herself in.

Whether true or not, the tale made money.

The Sparrow Inn sat by the lake—the best spot to watch, and private; you could see out but others couldn't see in.

When the door opened from outside, Evelyn and Sophie startled.

"Back so soon? Didn't see him?"

Evelyn brought Sophie in.

"Almost," I said, not wanting to talk. I asked, "What's wrong with Sophie?"

"Her?" Evelyn sat on the windowsill with a cluck. "So embarrassing."

"What happened?" Sophie's face flushed as I noticed she held a rabbit lantern.

"At first she snuck after Evan, then lost him. She saw a handsome man and followed him through two alleys, ended up at his doorway, nearly went in, and was sent home…"

Sophie's face reddened more. She whispered, "No—that's not it. I got lost, and Lord Nanjun was kind and brought me home."

"Lord Nanjun? There's a Nanjun family?"

"No—Lord Nanjun," Sophie corrected.

Years later I would wonder if many things in life were just meant to be—like me and Evan, Evelyn with Arthur, and Sophie. The parts the book didn't describe weren't nonexistent; they were simply irrelevant because they didn't revolve around the main pair.

Julian Forbes was injured and lying in a coma. I had no right to be involved with him, yet there I was, in the same room.

The story really goes back three days.

Three days ago, at a palace banquet, a group of assassins attacked. The scene was chaos. Evan Forbes stepped in front of Lydia Sinclair, I stepped in front of Evan, and Julian stepped in front of me. An arrow pierced Julian’s chest. He grabbed the shaft; the arrowhead stopped right under my chin.

Our eyes met. His lips moved like he was saying something, but I couldn’t hear a word.

Later I tried to read his mouth. I’m pretty sure he said: Are you running so fast just to rush yourself to death?

See? Julian’s mouth was sharp—especially toward everyone but Lydia.

No halo for me, as usual.

Honestly, I didn’t even know what was going on. I’d secretly hoped Evan might feel something different about me, but his instinct was to protect Lydia. So much for my delusions.

Julian either sneered or mocked me, and yet he’d taken that arrow for me. Maybe he stepped in because the arrow’s force would have gone through me, through Evan, and into Lydia.

What had been two pairs suddenly turned into a twisted four-way mess.

I sat at the table, propping my chin in my hands and feeling troubled as I watched him. I visited him every day. The imperial physician said: if he doesn’t wake up today, he may never wake up again.

I tried to remember if this scene existed in the book.

After racking my brain with no answer, Julian made a muffled sound and woke up.

I went over to him. The moment he opened his eyes, it hit me like a thunderclap.

Oh no.

He looked at me baffled and asked, “Who are you?”

I pointed at myself, unable to believe this melodrama was happening. His body was wounded—but not his brain?

“You don’t remember?” he tried to recall, but a headache hit. He reached to press his head and accidentally tugged at the wound, groaning.

“I don’t remember.”

He could only shake his head in pain. He looked heartbreakingly helpless.

I stopped him and called in the attendants waiting outside to take care of him.

By late morning everyone knew Julian had awakened with amnesia. Visitors came in waves, but Lydia never appeared.

That evening, however, Constance Hale turned up—after a long absence.

She’d disguised herself as a palace maid and brought medicine to Julian’s room. I stared at the suspicious chunk bobbing in the broth, speechless. Julian’s mouth twitched.

“What is this—”

I looked at her, incredulous. “Attempted murder?”

She was tied to the foot of the bed; she snorted. “You can take medicine casually, but don’t talk nonsense!”

“Oh really? Look!” I shoved the bowl toward her and pointed at the item floating inside. “That huge chunk of ‘poison’ hasn’t dissolved yet. Please, if you’re going to poison someone, use your head. Are you trying to make it obvious? Oh right—I forgot. You don’t have a brain.”

“You’re the one with no brain!” Her face twisted, then she squinted at the thing in the bowl. “That’s not poison! It’s a love-at-first-sight pill…”

She froze, then flared up. “You tricked me?”

“I didn’t. You said it yourself.”

“I’ll tell the Emperor—my uncle—that you bullied me!”

“Oho, big threat. After all these years, you still only know how to tattle.” I scanned her, mock horrified. “What, you gonna tell? Fine. I’ll tell Emperor Henry you tried to harm a minister and have your head chopped off.” I dragged my finger across my own throat.

Of course I was bluffing. She’d been spoiled, not irredeemable. The one who usually played strategist for her clique, Miss Liu, wasn’t around. Constance couldn’t make a scene without help.

She went pale and burst into tears.

“You always bully me—ever since we were little. Why should I always give in? I’m a lady of rank, too—sob, sob—”

“But I’m a princess.”

I had to remind her.

She cried harder.

When she ran out of tears she stopped and sniffed. “Why didn’t you comfort me?”

“Because I’m the princess.”

Her lips puckered; she almost cried again but held it in. “Fine. I won’t cry anymore.”

Once she calmed, I finally learned why she’d come that night.

She’d paid a shady peddler handsomely for a pill that supposedly makes someone fall in love at first sight. She was already resigned to abandoning Julian—her mother had planned a match for her—so when Julian lost his memory it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She came at night to slip it into his drink.

“That swindler said it dissolves in water!” she wailed.

“Did he say hot or cold water?” I asked.

“Uh… I think it said—cold water?”

She was full of regret.

I untied her and prepared to send her home. She looked astonished. “You’re really letting me go?”

“Of course. Sisters help each other.”

She was touched. “Then I won’t curse you behind your back anymore.”

I guided her to a corner and asked, “Could you give me one of those love pills?”

Constance eyed me warily. “What do you want with it? It was expensive.”

“Oh, nothing much.” I smiled. “Summer’s coming. The prison is damp and dark—perfect for a cool getaway.”

She was moved by our sisterhood and sniffled, “I’ll bring you one.”

I patted her shoulder to show I was moved, too.

Julian had been taken back to the Forbes estate by his father to recuperate—a perfect chance. I could visit Julian, then see Evan, slip the dissolved pill into his tea, and use the late hour as an excuse to stay over at Evan’s place. The next morning, before anyone else was up, I’d be the first face he saw and—heh heh heh…

“What are you snickering about?” Evelyn waved a hand in front of me. I quickly wiped the grin off my face and tried to look serious.

“Nothing. I was just upset that Julian got hurt saving me. I’m going to see him tomorrow.”

“You looked pretty pleased a moment ago. Almost…dirty-smirking,” she said, eyebrow raised. Clearly she didn’t buy it. She looked me over and stroked her chin. “You aren’t—”

She seemed to realize something and paused, stunned. “Well, I never thought you’d ever get it together.”

She walked around me and hummed, then patted my shoulder like she was proud. Her look made me squirm.

“Sis…what are you talking about?” I stammered.

She gave me that look that said, You know. “Don’t pretend. I’m your sister—tell me the details and I’ll give you advice.”

I didn’t know what to do.

“Evelyn, I really don’t get it.”

We stared at each other until she gave up, convinced I truly was clueless and bored by it.

“So why were you laughing?” she pressed.

I laid out the whole plan, expecting her to shoot it down—maybe tell me love can’t be forced, that my idea was selfish and would blow up in my face.

Instead she shook her head slowly. “I thought you were indecisive. I thought you were cocky and sure. Turns out—you’re just an idiot.” Then she flipped me the bird.

The insult and the gesture were things I’d taught her once. I didn’t expect to be on the receiving end so soon, and twice at that. Mixed feelings.

She kept going: “Feelings are complicated—how can some pill control them? If a ‘love at first sight’ pill controls them, how real is the love? If he still likes you after he’s sober, then great. If not, then—” she fixed me with a cold look, “it was just a dream of your own making. No one stays inside a dream forever. Eventually you wake up.”

Her words hit me. Maybe she was right—if feelings are drug-induced, are they genuine? If he loves me because of a pill, would that be someone I truly love in return?

But then I thought: even if it’s a dream, if he loves me, he loves me. I have power and means; I can buy a lot of those pills and control how long the dream lasts. Let him live in it forever.

The dark thought scared me—and maybe explained why Evelyn and I were really siblings.

I understood the logic, but I couldn’t control my impulses. People were complicated.

Decision made, the next day I stormed to General Ward’s house with a small entourage.

I said a few perfunctory things to Julian and then headed straight for Evan.

Julian was a lot more agreeable after the amnesia—talkative, even. The most handsome man in Aldridge Kingdom lived up to his reputation; even pale and bedridden he was stunning. I had no heart left to appreciate it—he struck me as fussy.

He asked if my attentiveness meant I liked him. I answered, “Like you? Please.” He didn’t believe me. “You didn’t like me before you lost your memory; you won’t like me after. End of story.” He was quite confident in his logic, so I made my excuses and went to find Evan.

We wandered through the house with a steward guiding us, and finally reached where Evan was staying. The steward looked perplexed by my ruse, and I told him to go about his duties without explaining anything further.

Julian Forbes's aide told me he wasn't here and went off to look for him, but I stopped him. I sat on the stone bench in the courtyard and waited.

I hadn't sent anyone to fetch him. I planned to give him a surprise.

Not long after, I heard footsteps. Two figures appeared beyond the white-walled arched gate. The attendant standing by the door glanced at me, glanced at the two people, wiped sweat from his brow, and hurried forward.

"Sir, you're back."

The voice was loud, awkward.

Evan Forbes was Evan Forbes—he never failed to give me that mix of alarm and disappointment.

As the two figures drew closer, a thought crept in: if I couldn't win his heart, winning his body would have to do.

I even thought, if I couldn't even get his body… just kidding. I am Princess Claire of Aldridge Kingdom—who could I not get?

I could always loudly make a scene and embarrass them both. I refuse to believe any girl would still marry him after that.

"Princess?"

Evan cut through my dark thoughts, uncertainty in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

I blinked and looked at him. The girl beside him—his cousin from the lantern festival—stepped out from behind him and tilted her head with a smile. "Long time no see, little girl."

She wasn't wearing a veil today. She really was a stunner.

I hate being nice to pretty faces. I stood up, awkward, and replied, "Long time… cousin."

She burst out laughing. "So should I call you little sister-in-law now?"

She winked.

I froze. I’d expected a rival—didn't expect an unexpected ally.

Heaven is on my side!

Evan glanced at me; his face gave nothing away. "The princess is still a child."

