Say something like that again and I’ll have to punish you.” I set down the watering can, glanced at my clothes, and asked, “Maggie, where is he? Do you think I have time to change? Really—he comes back without even a greeting. Is it proper for me to go meet him like this?”
When Maggie didn’t answer, I waved my hand in front of her and said, “What are you daydreaming about? Snap out of it.
Take me so I can change. Don’t keep my husband waiting.” Maggie came to her senses and knelt hurriedly before me. “Madam, General should be here soon.
It’s just…
Please don’t be angry.” “Just what?
Since when did you learn to speak in riddles? Half-sentences are maddening. Besides, it’s a good thing my husband is back—what do I have to be angry about?” “The General brought a girl back from outside the compound.” I froze for a moment. “Maggie, maybe he’s being kind—maybe he rescued a girl. Maybe she’s a distant relative we’ve never met. Or maybe he thinks the house has too few servants and needs another maid.
Don’t be paranoid. Not everything in those novels is true.
Besides, haven’t we known what kind of man my husband is?” Just then, footsteps sounded at the courtyard gate and my heart leaped. Quietly, I mouthed to Maggie, “See? He’s back.” Then I primly checked my sleeve and bowed slightly at the figure entering. “Ethan, welcome home.” “We’re husband and wife—no need for so many formalities.” I felt his gaze settle on me and lifted my head a little.
The General had gained a few white hairs, but the boyish splendor of his youth still lingered. To me, his smile was as bright as sunlight.
I looked at his face. “Ethan, Maggie said you brought back a girl. Tell me about it. If she’s in trouble, I’ll help her.” “If you already know, then all the better. Bring Violet up.” No sooner had he said it than a young woman hurried in from the gate, clearly waiting anxiously.
Rosy lips, white teeth, bright eyes—she was every bit as beautiful as she looked. Slim waist, delicate hands—even from a distance I could tell she was exceptionally pretty.
She seemed shy, timid. Maggie whispered in my ear, “This is the girl the General brought back.” My family was high in the court—my father was the Chancellor—so I’d been around noble girls enough to know many were lively and sharp-tongued. I didn’t know how to deal with someone so timid.
“Violet, this is the housemistress of the Hale House and the Chancellor’s eldest daughter. You should call on her and be respectful.” Maggie hustled the girl up to me.
Surprised, I asked, “Ethan, say that again. What do you mean, ‘in the house’?” “Didn’t Maggie tell you? I thought you’d know.” He scratched his head, then addressed Violet. “Miss Violet, I found you on the road. Your parents are dead and you were living in misery. You’re lonely here, and I thought to take you as a concubine, so you’ll have company.” At his words, Violet knelt and said to me, “Violet knows she’s base-born, but the General saved my life. I have nothing to repay him with but myself. I beg Madam to consent.” Her voice was bright and girlish, like a lark.
But at that moment her words felt like stones dropping onto me. My legs went weak. Before I could speak, Maggie barged in: “My lady is the Chancellor’s legitimate daughter—her status is honorable. The General brought her home with a full bridal procession once. He once said he would accept no one but my lady. What about those old words now?” Ethan’s expression darkened. “When did Hale House get so unruly? When the master speaks, a maid shouldn’t interrupt. You’re getting more presumptuous as a housemistress.” My head buzzed; I didn’t catch the rest of what they said, but I knew Maggie had lost her temper. I steadied myself and forced my voice: “If the General wishes it, I won’t stand in the way. As for Violet, if you choose to keep her, that’s your decision.” I looked Violet over more carefully. She really was lovely—if I were a man, I might pity her too.
Hearing my words, Violet bowed even more deeply, thanking me over and over. Ethan hurried forward to help her up.
The sight stung. I feigned illness and excused myself, saying I couldn’t stay long. Soon the courtyard was left to Maggie and me.
After they left, I picked the watering can back up and went on with the gardening. My hands moved, but tears pricked at my eyes.
Before I married, my mother had opposed the match. As the wedding drew near she relented—after all, the Chancellor’s daughter and the General’s house were a respectable match. She told me I should set an example as the housemistress for both families.
Seeing me cry, Maggie frantically offered her handkerchief. “Madam, don’t cry, or your makeup will run and you’ll look like a smudged kitten. People will laugh. When you cry, my heart hurts too.” I had no answer and kept silent.
The new girl, Violet, was given the compound called Willow Court—the larger residence I’d once stayed in. It was the house set aside when I was named Ethan’s wife, but I disliked the big layout and moved into the smaller Rose Cottage. I only visited Willow Court sometimes. The servants kept it up, and the garden there had the finest flowering trees—come April and May the blossoms were like dawn. I thought Violet would like it.
Maggie had pulled my sleeve in private and whispered, “Madam, Violet is a fox spirit. The whole ‘orphan’ story is just a trick to cling to the General. You gave her that fine house and now she won’t leave—you should see how smug she is.” At first Ethan would come by every two or three days to see me—dinner, a word or two. After about a year, I stopped seeing him regularly. I rarely showed myself in front of him except on festivals, and he grew used to it.
At family dinners when I did see him, his eyes were always on Violet, his mouth curved in a smile, his gaze soft as if it could squeeze water from a fruit. I’d never seen that look directed at me. Violet, already beautiful, had grown more refined living at Hale House. Watching them together made my heart ache; they were a perfect match.
He was still the young General I’d fallen for, but the pain was that he no longer belonged to me.
Days went on. I stayed in the little courtyard, watering and tending flowers. Maggie kept a watchful eye on Violet for me, furious at the unfairness. Our little cottage sat in a decent, central spot within the Hale compound—close enough that whenever Ethan went to visit Violet, I could hear his and his guards’ footsteps. When he invited Violet to the garden, I would hear his boisterous laughter and her coquettish replies.
I’d always had keen ears—small sounds carried to me clearly. When I was young my mother teased me, “Claire, you must have ears like the wind.” I was cheeky and would retort, but usually I ended up upset and my father would bribe me with two candied hawthorns.
I loved sweets; it was no secret in Riverton. As the Chancellor’s daughter, I was trained in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—maybe not masterful in all, but presentable. I liked pretty things and dressing up.
When I came of age, many handsome young men sought to marry me.
In our capital there was a princess who was my close friend—Hazel. Her title was Princess Hazel, or People called her Princess Hazel. I liked the meaning—peace and joy. Just saying her name made it clear the Emperor favored her, though she complained her father paid her little mind.
So among us, unless it was a grand affair, we just called her Hazel.
Ethan and I met at a banquet hosted by Princess Hazel after New Year’s. The event was full of Riverton’s notable folk—talented youths and beautiful ladies. Hazel pulled me aside and said, “Claire, do you know what your given name means?” “Of course—I know. It’s a kind of bird.” Hazel poked my head. “You blockhead, that’s not an ordinary bird. It’s a phoenix. What’s a phoenix? The Empress.” Then, more seriously: “Claire, would you like to be empress?” I gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous. If I were your empress, I’d be your mother-in-law. You’re daring, Hazel.” Realizing she’d spoken out of turn, Hazel checked there was no one around and lowered her voice. “Claire, my father hopes you’ll be his daughter-in-law.” I was shocked to hear that.
Princess Hazel went on, “I really think you’d make a perfect imperial sister-in-law. Claire, you’re so beautiful—any nieces or nephews you have will be adorably plump. We’d be family through and through. But, of course, I know you, Claire. You wouldn’t want to spend your life married to a man you’ve never even met.” I didn’t deny it. I truly didn’t want to marry a stranger.
Hazel gave my shoulder a heavy pat, looking solemn as if bearing a weighty responsibility. “That’s why this banquet is for you, Claire. Before my father talks to your father, find someone you like first. Then you can ask your father—he dotes on you; he’ll find a way.” Hazel’s words were straightforward but thoughtful. She was a princess—favored by the emperor and bound by palace rules—yet she did so much for me. I didn’t know how to thank her, so I only said, “Thank you, Hazel.” “We don’t need to say thank you between us,” she replied, then hugged me and murmured in my ear, “Claire, I want you to be happy.”
What happened next was like every romance story ever written: Captain Ethan Hale of the Hale House appeared polished and capable before me. The banquet became his stage. He shot arrows with perfect aim, answered the poetry game with flair, performed a few magic-like tricks and handed out sweet pastries to the women. When I accidentally missed a step, he caught me—my hand brushed the callus at the base of his thumb. He looked down at me smiling, ink-dark warmth in his eyes, and said, “Miss Bennett, be careful.”
Later, I fought with my parents over marrying him. My father finally relented, defying the emperor’s wishes. I later learned that my father already had enemies at court; my rebellion only made his position worse.
Thankfully, Ethan presented well to my father—handsome, easy with a smile, good at chess—so they hit it off. Only my mother remained anxious. Reluctantly she began teaching me how to run a household. Soon the wedding came: a grand palanquin, drums and gongs, formal betrothal letters and rites, ten miles of bridal procession. Ethan publicly declared he would marry no one but me, and I cried happy tears—though now it seems those promises didn’t hold.
After marriage I retreated from the outside world. Learning to be a proper mistress of Hale House was more than enough to keep me exhausted. Hazel visited a few times after my wedding, though she always looked troubled.
About six months later I learned Hazel was being married off to a foreign land. She didn’t send me an invitation to her farewell banquet; only royalty could attend, and she seemed confined for those days. I couldn’t see her.
The day before she left, I received a note slipped to me by a palace steward while he was on official business. It was a single line: “Claire, I want you to be happy.” No signature, but I knew it was from Hazel.
Only she would say that to me.
My name is Claire Bennett.
It had been ten years since I married General Ethan Hale. My health worsened year by year. Even walking from Rose Cottage to the Garden at Willow Court left me coughing uncontrollably. My courtyard always smelled of medicine; sometimes the scent was so strong I’d cover my nose. I hated that smell—it reminded me of a dying person struggling. I saw many physicians, but finally paid the imperial doctor who’d come from the Palace extra silver to tell me outright: I had less than three years left. He said it was a sickness of the heart—whether I lived depended on me.
Maggie had been promised to someone. She’d grown into a young woman—though she insisted she’d stay by my side, I knew she liked Ethan’s personal guard, Michael Reed. When she married, she sobbed torrents, though I believed she was truly happy.
I worried about her being alone at Hale House after I was gone.
Days passed. I didn’t survive that winter. After I fell ill, Ethan started visiting more often. I would sit quietly, trying to find even a trace of affection in his eyes.
Instead, he sat at my bedside and said, “I’m sorry, Claire.” He rarely used my pet name; before marriage he called me Miss Bennett, after marriage he called me Madam. I never expected to hear him say that name under those circumstances.
When I died, Hale House was all drums and gongs. The servants spread the word: “Miss Violet is with child!” The celebrations outside—the same streets filled with noisy rejoicing—felt too loud and irritated me. Still, noisy celebration was preferable to the sound of mourning.
I don’t know if Ethan cried when I left, but I faintly heard my parents’ sobs. They were old; my siblings were few—just my brother and me. My brother was brilliant and handsome: a genuinely refined gentleman. Our marriages were meant to be equal alliances—both noble houses. But the power of the Bennett and Hale families in court made the emperor uneasy; my brother ended up marrying a woman from a modest household.
Hazel’s words kept spinning in my head as I closed my eyes.
Images flashed like gallery scenes—my father, my mother, my brother, Maggie. Even the street vendors who sold candied hawthorns and pear pastries in the east market seemed before my eyes. My body went numb; my chest tightened until I couldn’t breathe. The drums and gongs carried on.
Then I seemed to sleep, or dream for a very long time.
When I woke I didn’t know how much time had passed. Pain and soreness ran through my body. Hearing movement, Maggie threw back the curtains and nearly sobbed, “Miss! You’re awake? I was so worried!” I squinted at the sudden brightness, forcing myself awake. Maggie looked younger and brighter than I remembered.