Meredith Hale scoffed lightly at his side.

I thought: Child, just wait until I show you what a child's capable of.

Out loud I said, "It's fine."

Because I actually did want to be her sister-in-law.

Meredith strolled over, bored, and sat beside me on the stone bench. "What are you standing for? Worshiping each other?"

So Evan and I obediently sat.

Meredith propped her chin in her hand and watched us with interest. "And now? Going to the bridal chamber?"

Evan gave her a half-smile; she immediately shut up.

Honestly, her assist was so strong I could barely keep up.

After a few idle topics, Meredith pressed a hand to her forehead and said weakly, "The sun's too strong. I think I might be fainting, I should—"

She rose to leave, and I hurriedly handed her my teacup.

I thought beauty truly has its own aura—her brows faintly knit, eyes like two clear pools, pitying even. I didn't stop to wonder how someone could faint in mid-April.

She took the cup from my hands with a complicated expression, keeping the same polite posture.

I asked, "Are you all right?"

She shook her head, smiling in a way that made her intentions unreadable. "What's the social custom in your Aldridge Kingdom?"

I didn't expect the question. I thought a moment. "It's all right. We're fairly open. It's not uncommon for women to hold office."

Evan cast Meredith a glance, faint amusement at the corners of his mouth. "You said you might be fainting. Go rest."

He beckoned toward the arched gate, "Alonzo, take Ms. Hale back to her chambers."

Meredith, still holding the cup, hesitated. "I think I'm fine now."

"You're fragile. Go rest."

Evan told Alonzo, "Fetch Doctor Chen."

"I—" Meredith started again, but Evan looked at her gently. She paused, then half-smiled at him.

"Fine, fine. I'm fragile. I'll take my leave."

She set the cup down and gave me a small smile. "Princess, come visit me when you like."

I nodded outwardly, inwardly thrilled. Another reason to see Evan. While he rose to escort Meredith, I slipped a small porcelain vial's worth of water into his teacup—I'd not forgotten why I'd come.

But… why wouldn't the vial's water mix with the tea?

A milky blob floated on the surface of the tea. I fell silent, thinking of how I'd mocked Constance earlier when I myself wasn't much better.

"What are you looking at?"

Evan's voice suddenly sounded over me. I jumped and clapped the cup lid down. I met his surprised gaze and felt foolish for my clumsy movement; guilty as a thief, I tried to explain.

Flustered, I deflected, "There was…something in your cup. It looked like a bug—protein and all—but gross. I picked it out. You can drink safely now."

What was I even saying?

"See, that white thing is protein. You probably don't know what protein is," I pointed at the milky blob, thinking an ancient man wouldn't know biochemistry, and launched into an explanation. "Protein is an essential component of all cells and tissues. You asking what a cell is? It's the fundamental unit of structure and function in living organisms. All the important parts of the body need protein. Protein is the material basis of life… an organic macromolecule… the main carrier of life functions."

I grew a little thirsty mid-rant, grabbed a cup and drank, then asked, "Understand?"

I pictured him clueless about cells, and reassured him, "If not, that's okay—I didn't understand it either; I just memorized it."

Evan's chin tilted. His eyes curved and seemed to hold tiny stars. He gestured for me to look down.

I went, "Huh?"

Then followed his line of sight.

He said, "You drank it."

And added, "Also, that's your cup."

I: "What?"

Then: "Oh no."

His cup was still where he'd left it.

I stood up, dumbfounded, staring at the empty cup beside me like someone who'd lost everything. I might have lost face, but I couldn't very well vomit in front of him, so I hurried off.

I made a beeline to Constance. She was out boating with a few girls. When she saw me, she practically squealed and ordered her rowers, "Row to the center of the lake! Quick, quick!"

I greeted her. "Constance, long time. I hope you're well."

She made a melodramatic noise. I dismissed the others and got to the point; it was urgent. "Is there an antidote for the love-at-first-sight pill?"

Constance visibly relaxed and shook her head. "Why? Did you give it to someone?"

"No, just asking."

"This pill only works if you sleep. If you don't sleep, you're fine."

I had to admit, she might be right.

"Why are you staring at me? Listen—I don't have money. My mother just asked if I went gambling. I can't spend much. At most I can buy you one more pill—"

Back at the palace I vomited all afternoon and was completely drained.

I finally understood the meaning of reaping what you sow.

I hadn't slept all night. The next day I was hazy. My eldest sister saw my dark circles and jumped.

"Did you go thiefing last night?"

"No."

I sat on the couch with my head on the windowsill trying to clear my head.

"I wanted to ask if you'd come riding. You look terrible; even if you go you'll just get trampled."

"An Ning is missing again. She's always disappeared lately. If you see her tell her to come back, or she'll nag me later. I'm off!"

A thought struck me. "Do you think she went to find Mr. Nash?"

My sister turned, puzzled. "Mr. Nash? Who's he?"

"You know—the guy from the lantern festival that Sister trailed home."

"Oh, that one. The rabbit lantern only had a stick left—are you counting on her to remember him?"

After thinking, she recalled him. "…Alright."

"Take care," I said as she left.

Lying around won't help. My eyelids were heavy, so I decided to walk outside so I wouldn't fall asleep.

I had underestimated myself. After a bit I felt light-headed and leaned against a cypress to rest. Rest turned into unconsciousness.

Half-awake, I heard a familiar voice and footsteps drawing near. A shadow fell across my face. I fought my eyelids and opened them a slit to see a blurred figure in blue.

I rubbed my eyes, hoping it was not a hallucination from lack of sleep.

He stood in front of me, that same annoyingly smug smile from years ago. "What, Flower? Dumbfounded at seeing your brother?"

"Falling asleep standing up—you're something else."

Hearing that familiar address and seeing that face shocked me almost as much as Evan suddenly telling me he was carrying my child would have—well, I'd be happy in that impossible scenario, provided he could somehow bear a child.

Never mind. I digress.

"Weren't you off chasing love across the world? Swore you'd never come back?" I asked.

He sighed, deeper than before. "When I was young I thought love meant getting what you wanted at all costs. Now I've grown—I know love can mean letting go."

I nodded, taking it in. "So you got dumped?"

He choked on that, then snapped, embarrassed and angry. "Get out of my way! You're blocking me!"

His name is Zane. We were once betrothed, but my father always said to leave it to our own wishes.

I had no feelings for him; he had none for me. The engagement quietly fizzled.

We were childhood companions at best—if 'at best' even applies. He'd been sickly since he was little: gasping every few steps, coughing, even spitting blood at ten. He only started being seen in public around that age.

Zane's father was Lord Remington, a close friend of my father's, who died in battle years ago. Zane's mother, upon hearing, tried to take poison but was saved in time; it was then they discovered she was pregnant. The toxin had lingered, and Zane was born premature—a near-death delivery. Zane's mother passed when he was four, and my father brought him into the palace to be raised near my mother. When we were children, my mother even let "me"— and the excerpt ends there for now.

I used to play with him, but he was so sickly and kids are fidgety—no patience. After a few encounters, we just stopped seeing each other.

A year after the original me died, his health began to improve and he started going out again.

I still remember that day. I was playing hide-and-seek with Evelyn and Sophie. I hid in a fake rock garden, and before long I heard footsteps stop not far away. I thought Evelyn had found me, so I jumped out—only to find a pretty, frail-looking kid I’d never seen before.

The kid was startled, turned ghostly pale, and then—“ptoo!”—spat blood all over the place. Yes. Spat.

I went pale right back. My goodness, being mugged for sympathy in broad daylight at home? What a trick. Before I could even react, the kid spoke.

“What are you staring at? Never seen someone spit blood?”

She—no, he—snapped, angrily wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief, and started to walk away.

For some reason, it was oddly endearing.

Judging by his clothing, he was definitely someone from the palace—maybe even a prince. I hurried after him.

“Are you one of my sisters or cousins?”

He stopped, glared at me, and his face went a strange mix of white and pale. He pointed to himself with his right hand and, as if squeezing the words through his teeth, said, “I’m a boy!”

Maybe from anger, his eyelids flipped and he fainted.

I ended up carrying him home.

That’s how we became tied to each other in a strange, stubborn way.

In that precocious little world, while my sisters were still insulting people with “You’re a pig, no, you’re the pig!”—childish stuff—he had already mastered the art of insulting without touching family, like a cotton-wool-soft jab. Only my “idiot” could go toe-to-toe with him, and that’s why we grew closer.

I always thought, in this palace where everyone recited Confucius and Mencius, Zhao—no, his name—was something special.

It’s like when everyone around you quotes philosophers and you just say, “Whatever,” without apology.

Someone born like that is bound for a different path.

I held onto that thought until I was ten, when Father happened to watch him go on and on about his “whatever” attitude. One minute Father was saying he had “so much of his father in him,” and the next he grabbed him and gave him a beating.

That cured the bad habit thoroughly.

He’s two years older than me, so naturally more mature in some ways—his behavior affected me a lot. Between the two of us, we did a number on Evelyn.

Don’t ask why the more I live in this past life, the more I regress.

There was a time I wanted to be like other transmigrated girls—memorize ancient poems, stand out among the little brats, become the “number-one talented lady,” and be the dream girl for every young man in Aldridge Kingdom. But fate had other plans. I was either playing cards or skipping school with him, and worse, I fit in with those brats perfectly. I even had a falling out with Sophie over copying homework—an elementary-school-level stunt. Don’t ask; it makes me want to cry.

So far, his biggest influence on me was teaching me never to drop everything for an uncertain love.

When I was fourteen, precocious him fell in love. In this era, it was considered a normal courtship.

The boy, full of courage, threw himself into love, left a letter, and went away. I never saw him again.

Most of that letter was addressed to Father and Countess Margaret; only one sad, badly written sentence was for me.

“Flower, I’m leaving. Maybe we’ll never meet again. Think of your brother once in a while, for our years together.”

Mother cried so hard; Father looked heartbroken. Back then I didn’t understand how he could abandon the family he’d known for over ten years for a girl he’d only known half a year.

Later, I understood. Love can make you lose yourself—focus so intensely on one person that their smile makes everything worthwhile.

Loving someone means giving everything without counting costs. But that kind of love is unequal; if it isn’t returned or is used, it won’t last. Leave yourself some margin, or the only ending is tragedy.