Through the bed curtains I saw the dressing table where my favorite rouge still sat. After marrying Ethan I had stopped using such flirtatious colors to preserve the dignity of my role as mistress.
It seemed I had returned to the past—somehow, I had been given a second chance.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t as astonished as I thought I should be. Stories repeat themselves, and this wasn’t the only time a tale like this had happened to me.
I’d been a ghost in Hale House for ten years after my death.
When Ethan was in love he told me, “In life you’re mine, in death you’re my spirit.” His eyes shone when he said it. I never imagined that it was I who would become the ghost of Hale House. The feeling was complicated.
I witnessed my own funeral—magnificent, the oboe and trumpet lines carried down two streets. So many mourners came they nearly wore a path through the threshold of Hale House. Most faces were strangers; their grief felt either fierce or performative.
My mother cried hardest and fainted. It took my brother’s support to get her out of Hale House. Ethan wore white and knelt at my altar, expression unreadable, silent. I decided I would never understand him.
With nowhere else to go, I wandered the streets. On West Street an old woman made osmanthus cakes that melted in your mouth—sweet but not cloying. Ethan used to love them, but after my death he rarely came.
The peonies in the Hale garden bloomed as brilliantly as ever, and the plants in my own courtyard grew even better than when I tended them.
Ethan often came alone to my grave with bouquets—peonies I loved as a girl—or he would say a few words I couldn’t quite hear. He smelled of masculine vigor; I couldn’t get too close. He would lean against my gravestone and sit the whole afternoon. People said it was unseemly, but he did it anyway.
Servants told me Ethan and Violet Gray’s little son, Tommy Hale, was adorable and clever—reciting long texts at three. I didn’t know his temperament, but the housemaids said he looked just like Ethan when he was a child, so I guessed he was truly sweet.
I didn’t understand why, with a seemingly happy life, Ethan still came to see me alone.
Lost in thought, Maggie waved her hand in front of me until I returned to the present. “Miss, what are you thinking about? You drifted off again. I’ll tell Master and Madam—they must be worried. I’ll bring you some congee. Come on, wake up and rest a bit.” Maggie’s liveliness spread to me; I smiled and waved back, and she left relieved.
A young lady’s life in the capital followed a narrow routine: needlework, reading, music, chess and painting, then waiting for banquet invitations to shine and become topics of town gossip. It was tedious.
Of those arts I practiced, I played the zither best, painted and wrote decently, and was terrible at chess.
How bad? If you took a child who’d studied chess a year and matched them with me who’d studied eight or nine years, you might barely call it a tie.
My brother once teased my chess tutor, saying, “Claire is terrible at chess—that’s good. Those who excel at chess are often too introspective.” The tutor, furious, complained to our father and gave my brother a sound scolding that had him howling.
As for my zither—if my chess was terrible, my music was the opposite.
Opposite that, my brother always set a masterful game in motion. There’s even a saying among the commonfolk: “The Bennetts—unrivaled in music and chess.” If they knew how terribly I actually played, that flattering rumor would vanish in an instant.
When I was a child, I often performed the zither for company. But after I turned twelve, I only ever played at the Palace’s grand banquets—rarely, and only then.
The year I turned twelve, Mother told me, “Don’t play so much. You’re a lady, not an entertainer. Play too often and you lose your station.” I didn’t understand then. I practiced so hard every day my hands were covered in blisters; I had to put salves on them constantly, force the calluses back down. It hurt so much I cried more than once.
When I’d drifted as a ghost, I overheard people in the East District praising a performer at a music house—she played the zither so beautifully it made you ache: “She plays a love song and all the strings snap.” But her calluses were uneven, and they didn’t look pretty.
Suddenly I understood. Even if I had the highest gift for music, years of medicines that smoothed my calluses had also ground away any chance for my technique to improve further.
I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly to myself.
Two months later, the Palace sent an invitation to Bennett Manor. It was at that banquet Princess Hazel asked me, “Claire, do you want to be empress?” Thinking of Hazel made me sigh. I knew she had someone in her heart—a court painter named Liam Hart. Tall and spare, he disliked official robes and often wore loose, misty blue and white clothes. His eyes were gentle; he was kind but carried a cool distance. People said, “A stranger on the road, jade-like; a noble like no other.” Hazel once leaned in to whisper to me, “Claire, did you know Liam paints people?” Before I could reply, she tugged me into the study, carefully climbed a ladder, slid a few books aside, and took out several paintings hidden behind them.
The woman in the painting had bright eyes and a dazzling smile, like a spring afternoon full of peach blossoms. In the upper right corner of each was written two characters: “Hazel.” That was Hazel’s pet name—no one called her that except her mother.
I teased Hazel and pinched her cheek. “Hardly,” I said. “No one compares to the princess.” She pretended to be angry, put the paintings down, and tickled me, until finally I had to admit the paintings were truly excellent.
As she left, I warned her to be careful when she put them back. She nodded solemnly, returned the paintings to their place, replaced the books, and even brushed a little dust over them with the light broom the palace maids used before she went on her way.
Hazel’s hairpin trembled as she bounced away. Even from a distance I could tell the pin’s pattern and quality were ordinary—nothing like palace wares.
I remembered another night, a year or two earlier when Hazel got drunk and I sat with her in the pavilion by the pond to help her sober up.
A breeze brushed my face with lotus scent and the faint trace of her wine. She suddenly collapsed into my arms, the peachy scent of youth and the sweetness of fruit wine almost drowning out the lotus.
Then Hazel started to cry—at first in quiet sobs, then louder and louder.
Through her tears she kept saying, “Claire, I’m so sad. Claire, I really like him. Claire, why can’t he have been born into a better family? If only he were of higher birth, I could try to compete with Father. Claire, I want to marry him, but if I marry him he won’t even be able to remain a court painter. Claire…” She cried for so long that when I saw her the next day her eyes were still swollen and red.
As a model daughter of Riverton’s gentry, I should have admonished her—not to cry, to keep up royal decorum. But that night I didn’t. With only her beside me, I thought, it’s all right to stop being a princess for a little while.
The scene shifted. After Princess Hazel married off to the Northern Territories, there were fewer and fewer mentions of her in the capital. The bright-eyed, eloquent princess seemed truly forgotten.
During the years I drifted as a ghost, I still heard Princess Hazel’s name in people’s gossip.
Hazel’s wedding fell on a snowy day in December. The Zhou court hadn’t seen snow in years; people called it an auspicious snowfall, a promise of a good year. The townsfolk said the princess was well-married and the snow was a blessing—surely a good omen.
Only I knew that Liam Hart had knelt outside the Palace gates for three days and nights and still could not secure an audience with the Emperor. The heavy snowfall left him with a chill that aged him suddenly.
The tribes were at war. Hazel’s first husband died on the battlefield. By local custom she married her late husband’s younger brother—and within a year the second husband died of disease.
From that point on Hazel was branded as a man-bane.
She went mad and hanged herself with a white sash. The people lamented for a few days, and then the capital fell quiet; I never heard the young princess’s name spoken among them again.
My thoughts drifted for a long time before returning to my mind. Back at Bennett Manor, after months of quiet, life grew lively again. People came and went; everything was busy. Mother confined me to my rooms to practice the zither. Only when I ate or had clothes measured could I catch my breath.
New Year’s was near. The Palace didn’t host external banquets on New Year’s Day—there was only a family feast. The day after New Year’s was our chance to perform.
Even though Hazel was a princess, she couldn’t come out to see me. At the banquet she would represent the royal face and was also sequestered in the palace to rehearse.
When Maggie came to bring food, she sneaked a hand into my sleeve and whispered, “Miss, let’s go see the lanterns. I heard the street’s crowded tonight.” Her hopeful face made me think of how in my previous life I might have refused. Meeting her gaze, I smiled and said, “All right—don’t let Mother find out.”
The street was indeed dazzling: a thousand lanterns lighting the tall buildings, cries of vendors spilling down alleys.
Maggie, forgetting her place, grabbed my hand and pulled me from stall to stall. The girls everywhere were smiling, enchanted by an old man making sugar paintings.
Maggie and I were the same age. She had grown up at Bennett Manor and, being a servant, had never had the little treats that the household girls enjoyed.
I teased her, “You like it?”
She looked away like I’d read her thoughts; I found it endearing and couldn’t help pulling her leg. “What can I do? Your mistress didn’t bring any money.”
“Maggie—”
Maggie shot back, “No! Miss, let’s look somewhere else.” She tried to drag me away.
I let her tug me for a second, then gently freed myself and pretended to fret, “What am I to do? I want some.” She quickly believed me—after all, among Riverton’s noble girls my sweet tooth was no secret, and as my personal maid she knew my tastes well.
I pretended to think, then said at last, “All right. Maggie, wait here. I’ll get the sugar painting. When I’ve had enough strolling, I’ll call my brother to fetch you.”
Maggie lifted her head then dropped it again, tugging her skirt with both hands. After a long struggle she managed, “I’ll wait here, Miss. You must come pick me up.” I tapped her forehead playfully. Maggie looked confused and asked, “Is my mistress really like that? If you want something, just tell the seller—I brought money.”
“Really, Miss?” she asked.
“Of course. When has your mistress ever lied? Look at your face—so sour you look terrible.” She gasped, “Miss!” I grinned. “Enough teasing. Go ask the seller.”
Maggie replied with a bright, “Thank you, Miss!” and turned to the candy painter. “One sugar painting, please. A phoenix—make it prettier than my mistress.”
“Heh, Maggie!” someone called.
“Well, my mistress tricked me, so I’m giving it back,” Maggie replied.
They were in full chatter when my stomach growled. Honestly, I’d even skipped dinner so I could get out tonight.
There were many sugar painters and several were crowding around Maggie.
I said, “Wait here. I’ll buy some food and be right back. Then we’ll launch a lantern and go home.”
“Miss, you’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
“Of course not. I was teasing. When did you start not trusting your mistress?”
“Then pay first.” She was insistent.
“All right.” It was rare to get out—so I wanted to try things I couldn’t usually eat. When I’d been a ghost, I remembered an old preserves shop with long lines—the one called Mason’s Preserves. It ought to still be around.
The shop was there, smaller than in my memory and with fewer customers, but the variety of candied fruit was still vast. I stood in the doorway and hesitated.
A warm male voice spoke beside me: “You look unfamiliar. I saw you hesitating for a while—first time here, perhaps? Try the sour apricots and the yellow peaches. They’re good.”
I turned toward the voice. Two young men were approaching. One looked vaguely familiar—Victor Lang, the socialite from the Lang family.
Victor’s reputation for keeping a circle of admirers while remaining untouched was well known, and he was handsome to boot. With such looks he’d always managed to get along fine.
After the previous emperor died, his family’s position in court rose rapidly—so much so that even Hale House had to be cautious around them.
I had seen him a few times before. Wherever Riverton’s elite held a banquet, his shadow was never far away.
The other man by his side I didn’t recognize. He didn’t look like the scion of an official household—he was simply handsome, enough to overshadow even Victor Lang. A tiny beauty mark curled at the corner of his eye; his gaze was like a pool of ink. If someone with that face had family standing, he’d be the sort every noble daughter in Riverton whispered about for marriage—just like Ethan.
I thought the line just now had come from Victor. He smiled at me as he stepped closer, and I guessed I must have registered with him.
Victor introduced us as he approached: “This is the Bennett Manor’s daughter, Claire Bennett.” He hesitated after that, searching for the right phrasing, then the other man answered for himself. “You can just call me Chase Mercer.”
Victor supplemented with a smile. “Yes—Claire, just call him Chase. What a coincidence today.”