I don’t know what happened between them, but he did come back—maybe he had found clarity.

“My first thing when I got back was to see you. Flower, you have no conscience,” he said, pulling me from my memories. Hearing “you have no conscience” made me physically flinch; it brought back things I’d rather not think about.

He seemed convinced he’d moved me. He opened his arms, all theatrical. “Come on, years apart—give me a hug.”

I pushed his arms away. “Hug my big-headed ghost! Men and women don’t touch like that.”

He frowned and, clutching his chest, protested in mock anguish, “Ah! Flower has grown up—won’t hug her brother anymore. Brother is heartbroken! Listen—do you hear it? Brother’s heart breaking.”

I forced a polite smile. “I didn’t sleep last night. I’m full of anger. I don’t mind…”

“Aha! I suddenly remembered I haven’t visited Uncle and Auntie yet. Hahaha…” He spun and ran.

Only when he’d vanished did I breathe out. Good thing the potion was fake; liking him would have been worse than liking Julian Forbes. At least with Julian I wouldn’t have to be a widow.

Since the potion was fake, I went back to bed.

Life went back to our childhood habit of skipping school together, only now we didn’t have to fear getting caught and punished—proof we were grown.

That afternoon he came dressed outrageously and invited me to go boating that night. I looked at his red clothes and then at his unusually pale face, thinking.

He lifted his hand, glanced at his outfit; his hair fell to his chest and a row of tiny bells on his sleeve chimed crisply. “What are you staring at? You like my outfit?”

Midnight scared-the-wits-out-of-people vibes? Going to frighten folks at night?

I grabbed on to one word. “Like?”

“Yeah. I ran into your sister earlier—she asked where I got it. She said it suits me and is best seen at night. During the day it doesn’t have the same vibe.”

I gave him a thumbs-up and nodded. “Perfect. Very… dog-like!”

Along the way he kept looking at me like he wanted to say something. I was about to ask if he’d done something to offend me when, pulling the curtain aside, I realized we were near the Forbes estate.

As we passed, I asked, “We’re good friends, right?”

“Actually I—”

We spoke together. He didn’t know why I asked, but instinctively he scooted as far from me as possible. Years together had made that reflex. Then he snapped alert. “What are you doing?”

I asked again, “We’re brothers, right? We grew up together?”

“When you asked me last time—” he mumbled, remembering something, teeth clenched. “If I recall, your third brother bore a grudge against me for over a year.”

“Hahaha, what are you talking about?” I sat beside him. “Do you think I’m that kind of person?”

“You tell me the story.”

“All right. Once there was a little girl. One day some bad men tried to kill her. A man came down from the sky and saved her. What do you think the girl would do with that man?”

He rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “If he was handsome, she’d probably give herself to him. If he was ugly, she’d be reincarnated as a beast next life.”

“You’re so practical,” I said. “Okay, he was indeed handsome.”

“Handsome like me? Achoo!”

He pulled a folding fan from somewhere, opened it with a swish, fanned twice, and closed it.

“Not as handsome as me, then what is handsome?”

“More handsome than you.”

“No way! How could anyone be better-looking than me? Who is it?”

“…Alright, as handsome as you.”

“How could anyone be as handsome as me?”

“…Fine, a little less handsome than you.”

“So nobody’s more handsome than me.”

I ground my teeth. “You’re getting cheeky, aren’t you?”

“Go on. Tell me.”

“You made me forget what I was saying!”

He raised an eyebrow, teasing. “You mean Julian Forbes, right? Want me to help you out tonight?”

“Huh?” I froze—what did Julian have to do with this?

“You have taste, but your judgment is off.”

“Huh?”

“Julian isn’t the kind of person a naive girl like you could handle. But he’s the type little girls like. If you like him you’d be better off liking me…” He tapped my head with his fan, grinning. “Of course, it won’t go anywhere, hahaha!”

Later I pinned him down and gave him a beating.

Night fell and the lanterns came on.

He’d bought a sprig of apricot blossom from a little girl with twin buns in her hair and sauntered over.

“Flower, look!” He offered me the blossom, smiling lopsidedly. “Pretty, right? I picked the best one.”

A childhood rhyme popped into my head: “A girl who loves flowers protects the family; a boy who loves flowers gets a scar on his butt.” I was about to tease him when a flash of white moved in the distance.

It looked like Evan Forbes… I grabbed my skirt and dashed. As I ran, a rhythmic tinkling of bells sounded by my ear. I glanced back and saw him grinning with all his teeth. “You’re so slow.”

A scream cut through the night.

“Ah—my mother! A ghost!”

I ran faster; he matched my pace. We sprinted from North Wren Street to East Hill Street.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

I bent over, panting.

He ran another loop around me; the bells and his puzzled voice sounded, “Why stop?”

I gasped between breaths, “Wait… I can’t… Okay, stop.”

I straightened up and pressed my hand to my chest until my heartbeat slowed.

The young man in white standing beneath the willow on the street turned slowly. Moonlight pooled on the lake; the lanterns painted him in silver and gold.

A breeze set the willow branches dancing over his head. The water rippled. His white robe shifted.

There are always people whose hands move faster than their brains.

When my mind went blank, my legs moved me in spite of myself—right up to him.

Evan Forbes watched my hand without speaking.

I followed his gaze and realized I was holding an apricot blossom.

Huh?

Where did the blossom come from?

“What's that?”

Zane came over, smiling, then leaned in to ask softly, “What are you doing?”

I pulled my hand back and tossed the blossom to Zane, whispering, “I don’t know. I think I got possessed for a second.

Also, you really should disappear right now.”

I forced a smile at Evan. “What a coincidence—we keep running into each other, haha.”

Evan was polite enough to nod. “Indeed, the princess has uncanny timing.”

“Zane, didn’t you say you had other things to do?”

I shot Zane a look. At this point he should’ve left—normal people would at least not be a third wheel. But he wasn’t discreet; he waved and introduced himself to Evan.

“I’m Zane, Claire Bennett’s fiancé. By the way, sir, who are you?”

Evan offered a faint smile. “Evan Forbes.”

Honestly, he didn’t seem in the best mood tonight.

His mouth tilted up, but it was just a movement—nothing reaching his eyes.

I thought of the original plot: right now Julian Forbes would be pretending not to remember Lydia, leaving her secretly wounded; Evan would try to take advantage, but my third brother would beat him to it.

Ugh. My chest tightened—part frustration, part sympathy…sympathy for what?!

If not now, when?

Last autumn I planted a seed. I hadn’t expected a harvest so bountiful by spring.

I couldn’t hide my glee and was about to comfort him when Zane sidled closer and whispered, “Is he Julian’s brother?”

I blinked, puzzled, and nodded.

Zane looked horrified. “You’re stringing two men along?”

The air around us froze. His whisper was anything but private—he kept glancing between us, nodding as though making a grave discovery. “No wonder she didn’t go boating—afraid of capsizing.”

“Zane!”

I snapped at him, then turned to Evan to explain. “No! Don’t listen to his rubbish. I’m not close to him.

I didn’t… I’m not two-timing anyone. I haven’t even been on a boat much—I get seasick.”

I grew more flustered and angry the more I tried to explain, and I pinched Zane hard under the table.

“Ugh!”

He squealed. I dug in again; he yelped but forced himself to continue, “Right, right, I’m not close to her. She rarely goes boating; I asked her and she refused.”

I nodded vigorously, then let go. He jumped back and announced loudly, “Ah— but she’s not seasick!”

Evan withdrew his gaze from the ground and merely nodded again—said nothing.

He hadn’t spoken from the start; I wasn’t sure if he’d even heard my clumsy explanations.

“Oh.”

I slumped and changed the subject. “The stars are so bright tonight.”

Zane pointed at the sky. “Flower, you mean the moon.”

I flushed with embarrassment and rage, grabbed the fallen apricot branch to swat him, and he ducked away like a shadow.

Only then did Evan speak. “I’ll walk you back.”

I lifted my head. He looked straight ahead with no expression; the lantern light stretched our shadows long and thin.

I told myself he must be annoyed with me.

We walked one after the other. I felt sick inside—like we’d gone right back to when we’d first met.

I asked, “Do you think I’m annoying?”

He replied, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Dare my ass.

I flung the apricot branch hard and stormed into the Sinclair Manor.

For the first time, we parted in anger.

Peach and apricot turned to spring mud. Little lotus leaves pushed up pointed and shy. Spring slid into summer.

The cicadas sang. I didn’t expect that when we parted, we wouldn’t meet again until late summer.

Wanming was Zane’s family home—my maternal relatives’ place—only three or four hours from Eastford.

Wanming was famous for Azure Lake. In June and July, when lotuses flourished, the green pads seemed to spread forever, meeting the sky at the horizon. The lotus blooms dotted the surface like shy girls, gradually revealing themselves.

Now the flowers were gone; only fat seed pods stood among the leaves, waiting for someone to pluck them.

Zane and I drifted across the lake. The ferryman steered from the bow. Zane sat peeling lotus seeds—his nails short, clumsy at the task. He glared at me so many times I lost count.

Somewhere nearby, I heard faint music. Through a gap in the trees lining the shore, I saw a crowd of young people gathering. My eyelid suddenly started twitching.

“Something’s happening over there,” I said.

Zane kept peeling without looking up. “Let’s wait to land. Maybe we can report it to the authorities later.”

“Huh?”

The ferryman, rowing, laughed. “This young master must be a visitor.”

I nodded.

“At this time of year, the Blue Lotus virtuoso comes to the lakeside Pavilion of Music. Every season, some misses and lads get into fights over him.”

The ferryman smiled toward the commotion. “Looks livelier than usual this year. Let me tell you about the Blue Lotus…”

I knew of Blue Lotus—though the book didn’t spend much time on him, his antics were unforgettable.

Every heroine-side suitor needs a standout trait. My third brother was a duke; Julian had slid down from status to playing tough guy, quietly protecting the heroine as a surprisingly skilled swordsman. Evan—well, Evan was Evan.

Blue Lotus got by on shamelessness; he was also called Verdant. How shameless? He once stripped naked in the heroine’s bed to seduce her; when he failed, he accused her of craving him. He hid in the bridal chamber to try to knock Julian out and take his place as groom—nearly had his legs broken for it—and then he whispered that Julian had impotency rumors spread across town. The drama lasted years.