“Indeed, what luck. It’s my first time here and I was fretting over what to buy, and then you two appear. In that case, I’ll take the sour apricots and the yellow peaches.” I said this while my eyes drifted to Chase’s jade pendant at his waist.
“No need to buy sour apricots—I’ve got extra right here. Miss, would you honor me by accepting some?” To my surprise, it was Chase who said it. I glanced at the brown paper bag in his hand and smiled faintly. It didn’t look like anything valuable. After a little protest, I accepted.
After some polite chatter, it was time to leave.
“Gentlemen, farewell.” “Miss Bennett, until we meet again!” Victor bowed his hand toward me.
As we parted, I couldn’t help but glance back at Chase. He smiled at the corner of his mouth—there was a teasing glint in his eyes, but beneath it that same warm, March-like gentleness.
When I returned to the candy-painting stall, Maggie’s phoenix feather was gone; the figure left looked a little bare, like a plump partridge. She laughed sheepishly. “Miss, why did you take so long? I was so worried.”
I pinched her nose and looked toward the riverbank. Lanterns of every size and color floated on the water, staining the surface red. I grinned at Maggie. “Come on—we’re going to set lanterns.”
We snuck back to Bennett Manor, and of course my older brother caught us in the act.
“Did you tell Mother?” I asked timidly.
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Growing bold, are you? Not even calling me ‘brother’ now.” That told me he hadn’t said a word to Mother, and I relaxed. I gave him an exaggerated curtsey. “Thanks for covering for me. Claire thanks you.”
He brushed his hair back and shoved a hot water bottle into my hands. “Go back to your room. I’ll have Nurse Zhang make some ginger tea—warm you up. Don’t catch cold.”
“Can she put more sugar in? Her ginger tea is always too bitter.” I kept pushing.
“Fine—starve yourself with sweetness, then.” He rolled his eyes.
“Thanks!” Inside my room, there wasn’t much to do. I took out the sour apricots and tried one. My face puckered—they were painfully sour. On closer inspection, there wasn’t even a dusting of sugar.
Now I understood that smile from Chase and couldn’t help but laugh inwardly. At our age, I still fell for a child’s trick.
The New Year banquet arrived as promised. Mother had someone from the Palace bring me into makeup; my eyes and brows were my best features, and the artist made them stand out even more.
I listened to the flattery, and the artist was pleased. She dotted a beauty mark at my eye and teased, “With that, you’ll look dangerously alluring.” The gown for the banquet was finished, too. In a past life I’d worn a watery blue dress, its fabric shimmered like ripples under candlelight.
But fate played its hand—Ethan Hale showed up in a striking crimson outfit, red and blue in contrast, and naturally that stirred the crowd.
When they were fitting my dress, I’d begged Mother for white. All-white felt off, so the seamstresses embroidered golden-edged peonies and scattered a few red silk threads so from afar it looked like plum blossoms blooming on winter snow.
I arrived at the banquet late. The Emperor—Princess Hazel’s father, roughly my father’s age—greeted me briefly and left.
As a child I used to run to the Palace to play; the Emperor had been very fond of me. He’d even named me—Claire—bestowed on me in his favor.
Banquet rituals don’t vary much. When I sat down, seats near the head were limited; Hazel waved me over, but her nursemaid shot her a warning look and she shrank down, motioning for me to sit next to her.
Only then did I realize Ethan was not far from me. He held a wine cup and accepted toasts as they came. Our gazes met; he smiled in amusement. I looked away.
The program was drawn by lot. Hazel went first. Her dance was polished—afterward someone brought paper and wrote in bold strokes: “Once there was a beauty, surname Gongsun; one dance, and steel and arrows trembled.” The calligraphy was vigorous—not the hand of a lady—and earned cheers.
Acts came and went—dances, songs.
When it was my turn, I touched the zither, plucked the strings gently, and began to play.
At the final note, I looked up and caught Ethan watching with that half-amused look. A memory flashed—then the string snapped. I froze. Silence fell, then long, hesitant applause that threatened to drown me.
Back at my seat, Ethan walked over with a wine cup. “Miss Bennett, your zither playing was beautiful.” He smiled in that light, dangerous way—the phrase “crimson-clad young general” suited him well.
“General Ethan, you play instruments?” I collected myself and couldn’t resist a barb. “I know a little.”
His smile never faltered; he didn’t seem to hear the edge in my voice. “Would you allow me to pour you a cup?” He tilted the cup toward me.
I didn’t want to talk to him more. “I can’t drink—alcohol harms the body. General, you should drink less.”
“Have we met before, Miss Bennett?” he asked suddenly.
Hazel tugged my sleeve; I ignored her and said truthfully, “No.”
“You’re awful at lying. I watched you drinking earlier.” He only smiled, which irritated me.
Before I could react, Victor’s voice came from across the hall. “Miss Bennett! What a pleasure!” He strode over, bowed to Hazel, and said to Ethan, “General, it’s been a while.”
“Victor—long time. So, you know Miss Bennett?” Ethan asked.
“Of course. No time to chat—Miss Bennett, would you step outside for a moment? Ms. Carter from the Treasury says she’s been looking for you in the garden.” Victor’s words left me no choice. I forced a smile at Ethan. “Excuse me, General Ethan.” I winked at Hazel and mouthed, “Be right back.” I followed Victor out, then slowed deliberately.
Victor looked puzzled. “Miss Bennett—aren’t you coming?”
“Your lying is only passable, Victor. You might fool an innocent princess and a green young general who’s been away from womenfolk, but the Carter household has always been all boys; when did a Miss Carter suddenly appear?” I smiled. “You were helpful today—thank you. I’ll send you something to eat as thanks. I won’t go to the garden. I’m just going to walk a bit and then return; the princess is waiting.”
I moved to leave, but Victor stopped me. “Miss Bennett—wait.”
“Hm?”
“May I ask you something?” he said.
“Of course.” I smiled at him.