Curious, I urged us to go ashore.

Zane blinked. “Why are you so excited? To join the brawl? Or to be beaten?”

“I want to report their gathering for a fight.”

Zane clapped his hands. “Brilliant! I’ll go too!”

Of course we weren’t actually going to file a complaint. We slipped into the crowd. The Blue Lotus played above while his fan club screamed below.

“Blue Lotus! Like an immortal!”

“One tune could move the heavens!”

“Blue Lotus! Look at me!!”

We were stuck too far back to see his face. I stood on tiptoe and still couldn’t make him out. Zane crouched and tapped his shoulder. “Try standing on me.”

“That’s gross—gender lines exist.”

Zane rose, offended, “When you hit me, you didn’t think about that.”

“Hit you is hit you. No exceptions.”

He plopped down, lazy. “Fine. When they catch him later, you’ll see.”

“Catch him?”

I sat too.

“Every year it’s the same. Nothing new,” Zane said with a grin.

Before I could ask how he knew, a shriek rose from the crowd.

“Throw it to me! Give it to me!”

“Me! Look at me!!”

Blue Lotus had plucked a flower, sniffed it, and tossed it down. People lunged; the crowd surged and pressed. I nearly got smothered under a mass of limbs.

Zane hauled me back ten yards before I could be trampled.

I was about to say what if someone died, when everyone started doing flips—front flips, back flips, side flips—scrambling for the flower. It bobbed in the air, snatched this way and that, and no one managed to keep it.

I watched, bewildered. Zane explained, “People who stand this close aren’t ordinary. No one dares show up without real skill. Maybe none are masters, but most have some martial training.”

“How does that turn into a brawl?” I asked.

“Ah…well.” He reclined against an osmanthus tree. “If you can’t snatch it, your hands do the talking.”

“Could people get killed?”

“Blue Lotus isn’t stupid. He always has people planted in the crowd to stop things before they go too far.”

He chuckled at me.

“And if they’re arrested?”

“Oh, the instigators can’t just walk away. It’s more of a formality.”

Zane laughed until he choked. “Look at your face. Worrying here is like eating pickles—pointless!”

Just then a woman was thrown from the air. We locked eyes and silently mouthed one dirty word.

In that heartbeat, a white figure blurred across the space and caught her gently in his arms.

Too far away to see his face clearly.

“You were hardly behaving,” the white-clad stranger barked. The voice was deliberately low—probably a woman with a deep timbre; it wasn’t a prepubescent boy.

“Oh? Why do you say that, sir? Consensual fun is nothing to—” Blue Lotus swaggered forward, self-satisfied.

They argued in low tones, then suddenly came to blows. What began as a mute skit turned into a full-on action sequence.

Of course, in romance tropes, if the white-clad person was male, the story would detour; if female, some hairpin would fall and reveal her to be a woman. So it was the hairpin that decided gender.

We climbed onto a branch of the osmanthus tree, casually cracking lotus seeds and chatting.

“That white-clad person’s a woman,” I spoiled.

He hummed noncommittally—obviously his mind was elsewhere.

I pulled a handful of sunflower seeds from my sleeve, about to ask Zane if he wanted any, when I looked up and saw the white-robed person had already revealed themselves. Their sword rested on Young Master Lyle’s shoulder, their hair tumbled loose, and from the way everyone reacted, it was definitely a woman. I froze, then stammered after a long beat, “Why is the plot moving so fast?”

Zane looked even more stunned than I felt. “How does taking out a hairpin make hair fall straight down? Shouldn’t it be curled? Why do people think she’s a man when her hair’s pinned up, but a woman when it’s down? That doesn’t make sense!”

I answered, “By novel logic, it makes perfect sense.”

He suddenly moved faster than his eyes, plucking the hairpin from my head with a look of surprise. “Why doesn’t yours fall?”

I kicked it away.

He climbed back up and sat beside me.

“According to reality?” he asked.

I thought a moment and said, “They should all go see a doctor.”

“For an eye problem?”

“No. For a brain problem.”

“Oh.” He put his hand to his forehead and glanced over. Regret softened his tone. “Why aren’t we fighting?”

Then, like he’d just noticed something, he raised his voice. “Hey, hey, hey—what is that man doing? Is he trying to arm-wrestle her?”

I looked over. Young Master Lyle was holding the woman’s hand, clinging to her so she couldn’t leave.

I realized then why Zane had been dumped.

In the end, Young Master Lyle earned himself a one-day jail visit.

That night it was too hot to sleep. I sat up to cool off, planning to snuff the lamp and sleep, when a shadow suddenly appeared outside the window.

I was still in the act of blowing out the lamp when I saw him flip his sword in and climb through, shutting the window behind him. He walked in, sword stained with blood, and calmly set it on the table before sitting down like nothing had happened. He greeted me with a polite tilt of his head. “Good evening, Princess.”

“I’d be fine if you’d stayed away,” I shot back.

For once my barbs didn’t rile him. He chuckled softly, sounding almost pleased. “What are you afraid of? Don’t you like me?”

I snapped, “Like you, my foot!”

I edged back a few steps. “Are you out of your mind?”

Julian Forbes rubbed his temple as if my presence gave him a headache and stopped teasing. “I saved your life—remember?”

I nodded. “I remember. So are you here to collect?”

“No need. Just do me a favor.”

Footsteps sounded outside. I was about to scream when he snuffed the lamp. Darkness swallowed the room and the next moment I was flat on the bed. He clamped a hand over my mouth and rolled in beside me. The sword lay between us, a respectful distance away.

“Shh.”

He let me go.

Tears sprang to my eyes and I whispered, “Don’t try anything. I’m going to be your future… sister… or… brother…” My voice trailed off.

Another person climbed through the window. Julian and I stared at each other under the covers.

I recognized him by the breath that fogged my face.

Julian grabbed the sword, lifted the quilt, and lunged. The two of them moved without a sound, relying on the moonlight and the lanterns outside. I saw a familiar silhouette and felt certain I was finished.

They obviously recognized each other too, and both stopped.

Julian sheathed his sword with some surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“One of Sun Wo’s men were prowling around the estate earlier. I thought something was wrong and it turns out he tried this.” Evan’s voice cut clean through the still night. “Brother, are you all right?”

I pulled the blanket over my head, trying to shrink into the mattress so I wouldn’t be noticed.

Julian answered with a flat sound and said coldly, “I didn’t expect him to drug the wine. I nearly fell for it.”

Couldn’t these two just handle their drama somewhere else? I still wanted to sleep.

“What about the others?” Julian asked.

“They’re all dead.”

“Well done,” Evan said, approving. “Let’s go.”

I breathed a private sigh of relief. Yes—leave, leave now.

Julian took a few steps, then stopped and turned back to bow toward me. “Thank you, Princess.”

I narrowed my voice. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not a princess—I’m Zhao Wu, the Fifth Miss Zhao.”

Julian gently corrected me. “This is the Wu residence.”

I corrected myself faster than I’d expected. “Oh—my name is Wren Carter.”

“Evan,” he said.

I called after Evan when he moved to leave. He froze and said nothing. Julian paused too. “Why’d the princess call for him?”

“Mind your business! Can you just leave?” I snapped, furious.

Julian clicked his tongue, glanced at us both, and vaulted out the window.

I lit the candle again. Julian looked at me, then softened his posture and asked in a quieter voice, “Is something wrong, Princess?”

“Evan,” I said, watching him. I wanted to ask why he’d been avoiding me, why his attitude had changed so much, all the things that churned in my head. All those questions thinned down to two words on my tongue—his name.

“Princess?” He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Evan, Julian’s not a good man.” I pursed my lips and slandered him for effect. “He just threatened me. I was scared.”

Evan replied evenly, “I’m not a good man either.”

He’d missed the point. I pushed harder, “I was really scared.”

“Can you stay with me? I’m afraid someone will come tonight. I’m weak—couldn’t fight them off. I have no strength at all.”

He said calmly, “Don’t worry. No one will come.”

Right. Of course I’d be reassured—the guards outside couldn’t stop two leading men, so clearly they’d handle any rando intruders too.

“But I’m still scared.”

I figured he might refuse, so I added, “You don’t have to stay the whole night—just until I fall asleep. Then you can go.”

He hesitated, sighed, and then said, “Fine.”

I pushed my luck. “Could you sit at the edge of my bed?”

“That’s not proper,” he said.

I lowered my lashes and feigned disappointment. “Oh. It’s okay. I’m not that scared. At worst I’ll shake and kick the covers and wake up with a fever—and then I’ll be an idiot.”

I looked up at him with a pout. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. Go. Being an idiot isn’t so bad—people say fools have their rewards.”

In the end he blew out the lamp and sat on the bedside, and my heart did a little dance inside, though I kept my face calm and shut my eyes.

Big sister was right—playing vulnerable does bring out someone’s protective side.

After a while I still couldn’t sleep. I opened my eyes. Evan sat properly, head turned toward the window.

“Evan, I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

Silence answered me. I asked softly, “Are you asleep? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

He finally said, “No.”

“Can you tell me a bedtime story?”

“No.”

“Can you dance? Surely you can dance?”

“No.”

“You’re talented—you can even cook. Are you lying to calm me down?”

He rubbed his temple and said with tired patience, “I’m not talented. I just had to learn things when I was a child.”

“Okay.” I lowered my expectations. “Can you sing? Anything. Just sing something. I don’t care what.”

Evan fought to keep a straight face and said, “I can’t.”

“Then I’ll teach you and you’ll sing to me later.”

I was ready to climb out of bed and start when he suddenly covered my eyes with his hand and murmured with a smile, “Go to sleep.”

His faint scent washed over me. When sight’s taken away, the other senses sharpen.

“But I can’t sleep,” I whined, sniffling a little and cuddling in babyish.

“You have to sleep.” His voice was gentle and firm.

He lifted his hand and I opened my eyes. “Do you know a lullaby? The kind that soothes children? I heard they work wonders. One song—please?”

He couldn’t resist. He hummed a tune that felt oddly familiar: warm and lingering.

My mind wandered. His voice—so pleasant. I tried not to think about whether he was off-key.

It was late, the night breeze cool and clean in a way daytime heat never was. Maybe it was something big sister used to hum to Little Hong, or what Mother used to sing at night. When the melody finished there was a hush. He was about to stand; I grabbed his hand. “You sing so well. Can you sing another?”