…
Elsewhere, Chase Mercer lounged half-reclined against a tree, eyes half-closed. His long hair, tied up, fell and swayed with the breeze. He heard footsteps and opened his eyes, seeing only Victor. “Where’s she?” he asked.
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
“She’s a noble miss—how could she not know the Carter household has no daughters? Even I’ve heard those rumors. Chase, she said you’re a poor liar.”
Chase leaped from the tree, dusted his hands, and asked, “Did you ask her about the sour apricots?”
“I did.”
“What’d she say?”
“That she didn’t know the taste—said a cat took them at midnight.” Victor thought for a moment, then added, “She said she wants to thank me. In a few days she’ll send some food to my house. Want to try it?”
“Send it to my residence,” Chase said. “Why drag me into it?”
“Chase, how did I never notice how shameless you can be? This favor was my doing.”
“If not for me, would you be bored enough to stick your nose in?” Chase arched a brow.
A few days later, Chase received Claire’s homemade food—simple pastries, purple sweet potato porridge, mung bean cakes, and brown sugar buns. He bit into a mung bean cake and the sweetness hit hard; she must’ve kneaded half a pound of sugar into the dough. Even after steaming, pockets of sugar remained grainy.
Looking at the half-eaten cake in his hand, Chase thought those sour apricots were probably not eaten by a cat.
An hour later, that same package appeared at the Lang family gate.
Back at the New Year banquet, since I returned to my seat Hazel had been circling me with questions. Eventually she came back to the old topic. “Claire, do you want to be Empress someday?” I stared into her eyes—there was still a girl’s innocence there, a clarity even in the way she looked at people.
I looked toward Ethan Hale’s seat. It was already empty.
“Matters of marriage aren’t something I can decide alone. There’s parents’ wishes, matchmakers’ words… Hazel, if they bring it up, I’ll talk to them.” I saw Hazel’s expression go suddenly anxious. “Claire, if you really must marry, your parents will tell you ahead of time. They dote on you, Claire. You’re so good — you deserve your own happiness. Don’t get trapped, okay?”
I knew what she meant. She was looking at me and seeing herself — she didn’t want me to become a second Hazel and Liam.
“All right.” I squeezed her cool hand and forced a smile. “You too, Hazel.” She didn’t answer. She just looked at me and gripped my hand a little tighter.
When the banquet broke up, people left in little groups. I drifted along with the crowd. From far off I saw Maggie waiting at the doorway, waving. When I came closer she took a cloak from the carriage and wrapped it around me. “Miss, I’ve been waiting for you. Come on home — don’t catch a chill.” That night was bitter cold. I went to my room early and fell into a dream: a memory-filled dream from my past life.
Not long after that banquet, I’d fallen for Ethan at first sight. The way he favored me fed my hopes. Whenever he was around, I’d wear that pale blue dress so we’d look matched, and to seem close I’d pull him into small talk — “Mr. Hale, have you eaten?” “What a lovely day, isn’t the weather fine?” — those awkward little things.
After we married, he remained a general and was often away at war. The summer sun burned his face with raw, cracked lines; I worried myself sick. Once in a storm I ran five streets to get an ointment for sunburn. I meant to put it on his face, but my tears fell anyway.
He took a handkerchief and wiped my cheeks, murmuring, “It doesn’t hurt me. Don’t cry, my lady.” After that I got used to stuffing a whole bagful of everyday remedies into his things. Whenever he came to see me, he’d delay leaving just to tend the wounds from the road, insisting, “My lady is timid. These scars would frighten her.” Then the dream shifted — I saw the general’s house grow cold and empty. My comforts and luxuries stayed, but his trips grew longer.
I dreamed so many things: the lonely years, the silence at the table, and the thunderous drums at my death.
I woke and felt the pillow was damp. Only then did I realize I’d cried through the night.
It was all so pointless, I thought. I got up and called Maggie to do my hair and makeup. I pointed at the bright rouge on the dressing table. “Use this one.” Time moved on. New Year was coming, and as a daughter of Bennett Manor I received many celebratory gifts. To my surprise, one came from Hale House and another from the Palace’s social bureau. Ethan’s was a brilliant peony brooch, exquisitely crafted, like it had just been plucked from a branch.
Even Maggie could tell it wasn’t ordinary.
The Palace gift was an invitation — a note asking me to a small gathering in half a month.
I knew it had to be Victor Lang. No one else would call me “Miss” like that. No one else would tuck a sour apricot into a New Year’s present without any sugar.
There wasn’t much else going on, so I agreed.
Snow fell for days, weighing down branches until they sagged. By the appointment day the weather wasn’t great, but at least it wasn’t snowing.
There weren’t any society gatherings for the noblewomen, and because it was New Year, Mother relaxed her strictness and let me go out. The place was Victor’s choice: a little restaurant in Riverton I’d never heard of, tucked away and small. The coachman took nearly half an hour to find it.
When I went upstairs, Victor was already alone in the private room. In front of him sat a plate of shelled, bright-red peanuts; shells were piled high at the side.
When he saw me he straightened. “Miss has arrived?”
I smiled. “I don’t come here often. I was delayed.” I sat across from him and nodded at the peanuts. “Mr. Lang, what a quaint touch.” Victor forced a smile. “Thank you, Miss Bennett. It’s nothing, really. Would you like some?” Before I could answer he called for the waiter. “Bring the dishes. My lady’s come — she’ll pay.” He tossed the menu to the waiter and said casually, “Serve your signatures.” The waiter scampered off like he was afraid we’d change our minds. It made me chuckle.
I sipped the tea. It wasn’t sweet like I expected. It had a slight bitterness. I frowned. “So many dishes for two. Mr. Lang, you’re generous.”
He waved it off lightly. “Not me. The generous one is you, Miss. The waiter heard it. You insist on paying, and you just made my day.”
He feigned shock. “Are you trying to stiff me? That won’t do.” “You…” I glared at him. Memories of the raucous market where I’d been a ghost flashed through my head — women shouting in the street — and now, back in my role as the lady of Bennett Manor, I couldn’t spit back a single retort.