“No.”

He didn’t give me the chance to argue and warned, “If you fuss, I’ll leave.”

“Okay.” I surrendered.

I don’t know when I fell asleep. When I woke, he was gone.

I remember the original story beat—someone else collapsed wounded in Lydia Sinclair’s room, the two of them confirmed their feelings. But now the plot had warped: it wasn’t Julian gravely hurt and claiming emotions; instead, Julian had amnesia and wasn’t badly injured at all.

Worse, it wasn’t Evan who’d been wounded and crawled into my bed.

If it had been him, I could’ve imagined exactly how things would go. I’d rescue him and say, “See—before you saved me, now I saved you. Isn’t it fate? Since fate brought us together, why don’t you give yourself to me?” If he hesitated I’d tease, “I’m kidding—well, I’ll give myself to you. Silence means consent, speaking means consent too. Right?”

Evan would be charmed by my irresistible charisma and agree to belong to me.

Too bad. Still, maybe I could arrange for someone to attack him and then I’d jump in to save him when he was losing. I told Zane my idea. He answered in two words.

“You’re crazy!”

Then that afternoon he gathered a bunch of fighters. He was thrilled and asked where Evan was. Afraid he couldn’t win alone, Zane recruited thirty-some trained men; he didn’t believe Evan could beat that many at once.

I answered him back, “You’re crazy!”

It rained last night and cooled the long spell of heat.

The morning air was crisp. The water on the bluestone steps hadn’t dried yet. I held an umbrella and walked slowly up the stairs. The guards waited at the foot of the hill; Zane ran ahead and soon disappeared from sight.

Zane’s master lived in a bamboo cottage halfway up the mountain. This visit to Wynshire was half a summer retreat, half because Zane wanted to see family.

It was already early autumn, and Father had repeatedly urged us to return to the palace. Zane had gone to say goodbye to his master.

To our left rose a rocky wall sprouting weeds and small trees. To our right was a railing.

Leaning over the railing and looking down revealed a dense forest.

At the top of the steps, a two-foot-wide bluestone path stretched ahead.

Both sides were packed with flowers and shrubs. Their scents braided together—chrysanthemums, canna lilies, bay laurel, jasmine, and many I couldn’t name. The colors were vivid but uneven.

Clearly nobody tended this place carefully; each plant grew its own way, yet the wild chaos had a strange, indescribable beauty.

Zane’s master’s surname was Chen—he was one of those mysterious wandering folk of the martial world. Mysterious enough that all I knew was his last name. He’d been a close friend of Zane’s mother before she passed.

He’d taught Zane all his martial arts. He used to stay in the palace with Zane, but when Zane left, he left too.

From a distance I saw a white shape step briskly out of the bamboo cottage—hair unbound, hanging down past the knees.

“Master, how did you know I was coming?” Zane reached to take the basin in Master Chen’s hands.

“I didn’t,” Master Chen said.

He lifted his hand without looking at Zane and strode past him.

“Master, what are you doing?” Zane called.

Master Chen crouched in the vegetable patch, plucking leaves, his face cold as he ordered, “Watch the noodles in the pot.”

A smell of burning drifted from the kitchen. Master Chen paused, then added, “And the fire.”

“You aren’t reading novels while you cook again, are you?” Zane wailed. “How many times have I told you—don’t read while you’re cooking! You can burn the noodles, you’re a real talent…”

Zane rolled up his sleeves and, in an instant, transformed from a dandy into a nagging houseboy, grumbling as he rushed into the kitchen.

After he finished picking the vegetables, he noticed me. He looked a little surprised, then flattened his expression back into neutrality.

“Ah… Princess, have you eaten?” he asked.

“I have,” I answered. “Master Chen.”

“That’s good.” Master Chen breathed out, more relaxed. “Want to sit in the room a bit?”

“Sure, sure. You go on, I won’t be in the way.”

Master Chen nodded and turned back toward the kitchen.

Soon their quiet conversation drifted out.

“Can’t you hire someone to cook for you?”

“I don’t trust strangers.”

“What about those previous ones?”

“Too annoying.”

“And Uncle Ouyang?”

“He went to Qiangjiang to take care of his daughter.”

“You could find someone to look after you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Huh? Like that?” Master Chen fell silent, then added weakly, “If I tell you it was an accident, would you believe me?”

“An accident? One time is an accident. Two years and it’s still an accident?”

“You talk too much!” Master Chen brandished a giant ladle.

“All right, all right, I won’t say any more.”

They settled into quiet cooking.

Bored, I picked up a book on the table. Blue cover. The title: Records of Martial Winds and Rains.

Oh—accounts of the martial world.

I opened to the first page. Another frontispiece. I flipped right. The heading read: The Things Between Me and My Senior Sister.

Huh?

I blinked. Master Chen was full of surprises.

The small preface line read: Never had, yet losing what one has.

I skimmed the beginning, then jumped to the ending, then read the middle. It told a love story between a senior sister and her junior disciple. The junior loved the sister for years, but fate intervened: the senior sister fell for another man on an outing, married and had a child. Then some tragedy occurred—both sister and her husband died, leaving the child. The junior cared for that child until his own death.

I closed the book with a sigh. “All love leaves but regret. People are the hardest to hold onto.”

“Love leaves only empty sorrow; sweet dreams wake easily. The world won’t keep beauty—faces fade, flowers fall.”

Master Chen stood in the doorway, watching the book in my hands. He asked, “Is it good?”

Caught reading someone’s private book and then confronted—how embarrassing. “It’s… good.”

“Oh.” He took his gaze off me, set a bowl of vegetable-and-pork noodle across from me, and put the book away. “I wrote it.”

He ate a mouthful, frowned, and asked, “Any thoughts after finishing it?”

He watched me like a teacher calling on a nervous student after a film in class.

“Well…” My heart started pounding; my brain raced.

“Hm?”

“That junior was too tragic.”

“Oh? How so?”

“The one he loved died, and he had to raise her child. While nursing the child he literally wore himself out and died too—too tragic! Really, unbearably tragic!”

Master Chen was quiet, then asked, “Did you read carefully?”

“What’s that mean?”

“The one who dies in the end is the child.”

“Then the junior’s still tragic.”

“Hm?” I started to improvise. “Look—he watches the woman he loves die, helpless. He raises her child, pours all his love into the child. He finally grows that child up, and the child dies, too. The senior he loved and the child raised on his devotion both die—two blows at once. The junior’s life is a tragedy stacked on tragedy. It’s tragic to the max.”

“Not bad.” Master Chen raised an eyebrow, looking at me meaningfully, then calmly slurped his noodles. “Time heals all wounds.”

I clapped. “Well said, Master Chen!”

After Zane washed the bowls, we said our goodbyes and left.

On the way down I asked, “What was your master to your mother?”

“Um… I heard they were good friends.”

Zane thought a moment, then asked, “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Did you read his novel?”

“How did you know?”

“Hey! Don’t you know who I am? My head’s full of nothing but cleverness.”

“You better shut up.”

“All right. So what was this one about?”

“Sister-and-brother.”

“Oh—Master’s been writing sister-brother stories these years. A few years back I snuck a look at his stuff: martial leaders and seductive cult heroines spending seven days and nights, princes and courtesans’ tortured love, regents and dowagers’ unspoken secrets. Once I was caught. He’d force me to tell him my thoughts every time he finished a page. I didn’t dare after that.”

I punched my chest in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me to read with you! Aren’t we still brothers?”

Zane said, “Master warned that anyone who reveals the palace’s circulating novels is him—he wouldn’t mind handing me back to my father right then.”

“…Why aren’t you scared now?”

“We aren’t in the palace anymore.”

We didn’t return to the palace. Instead we slipped down the back mountain, avoided the posted guards, and headed for Long Ridge to see the snow—mostly because I wanted to find out something.

Sure enough, in Aldridge Kingdom it was early autumn and Long Ridge already wore its snow. By the time we arrived, heavy flakes were falling.

Long Ridge sat on the border between Aldridge and Qiangjiang—coming and going took at least a month or two—so I cut to the chase and entrusted a letter back to the palace with someone.

Thinking of Father and Countess Margaret made my heart flutter.

We walked a path through the woods. Zane’s face had gone pale with excitement. He shivered and whispered, “Flower, do you think we’ll get a beating when we go back? I’m eighteen now. A couple years ago I could say I was young. I’m grown now.”

I tried to soothe his fear. “Don’t worry. In elders’ eyes, even at eighty you’re still a child.”

He relaxed. I added quickly, “Getting beaten has nothing to do with age. You’ll still get it.”

I reminded him, “Besides, coming to see the snow was your idea. We’ve walked two days—what are you afraid of now?”

Zane’s eyes widened, innocent as ever. “Oh? Was it me? I forgot.”

We kept along the path, dodging wave after wave of searching guards. We hadn’t expected to miss the hill’s local bandit king.

“Heh heh heh! This young lady’s a pretty one. Where are you off to? How about you play with us?” The leader leered at me. His cronies laughed lecherously.

“Heh heh—” Zane saw their numbers and whispered to me, “Maybe you should comply?”

I glared and whispered back, “If you want to comply, you go be their boss’s bride.”

Zane considered, then: “Fine. I’ll be fierce.”

“Do you know who we are, daring to stop us?” The leader taunted.

Zane stepped forward, disdain in his voice, a perfect display of noble arrogance. “A bunch of trash!”

All manly and fierce—too much so. I felt like we were doomed.

I mentally gave him a row of gold stars for bravery.

“Who’s this?” the leader guffawed, brazen. “Royalty? Even if the princess herself shows up, we won’t stop!”

I pushed Zane forward and clenched my fist to encourage him. “Now’s your chance to prove yourself! Go, sword Zane!”

I didn’t forget to stoke his ego. “I’ll tell you: my brother’s Aldridge’s top swordsman. He’ll cut you down like water! No fear!”

Zane gripped his sword. His gaze shifted. The air around him changed—composed and commanding.

The bandits, who’d been showboating, wavered at once. Their contempt cooled. The mood tensed.

A narrow-eyed thug by the leader whispered, “Could he actually be a swordsman?”

The leader’s expression hardened; he locked onto Zane. “Don’t be afraid—we’re many!”

Zane casually slung his sword over his shoulder, a half-smile on his lips. “Time’s short. Let’s do this together.”