Victor ate with restraint. Though a whole table was ordered, he only touched a few hot dishes; cold dishes, sweets, and fruit were untouched.
“Claire, will you come with me somewhere after this?” he asked suddenly mid-meal, smiling.
His features weren’t soft, but when he smiled it erased some of the distance etched on his face. The mole near his mouth looked oddly perfect there, as if it had always belonged.
“Where?” I snapped.
“The refugees’ shelter.” He glanced at the leftovers. “We’ll bring them this food so it won’t go to waste.” I noticed then that he’d only eaten the hot items.
I laughed and had the waiter pack up three huge cauldrons of porridge, sealing them lids and all. I’d meant to buy three hundred meat buns, but there weren’t enough, so half were meat, half vegetarian, and I added a hundred plain rolls.
I grinned at Victor. “Don’t just pack leftovers. It’s New Year — they should eat something warm.”
“Will you carry it yourself, Miss?” he teased, lips lifting.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m a lady — it’ll go in the carriage.” Victor leaned against the door frame and put on a servant’s air, still grinning. “Miss is generous. I’ll have it taken care of.” I patted his shoulder and walked ahead. “Come along, Vicky.” Victor ground his teeth. “You’re incorrigible.” I shrugged. “Who else would call me their lady? The waiters heard you.”
The next day Father returned from court and called me to the main hall, laughing. “Claire, you really make me proud. The Palace people have been praising you before the Emperor. Those refugees came fleeing from the Northern Territories. Because it’s New Year the officials were lax. If you hadn’t given alms that day and caught the Palace’s eye, I don’t know if they’d have reported it. I might never have learned you did such a bold thing behind my back.” I was baffled, then asked, “Was I the only one praised by the Emperor?” “Who else would there be?” Father asked.
I almost said too much and hurriedly covered, “Of course others helped — Maggie, Lila — they were with me.”
“They don’t count. Claire, go to court with your brother tomorrow. The Emperor wants to speak to you alone. I trust your tact, but remember that being with a ruler is like being near a tiger. Be careful.” “Yes, Father.” I stared at my shoes, still puzzled.
“Claire, you’ve grown up and are sensible. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. I’m glad you handed out soup to the refugees. Even if you did nothing else your whole life, as long as you don’t do harm, I won’t be disappointed.” He patted my shoulder. “We’re father and daughter. Don’t be so stiff in your speech.” He paused and added, “The court has arranged for the refugees. You don’t need to worry.” I pictured him pushing me on a swing as a child, flying kites, and the way he never complained as his rank fell after I married Ethan. My eyes burned. “I understand, Father.” He teased, “Still blubbering at your age? Shame. Go rest — you’re going to court tomorrow.” I couldn’t help it; I cried harder.
It was late when I returned to my room. I’d meant to write Victor a letter to ask him directly, but I couldn’t find the right words and put it off.
When I woke, delicate snow was drifting again outside the window.
In the carriage, I pretended to sleep as soon as I sensed my brother gearing up to lecture me. I’d slept late the night before, so pretending soon turned into real sleep.
Near the palace gates my brother nudged me awake. “Claire, go in. I’ll wait outside.” “No need, brother. I’m not a child. The snow’s heavy — you should go home. I’ll be back shortly.” I stepped down quickly before he could answer.
I’d only gone a few paces when I heard him shout from behind, “Don’t run — it’s slippery!” I didn’t look back, but I could imagine his face, half amused, half exasperated.
A long-waiting eunuch at the palace gate greeted me and ushered me inside. He looked vaguely familiar.
The eunuch looked pretty old—surely one of the Palace elders. He walked beside me, smiling as he spoke. “Miss Bennett, you haven’t been to the imperial garden in a while. The plum blossoms just opened; with the rouge-mottled petals they’re quite lovely. If you come early, you should take a look.”
“All right, thank you.” I answered brightly, but inwardly I thought if I were really going to look, I’d drag Princess Hazel along. Wandering the Palace alone would be dull.
In the main hall, I’d expected the Emperor to summon me alone to ask sharp questions I couldn’t easily answer.
Instead, to my surprise, he looked like the gentle-faced man from my childhood memory—his beard longer now, which lent him a touch of gravitas.
I found it odd. The Bennetts were rising in influence; he should have been wary of us.
He didn’t make things difficult. He offered the usual pleasantries, praised me a bit, gifted me some jewelry, and then let me go.
As I left he said, oddly, “Do come by more often when you have time.”
I took it as courtesy and didn’t dwell on it.
Less than a quarter hour outside the hall, someone called my name. The voice was all too familiar—Ethan Hale.
He wore a red coat that made him stand out against the falling snow.
“Miss Bennett, what a coincidence.” Ethan approached under his umbrella.
I noticed the snow had thickened.
“Yes, quite the coincidence.” I replied. He offered his umbrella; I didn’t take it. He didn’t seem offended, as if he’d expected me to refuse, and naturally walked beside me, umbrella shading us both.
“Master Hale, that looks bad for people to see.” I stared at him.
“It’s only escaping the snow. Miss Bennett, you’re an honest woman—what is there to hide?” Ethan smiled.
“Neither of us are petty. No reason to be ashamed, right, Master Hale?” I said evenly.
Snow fell harder, and through the paper umbrella I could see the shadow of snowflakes piling up.
We reached the Palace gate quickly. Outside stood a single carriage. I recognized it—not from my family.
Ethan feigned surprise. “I forgot to tell you earlier—at first I thought you’d gone to visit the Princess, so I sent the Bennett carriage ahead. I didn’t expect to run into you again; my apologies.” He glanced at the lone carriage, then said, “Officials aren’t on duty today. Allow me to escort you home?” His face wore a contrite expression, but I could tell it was put on; the smile in his eyes betrayed him.
I watched the snow fall. After years of lessons in etiquette, I could at least manage a polite smile. I gave him a sweet one. “Thank you, Master Hale.”