Confident, almost bored. It was clear he didn’t consider them worth much.

“Ah—!” The bandits had no honor; they surged forward in a swarm.

“Good.” Zane stood still, like a mountain.

I quietly edged farther back.

They were barely a meter from Zane when he flicked his left hand and a cloud of white powder engulfed them.

Zane sprinted over to me like he was running a hundred-meter dash and grabbed for my hand. "Ah—!"

I played along and slapped his palm, then turned and bolted. "Ah—!"

Behind us rose their furious roars.

"How dare you lie to me!"

"You brat! If we catch you we'll peel you alive!"

"Chase them!"

We ran blindly, panicked, but even after we were exhausted we couldn't shake them.

Just when I thought we'd have to keep running forever, two people stepped out from around a corner up ahead. They stood in shadow, so their faces weren't very clear.

"Run, brothers!"

When we got close, Zane reminded them, and because I was inside, I could see their faces clearly as we passed.

"…Huh?"

Zane, who'd been running hard, realized he wasn't making progress and finally turned back to look at me. "What are you staring at? Run!"

"Run where? Reinforcements are here."

I grabbed his collar. Zane was like a runaway horse—nearly impossible to control—and it took all my strength to hold him back.

I let him go and he stumbled, almost face-planting.

I hurried up to the two newcomers, half excited, half worried. "How many can each of you take? Ten?"

Julian Forbes and Evan Forbes glanced at the dark crowd behind us and both fell silent.

I took their silence as disdain from real fighters and crowed, provoking them again. "A bunch of useless thugs—my backup's here! Open your dog-eyes and look—these two are my brothers: one is the kingdom's top assassin, the other the top swordsman. Beating you lot will be like swatting a drowning mutt! Scared now?"

A rat-faced thug sneered, "This little lady only knows how to lie—she just said her brother was the kingdom's top swordsman, but he ran faster than a dog!"

A burst of jeering laughter followed.

The big guy barked, "Don't listen—just fight!"

Chaos erupted again.

And me? I really was useless.

At first Julian stayed close to me, ducking attacks while trying to shield me without a weapon—completely reactive. He threw me out then pulled me back so many times I joked to myself we were dancing the tango.

Finally he got fed up with me being in the way. He shouted for Zane and literally flung me toward him. Zane was so into fighting he didn't hear, so I flew past him. When our eyes met, he looked puzzled—he couldn't figure out why I suddenly knew light-footed moves. In that brief glance I silently cursed him and Julian a thousand times.

If the ground had been flat, I'd have only scraped myself. Too bad it was sloped. Of course I tumbled down.

Luckily I was caught—

Unluckily, the impact was so hard that I knocked the person who caught me down with me.

"Ah—!"

After the world spun and finally stopped, I crawled off Evan. He had his eyes shut tight—obviously he'd taken a bad hit. Wait—no, he'd been pinned and crushed by me. Had I knocked him out?

Guilt and unease gnawed at me. Was I too heavy? It's been hot, food was scarce—shouldn't I be light?

He finally opened his eyes. "You okay?"

"You okay?"

We said it at the same time, both shaking our heads, then couldn't help but laugh.

He stood up. "Let's go."

He managed one step before a muffled groan escaped him.

"What's wrong?" I blurted. Don't tell me I gave him internal injuries?

He looked down at his feet, troubled. "Looks like I twisted my ankle."

"Which one?" I asked, moving closer. "I'll support you."

"Right one."

I took his right hand; he leaned into me. His weight dropped into my arms. To steady him, I swung his right arm over my shoulder and half-hugged him with my left.

After a few steps he got heavier. I gritted my teeth and forced another couple steps until I couldn't move at all.

Glancing down, I realized he was standing on his right foot to support himself. No wonder he felt so heavy.

"But you said your right foot was hurt?" I asked, confused.

He followed my gaze and then, as if remembering something, said, "Maybe my head's so fuzzy I mixed it up."

Headache?

Panic flared. When he dove to protect me earlier, did he bump his head on a rock?

"Does anything else hurt?"

"No."

He looked pale, clothes torn. My heart ached—this guy always got himself wrecked protecting me, and I had been petty about him not liking me. It was childish and ridiculous.

I helped him lean against a tree. "Let's not go. Let's wait for them to find us."

He nodded, eyes closed, exhausted.

"Is your head still hurting?"

"Yeah." He answered in a weak, nasal tone.

I felt a pang—if only he were with Lydia Sinclair. Lydia knew martial arts; Evan wouldn't be dragging others down. Even if hurt, Lydia could escape and fetch help, or carry him out herself.

Me? I seemed only to be a burden.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting his coat in gold. Evan opened his eyes and smiled faintly. "It's not that bad."

Leaves danced across his chest and the hem of his shirt. Stray strands of hair brushed my face now and then, bringing his faint, clean scent with them.

He saw me looking down and suggested, "Shall we go?"

I shook my head. "Wait. Lie on my lap and I'll massage your head."

Saying it felt bold—embarrassing, even.

He paused, about to refuse. Evan was the sort to keep polite distance, never show weakness to a girl. If I didn't take the initiative, he'd grin through the pain and suffer in silence.

I forced him down onto my knees. I expected resistance, but when I tugged, he simply collapsed into me.

Men were like that: they'd rather keep up appearances than admit they needed help.

I rubbed his temples. He went from stiff to relaxed and slowly closed his eyes.

I looked around. The view was beautiful—wild chrysanthemums blanketed the slopes, sunlight turning the petals warm gold. I picked one and remembered Zane saying that in our country, when a woman gives a man flowers it means she likes him. No wonder last autumn when I made a floral wreath for him he had looked so weird. Back then I didn't like him; I thought he was just awkward because we weren't close.

Without thinking I plucked more flowers and wove a wreath. Evan seemed asleep. I leaned in and called softly—no response. I coughed louder. "Ahem! Evan? Mr. Forbes?"

"Brother Evan? Mr. Forbes? Brother?" I tried again. Still nothing. My boldness grew.

"There's a giant tiger right in front of you!"

"OMG! It's an alien!"

He didn't flinch.

I glanced around—only the rustle of leaves.

He's really handsome.

I placed the wreath on his head and let my hand rest on his face; the breeze chilled his skin. Just as I was about to do something more, his lashes fluttered and I jerked my hand away, my heart pounding in my throat. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep.

After a while he didn't move; checking through a slit in my lids, his breathing was steady. I exhaled and patted my chest—what a scare.

I called him again. No response. His complexion had brightened and his lips regained color. Thin and cool when his eyes were closed, his face now looked less distant. The wreath softened him—suddenly I felt the urge to—well—to kiss him.

Two nagging voices argued in my head.

One: "Kiss him! What are you afraid of? Freebies don't last!"

The other: "Taking advantage of someone asleep is dishonorable. He treats you like a friend; you're just being shameless."

I picked the first voice.

Okay, I'm shameless.

I leaned down and planted a quick peck on his lips. My heart hammered, and for a dizzy second my ears rang from the nerves.

But I couldn't remember how it felt when our lips met—too tense.

This time I'd go slow.

I bent closer, aiming to taste properly, and just as I was about to, his eyes flew open.

I broke out in a cold sweat. My heart nearly leapt out of my throat.

I sat up, pretending like nothing happened. "Well, nice weather, huh? Ha ha."

He sat up, lucid and composed—no trace of someone woken from sleep. He probably knew everything by now.

Still—having kissed him, I couldn't pretend it never happened.

I pressed my right hand to my chest, decided to risk it, and blurted, "Hey, Evan. I—"

He watched me in silence, saying nothing.

Under that look I froze. I shifted tack. "A friend of mine—she said she really likes you. She really, really likes you…" My voice trailed off.

He dryly observed, "You seem to have many friends."

"…"

I gave up. "Okay, that friend is me."

I met his eyes seriously. "Evan, I really, really like you. Do you—do you like me?"

I was so nervous I couldn't meet his gaze, afraid of rejection—imagining him saying, 'Sorry, Claire, I like Lydia. What you did just now didn't happen. We're fine as friends.'

I shut my eyes and hurriedly spoke before he could, "Are you going to say what I want to hear? If not, don't say it."

Thinking he might stay silent, making all my effort pointless, I couldn't help adding, "Say it more gently."

I thought to myself—gentle or not, it's still a rejection. "Never mind. Better you don't say anything at all."

I covered my ears, but still heard Evan's light, "Alright then."

"Alright then?"

Just those three words?

How was that "alright"?

In the dark I felt so wronged. A girl musters the courage to confess and gets back three meaningless words. And he didn't even think about it—when it was obviously me who told him not to speak.

"What's so 'alright' about it? Not even a—"

I opened my eyes to find him looking at me with amusement, and my heart sank to the floor. What did that smile mean?

Was he laughing at me? Completely indifferent? Treating this like a little farce?

Just as my thoughts spiraled, he suddenly rested his head on my shoulder and chuckled softly.

"You really are…"

I was stunned a long moment before I registered that he had lifted his head to look at me. I saw myself—stunned—in the laughter in his eyes, and couldn't help punching his chest. "You scared me to death."

My voice came out with an involuntary quiver.

He said, "Alright, my fault."

"And you?"

I asked, unwilling to let it go.

"My feelings for you might be a little different from yours."

He hugged me tighter, his tone calm. "If one day you don't like me anymore… you still can't just leave me."

"I'll never stop liking you. I'll be with you forever."

"Promise."

I worried he wouldn't believe me. "Should I swear?"

He chuckled low, as if teasing me on purpose. "Alright, swear."

"…"

In the end he carried me on his back and we found Zane and the others.

Suddenly, it seemed less important whether some things were perfectly clear.

35

Evan got a carriage. At first I was the only one inside, but later Zane's butt started aching from riding and he insisted on squeezing in with me.

He'd only ridden a short while; Evan had been at it all day—proof that Zane couldn't handle hardship.

Actually, I wanted to ride a horse with Evan, but there were too many people following. It wasn't convenient.

Regretfully I crawled back into the carriage and played a dull game of cards with Zane.

Zane was a lousy player—always peeking, slipping cards back into his sleeve, taking played cards back. Playing with him was pointless. One round always ended with me holding him down and beating him, yet he loved it.

Annoying!

"Flower, look what's behind you."

Zane used talking to me as an excuse to glance at my hand.

I flipped my cards face down on the table and kept my other hand on the useless stack, eyes glued to him to stop his hand from crawling out of his coat.

"Quit the crap and play your card!"

I could have used a second hand to slap him away.

"Don't rush me. I'm thinking."

"How long are you going to think? Can't you just lose faster so we can start the next round?"

"I would if I could."

Zane ground his teeth. "The thing is I'm out of money. If I lose more I'll have to sell myself!"

Outside there was a "thump thump" and then Evan's voice drifted in. "Claire."

My eyes lit up. I tossed the cards aside, gave a cheer, and threw back the curtain to leap into his arms.

"Zane, you can play by yourself."

Too eager, Evan almost lost his balance. He took a step back holding me, then carefully set me down.

"What's wrong?"

I clung to his hand, so happy I couldn't hide it.

"Taking you somewhere."

He led me, lifted me onto a horse, and rode off.

A head popped out of the carriage; Zane complained indignantly, "Claire, you favor looks over friends!"

I leaned into Evan's chest, unable to stop smiling. I tuned him out.

"Where are we going?"

"I heard there's a peach grove. I wanted… to take you."

I turned and found him staring straight ahead, a little flush in his ears.

I brightened. "Are we going to steal peaches?"

I could feel his chest rise and fall; wind whooshed past and he laughed.

"No."

"Then what? Buy peaches?"

I couldn't imagine anything you could do in a peach orchard besides eat peaches.

"Just to be with you."

"Oh…okay. I want that too."

Evan tied the horse to a tree. I waited nearby.

In front of us lay a pool of green water reflecting a line of blue hills. To our right was the peach grove—no peaches, only bare branches.

Once he joined me, we strolled slowly along the lakeshore.

Truth be told, I'd never dated before. I didn't know how dates were supposed to go. Sneaking a look at Evan, I realized he didn't seem to know either.

Think: holding hands? We'd done that.

Kissing? That might even be sooner than holding hands.

So what came next?

Marriage, I guessed.

But I was only sixteen. In my world that was full-blown young love—caught and the parents would be called. Though girls could marry at fifteen now, I was still a child. Marriage seemed way too early.

"What are you thinking about?"

Evan's voice whispered by my ear. I blurted without thinking, "Getting married."

He looked complicated, so I explained. "You see, couples have a progression—hold hands, kiss, get married. We've done the first two. The only thing missing is marriage."

Feeling childish next to his twenty years, I grew anxious. "Are we going too fast? Wait two years until I'm eighteen—I'm not mature now, you said you like mature girls. Wait until I'm mature."

"Who said I like mature girls?"

He looked at me, puzzled.

"You did. At Mrs. Yang's, when I asked what you liked, you said mature, well-mannered, understanding girls. I was miserable for days."

Evan made an "ah" sound. "No wonder you were cold to me those days."

I thought to myself: he even remembers when I wanted to ignore him. I was about to continue my little complaint to show him how awful he'd been when he hugged me.

"So you liked me back then."

I hugged him and murmured, "Yes."

I lifted my head. "When did you start liking me?"

"I don't know."

He lowered his head, forehead resting against mine. "When I realized, I'd already liked you for a long time."

Our eyes met, so close I could see his long lashes inching closer. Suddenly I remembered one thing.

"What about Lydia?"

Time to settle accounts.

Evan stiffened and stepped back, a deep helplessness in his tone. "I thought you wouldn't ask."

"I'm just asking casually."

I tried to sound breezy, but inside I felt sour. The idea that he might have had something with her made me ache. Better not to know, I told myself. "Is this what I want to hear? If not, don't say it."

He looked at me amused and ruffled my hair. "It doesn't matter. I wanted something from her."

"Did you get it?"

"Why don't you ask what it was?"

Relief flooded me—so long as it wasn't her he wanted, that would be fine. "I care more about results."

"Did you get it?"

I pressed.

He didn't answer directly. He stared at the lake. "Later I found something more important."

"Did you get it?"

Curiosity nagged.

"Doesn't matter anymore. No point in getting it."

"So… you didn't get it?"

Evan was quiet a moment. "You really do care about results."

36 Back at the palace, I noticed my parents looking at me strangely.

"W-what's wrong?"

I sat down with my meal but couldn't eat. Their eyes scanned me like X-rays.

Mother's gaze slid away and, as if nothing had happened, she picked up a forkful and said, "Claire, you're not a child anymore. I think we should settle your marriage."

I forked rice silently, waiting.

"What about Julian Forbes?"

I couldn't hold it and spat rice across her face. The Emperor snapped a fan up and shielded his face just in time; Mother instantly flipped from sunny to stormy.

The Emperor and I exchanged a look. He stealthily tossed the fan aside when Mother wasn't looking.

On the verge of her temper, I hurried to pull a handkerchief out. The Emperor took it and gently wiped her face, soothing her. "Don't be angry, my dear. Let me see—so pretty even when annoyed."

"Really?" Mother brightened instantly. "You're always flattering me."

Flattery must be a royal family pastime.

"That's not flattery. It's the truth."

"Are you on sugar today, Your Majesty?"

"Where would sugar be compared to you?"

Sensing the conversation teeter toward something inappropriate, I coughed to make my presence known.

They both sat up straight, suddenly composed.

"Mother, I'm still young."

"We're just setting it up. It's not like you'll be married to him right away."

"Why Julian Forbes?"

"I've noticed your eyes always follow him. There was a time you went to see him every day."

I looked at the Emperor in horror. He nodded.

"And this time you ran away—given your stubbornness, no matter how many people I sent, I couldn't bring you back. This time you came back quickly—wasn't that because of Julian Forbes?"

Mother looked at me like she expected me to lie. The Emperor agreed with a firm nod.

I panicked. "It's Evan, obviously!"

Mother's face hardened; the Emperor's expression said, "So it is."

"Aren't you supposed to be surprised?" I protested.

"Oh?" The Emperor played along with a theatrically shocked look that made him seem ridiculous.

"Logically you'd object, say he's not worthy, arrange someone else for me, I'd refuse and start a hunger strike or jump in a well or try suicide, you'd rescue me, I'd try again, rinse and repeat until you were exhausted and finally agreed—after one dramatic captured elopement—right?"

Mother looked at me with forced tenderness. "Claire, you should see the court physician."

She touched my head. "I suspect you came out feet-first when I gave birth to you."

And just like that, Evan and I were together.

When I left, I overheard Emperor Henry telling Countess Margaret, "I won—tonight…"

Countess Margaret replied, coy, "Whatever you want."

What a cruel world.

I quickened my pace, desperate to get away.

From a distance I heard the emperor say something I couldn't quite make out.

"Such a pity for Zane…"

Only when I ran into Prince Philip did I notice how gaunt he'd become—like he’d lost his soul.

From Evelyn and Sophie I learned that Lydia's stepsister had stirred up trouble again. This time it was big: she climbed onto Sixth Uncle's bed, got caught by his wife, beaten, and tossed out of the residence.

Now she was the laughingstock of Eastford.

The Sinclair girl's reputation was ruined. Finding a good match was out of the question—let alone for Prince Philip. Duchess Beatrice would never agree. So Philip officially bowed out of the love chase.

Evelyn clicked her tongue and said, "That Second Miss Sinclair should know better. Sixth Uncle could be her grandfather."

Sophie sighed, eyes softening. "Like blossoms of a pear tree suffocating crabapple flowers."

I remembered this plotline: Lydia's stepsister had tried to set Lydia up with Sixth Uncle, but Lydia saw the scheme and turned it around.

With her reputation ruined, Lydia decided not to marry. Yet at a banquet someone humiliated her, and Julian Forbes stepped in, declaring, "She's mine," and swept her back into his arms.

"Poor Philip," Sophie said. "He made her smile only to realize there's a galaxy between them."

Evelyn groaned. "I even suggested they elope."

Evelyn leaned closer. "Guess what happened next?"

Sophie widened her eyes. "You, of all people, suggested that? You're truly Philip's sister!"

I gave Evelyn a thumbs-up in my head.

I tried to imagine Philip’s current miserable state. "Was he caught?"

"Did he abandon palace life and family for love and later regret it?" Sophie asked, practical.

"None of that," Evelyn said, wagging a finger like she knew secrets. "I told Lydia. Lydia knocked him out and sent him back."

Me: "The domineering wife and her prince."

Sophie: "Wow—"

"If Lydia weren't so beautiful, I might actually be her friend," Evelyn sighed. "I admire her."

Sophie didn't miss a beat. "You just want Philip to taste love's pain, don't you?"

"Hmph!" Evelyn sniffed. "He ruined my plans! I spent so much effort—otherwise your nephews would be nobodies."

Sophie shuddered. "Terrifying."

I nodded in agreement. "Holding grudges."

I wasn't too worried about Philip. In the original story he gets paired off—someone shows up when he's heartbroken. She's a carefree, unpretentious girl. They fall in love for life, just a few lines in the text but clear enough.

I worried more about Evelyn. The original barely mentioned her—just a line when introducing Philip.

After hesitating, I finally asked, "Evelyn, what about you and Arthur…?"

"Oh, right!" Evelyn put down her tea. "I forgot to tell you. You went off with Zane before you knew—Arthur and I are engaged. After Sophie marries in spring, it's my turn."

She beamed and pulled a handful of candy from her skirt. "Here, wedding sweets. Hurry up, you and An Ning—I'm off to married bliss."

Sophie slumped over the table, lamenting melodramatically, "Life's so cruel—thankfully Claire's here with me."

I blushed, embarrassed. "Sophie, Evan and I are together, too. Father will grant our wedding soon."

Sophie went silent.

Evelyn laughed out loud.

Time flew. Two years passed in the blink of an eye.

Evelyn married Arthur last year. Philip finally met his Yang—Zane's girl.

Evan had been deployed to the border for two years.

Two years ago, Aldridge Kingdom and Mongyue erupted into conflict. Tensions had been building; war was inevitable, but it came too fast.

The enemy struck hard. Julian Forbes, confident in victory, was betrayed by someone he trusted—stabbed through the chest. New and old wounds combined, his life hung in the balance. Without a commander, our forces retreated. Evan begged to go to the frontlines.

He left—and that was two years.

I remember the day he set off. The sky was clear. We had already said goodbye once in the capital, but I couldn't bear it, so I secretly followed until I caught up to him at the city gate.

As he rode off, he leaned down and kissed me—light as a dragonfly skimming the water. My heart still trembles thinking of it.

It was his first kiss to me. Like the stolen pecks we'd shared, it was so fast I barely felt it, but still—we'd kissed.

Zane was there and said, "Men shouldn't be too quick."

On the sixth day of the sixth month, at the border, we had a great victory.

Finally, he was coming home.

Emperor Henry had already prepared the edict. On his return, Evan would get titles and a marriage.

When we met in July, I lifted my skirt and ran toward him down the long corridor, just like years before.

He approached, stopped in front of me, and said, "Claire, I'm back."

White clothes, the same man.

"You finally came back."

I threw myself into his arms and couldn't hold back the tears.

Lydia searched the world for her man—now they were married.

Evan told me they'd already pledged themselves beneath the stars at the front. Lydia was pregnant.

At that moment I wanted to argue with Zane—men in that matter were better off being fast.

On May 4th the following year, I married him.

On our wedding night he lifted my veil; we drank the wedding wine together.

Red wedding garments, candlelight. His eyes glittered like starlight.

A lifetime together, never to part.

Five years later.

I picked the shredded radish from my bowl, only to have a pair of chopsticks block mine.

I looked up. A little girl frowned at me, disapproving. "Mama, you can't be picky."

"Go away, little dumpling!" I said, but she ignored me and returned the vegetable she didn't like to my bowl.

"Mama, you can't waste food."

I pointed at her and said to Evan, "Are you sure this is mine? Did you pick her up from somewhere? Who is she like? I wasn't like this as a child—were you?"

Evan glanced at me, helpless, and scooped up our daughter. "May, eat your own food, okay?"

She looked wounded. "But Mama doesn't eat properly."

Evan sighed. "Why won't you eat properly?"

"Why should I?" I set my chopsticks down and crossed my legs, defiantly.

He gave me a half-smile, then transferred all the radish from my bowl to his. In the end I ate properly.

I'm a classic henpecked wife—sob.

Zane would sometimes come by to help with the baby so Evan and I could have time alone.

This time he came to take May out.

"Why is your face so pale?" I asked Zane.

"I've always been this pale," he said, touching his cheek casually.

"Hello, Uncle Zane," May greeted politely.

Zane scooped her up and grinned, a little too lecherous. "Call me Daddy, don't be so formal."

Evan happened to overhear. After that, Zane never took May out alone again.

Bonus scene—Zane sat on the second-floor window trellis under the creeping vines, the garden outside neat under his care.

He leaned back in a grapevine chair, basking in the early autumn sun, wrapped in a black cloak. His face was ashen; his lips colorless. He'd only just woken, hair loose and falling past his chest.

Julian returned with osmanthus he'd picked. He climbed the outside ladder with a basket; untrimmed branches brushed the window. He snapped off a sprig and handed it over.

"Do you want osmanthus wine or tea?" he asked.

Zane rested his head on the sill and smiled bright. "Whether tea or wine, I don't think I have the chance anymore."

Julian froze, then poured boiling water into a teacup, tossing the osmanthus in by the handful. "Here. Try it."

Zane's thoughts drifted to the first time he met his master—he was five then, new to the palace, sullen, letting no one near him. Only the emperor could hold him. He would spend afternoons swinging alone.

One afternoon a man in white seemed to fall from the sky. Little Zane, stern even then, demanded, "Who are you?"

Julian raised an eyebrow and said flatly, "Your father."

Zane laughed then, coming out of the memory. "Master, stop."

Julian stopped joking and sat down to tidy the osmanthus.

The room was silent and smelled of flowers.

"Master, how many days?"

"Ten."

Zane smiled and went to the desk to write. After two words he began to cough, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. His pale face flushed, color returning to his lips.

Julian, arranging the flowers, asked, "Didn't you already fill a whole box of letters? Why keep writing?"

Zane touched an inlaid box of red sandalwood on the desk—peonies carved exquisitely—his own handiwork. His gaze softened. "This is the last time I'll write to her. I always think of things I haven't told her…what if later—"

His voice faltered to a whisper, nearly inaudible. "There is no later."

"Master, keep writing—send one every year, for fifty years…"

Julian cut him off. "Fifty years? I'll be gone myself in twenty."

"Then give them to Evan. He's clever—he'll know what to do."

"Why don't you tell her?"

"Parting by death…you wait until she's older."

Chen Zhe was curious and asked, "At what age?"

Zane paused, thought seriously for a moment, then uncertainly said, "Fifty years? Sixty years?"

Chen Zhe snorted coldly. "You might as well wait for her to die, then tell her when you two reunite underground."

He stood up, ready to go make dinner.

Just as he reached the door, Zane's slightly excited voice came from behind him.

"That actually sounds like a pretty good idea!"

He was actually thinking about it.

Chen Zhe thought: everyone says he takes after his father, but the person he most resembles is his mother.

He steadied himself on the railing and descended slowly, emotions tangled.

He had met Zane's mother here; she had given him new life, and now he was about to see her child off in this same place.

He wondered whether she would blame him if she knew.

Zane dried the ink on the brush with his breath and sat back down at the window.

A white silk handkerchief lay on the desk, embroidered with blooming red plum blossoms.

He'd been in poor spirits; he’d forced himself to write those letters. Now that he relaxed, sleep crept in.

He closed his eyes and drifted into a vague dream—familiar yet strange.

He dreamed of Claire Bennett, but not the Claire he knew—a Claire who was the same in appearance but different in every other way.

This Claire married him; they lived under the same roof but were emotionally distant.

He knew Claire liked Julian Forbes. He knew she'd looked down on him since childhood. He knew she often slipped poison into his medicine.

He didn't care—he was almost indifferent to it all.

Death, to him, would be a release.

So little in his life had been his to command—his fate, his marriage, even his life itself had never belonged to him.

Zane felt sorry for the man in his dream.

Luckily, Flower hadn't married him.

The Flower he knew wouldn't poison his medicine in secret—she'd do it openly, he thought with a weak smile.

He tried to laugh, but had no strength; he wasn't sure if a smile showed at all.

The sun sank; dusk thickened; birds returned to the woods.

His hands, folded over his lap, slid slowly down and hung by his sides.

The blood-red sunset filtered through the leaves and painted his face and collar. A faint smile curved his mouth. The breeze stirred his hair.

Outside, smoke rose from cooking fires; the sky wore fish-scale clouds. Tomorrow promised another bright day.

In the dark-silk canopy, a handsome man woke leisurely. His black hair lay smooth like fine satin over his shoulders; he looked at the golden begonia embroidered on the bed curtain and couldn't help recalling the dream.

In that dream, he and Claire—Claire from long ago—loved each other without doubt.

Dream-Claire was sometimes charmingly naive, almost unworldly, and other times composed and distant, like someone who observed life from the outside.

She brimmed with odd little ideas that made people both laugh and shake their heads.

She had many faces: childish at times, making others want to tease her; at others, like a bright moon beyond reach.

But when she faced him—even if he stood still—she would run to him with warmth, showing him every joy and beauty she owned.

She was like a blazing sun, forceful and uncompromising, breaking into his world and pulling him out of the shadows, letting him know he wasn't superfluous or worthless—that someone loved him without reservation.

Julian Forbes had never been a proper gentleman; at best, a practiced one. But for her, he had tried to become the man she wanted.

He didn't return to Aldridge Kingdom; he abandoned all past schemes and spent an interesting, happy life with her in the Kingdom of Chen.

Even if that life lasted only a few short decades.

He even died with a smile.

Not a shallow, insincere smile—one that reached deep inside.

The only regret in that dream was that there was no next life; they could never have another chance.

Julian placed his right hand on his forehead; the warmth of his palm passed through skin to heart, and a sudden wistfulness settled over him.

Dream-Claire was so vivid it felt impossible.

As if they had truly been lovers once.

He'd always thought he loved Lydia Sinclair, waiting for her for ten years, but all those feelings suddenly seemed trivial compared to the girl in his dream.

He began to doubt whether he'd ever really loved Lydia, or if it had just been an obsession.

He paused. For Lydia he'd always used the word "like." For the dream-Claire, he'd used "love."

He cleared his head; the tenderness faded. He smiled at his own foolishness.

In the twenty-second year in the Kingdom of Chen, the Claire he had seen was not some sweet girl but an arrogant, cruel princess who wore her superiority on her face.

She had no such beautiful side.

He sat up; the quilt rustled. Outside the carved canopy, a eunuch's high voice came through.

"Your Majesty, do you wish to rise?"

"What time is it?"

"At Your Majesty's command, it's the fourth watch."

"Get up."

It was still dark outside; the inner chamber blazed with lamplight. As attendants fussed over him, Julian found the dream lingering in his mind.

Every time he rose early for court, he would kiss her after dressing. Most times she slept deeply, unknowing, but half-awake she would wrap her arms around his neck and rub her face against his—so endearing.

Later, when she left him first, she did it the same way.

She pressed her face to his, and even as she suffered, she tried to comfort him.

"Julian, I'm just going to sleep, though this sleep may be a long one."

She lied well; her voice didn't tremble. She could be so coquettish—she took his hand and gave it a gentle shake. "Wait for me, okay?"

Julian knew she had no strength left; the gesture was hardly more than a touch.

"Take care of Yueyue for me. I want to see her with grandchildren."

How had he answered?

He had smiled and said, "Okay."

As if she were only going to sleep for a while.

And what had he done?

On the tenth year after she was gone, when their child had children of their own, he didn't hesitate—he went to join her.

"Your Majesty? Your Majesty?"

The eunuch's voice pulled him from thought. He nodded and walked out. The cold air jolted him fully awake.

Whether or not she was an imaginary Claire, the real Claire Bennett had been dead for ten years—and his hand had played a part.

In the Kingdom of Chen, he had few happy memories.

Besides, he was no longer the illegitimate Julian Forbes—he was now the eldest daughter of the Aldridge royal line, the only child of the late emperor's sister, and today he was Emperor of Aldridge Kingdom: Meng Ze.

A gentleman's virtue is like jade—gentle and luminous, a sign of benevolence.

He packed away his feelings and became once more the inscrutable sovereign of Aldridge, living out the rest of his life in lonely dignity within the palace walls.

□ Human Observer