The kettle in the carriage warmed the air much more than outside, but it was stuffy. After a while my cheeks felt hot, so Ethan pulled back the curtain a little.
I watched his movements for a while, then said, “Master Hale, if you have something to say, say it plainly.” He didn’t answer me directly. Instead he said, “Miss Bennett, would you like to visit Hale House?”
I laughed softly. “I’m already sitting in General Hale’s carriage. Is there really a choice given to me?”
Ethan looked up and studied me seriously. “Miss Bennett is very clever.”
“You flatter me a hundredfold, Master Hale.” I smiled. “But more than clever, I prefer someone who’s generous. That sounds lively enough.”
“Miss Bennett is joking.” He glanced at the snowy yard without pressing further.
In my last life, when I married into Hale House, I hadn’t changed the layout much, but I had planted many flowers and opened a pond for goldfish. I’d wanted to keep a few cats—Hale House was so large and its rooms so quiet; cats would make it livelier.
Someone told me Ethan didn’t like furry animals, so I gave up the idea and stocked fish instead.
I climbed down from the carriage and followed Ethan to the gate. The scene inside made me pause—not because of a surge of memory alone, but because Hale House looked almost exactly as I’d tended it before. The pond was open; the willows by the banks stood in nearly the same spots. “You…” I stammered, unable to finish.
Ethan looked pleased at my reaction and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Bennett, what did you mean to say?” I steadied myself and walked on. Ethan adjusted the umbrella to walk beside me.
Everything in the courtyard felt so familiar. I glanced at him; he happened to be looking at me too, his expression carrying something beyond boyishness.
It clicked: strange things happened in this world—how could fate favor only me? He must have been reborn too, though he likely didn’t know my situation. Otherwise he wouldn’t need to test me.
Ethan kept searching my face, hoping to find a clue.
I smiled genuinely. “I only meant to praise the arrangement of Hale House. General Hale can handle the state’s matters and still keep his household immaculate. Impressive.”
“Miss Bennett likes the garden’s layout?” he asked.
“It’s fine.” I admitted, peeking east toward the garden we’d just passed. “Those peonies must have been moved in from somewhere else. They need protection in winter—the peony is delicate. Don’t let them freeze.”
“You like peonies?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You liked the peony hairpin the General gave you last time?” he continued.
I smacked my forehead. “Ah—”
“So it was from the General. I suppose Maggie thought it had been from another family and put it away. I haven’t seen it myself.” Ethan was about to continue when I cut in. “General Hale wouldn’t stoop to the same treatment as a lowly maid. Don’t worry—when I get home I’ll scold her properly.” It was true; the velvet bloom had indeed ended up in the storehouse—not placed there by Maggie, but by me, when I’d tossed it in.
“At this point, if I say any more, I’ll come off as stingy,” Ethan said with mock seriousness.
I glanced at the sky. “Master Hale, it’s getting late. I should go.”
“Not yet, Miss Bennett. It’s near noon. You must be hungry. The House prepared food; eat, and then I’ll send you home. It would be a shame for Hale House’s hospitality to be spoken of poorly.” With that, I had no choice but to accept. “Very well. I won’t be rude then,” I said.
The dishes were the ones I’d loved in my previous life. Normally, outside the House, I wouldn’t have minded being vulgar and stuffing myself, but today I wasn’t in the mood—everything tasted too cloying, even the sweet rice balls with honey filling. I’d rather have had the tart unsugared apricot.
Ethan chatted happily at the table even when I gave short answers.
Then the door opened. Ethan’s personal guard, Michael Reed, stepped in.
Michael whispered something to Ethan. The two of them looked at me in unison—I knew it had to concern me.
Sure enough, Ethan spoke with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Miss Bennett really is the apple of the Bennett household. Not long after you arrived, the Bennetts came for you.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief. Since I’d realized Ethan had been reborn too, I’d worked hard to steady myself, keeping calm and neutral in our conversation. It took effort.
Ethan stood and bowed slightly. “Shall I escort Miss Bennett out?”
“Thank you, Master Hale.” I offered a perfunctory curtsey.
Outside, I saw the familiar carriage and felt a pang of ease. My brother stepped down immediately and pulled me aside, creating distance between us and Ethan. “General Ethan, mind your manners.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I only invited Miss Bennett to our house,” Ethan said, then turned to me. “Miss Bennett, goodbye.” He left without waiting for my reply; soon he was gone.
In the carriage, my brother had lost the fierceness he’d shown with Ethan. He stared at me, hesitant to speak.
I rubbed my dizzy head and forced a fitting smile. “Brother, that demeanor of yours makes me a little uneasy.”
He dropped the act. “Claire, what are you to Master Hale? What’s your feeling toward him?”
“Neutral.” I answered.
“So you have no affection for him?” he pressed.
My mind snapped clear at the question and I denied it quickly. “Of course not.” I imagined Ethan had told him I’d gone searching for the Princess and ended up back at Hale House—no wonder he’d misread things.
I hurried on, “Don’t worry, brother. I’d sooner marry a dog or a rooster than marry General Hale.” My words must have been bad omen; he made a disgusted sound and then, relieved, scolded me good-naturedly. “You don’t need to worry; the Bennett household is behind you. You won’t be forced into something.”
“Brother!” I laughed.
He let out a short laugh too. “Truly, Claire, keep your distance from Ethan Hale.” He hesitated, then added, “Ethan isn’t simple. I misjudged him before. The court’s unstable; Hale House may not be content to just be powerful in Riverton.” Given his reborn experience and his long time navigating court, with clout to boot, someone like that could easily stir trouble. I muttered, “Understood.”
He shifted topics. “You’ve been keeping close to the Ministry of Rites lately?”
“Sort of. Why?”
“No real reason. Just know someone from the Ministry reported your visiting Hale House. Send a gift later—don’t be rude.”
“Understood, brother.” I had a servant send a message to Victor Lang’s house and arranged to meet with Chasen.
Victor and I weren’t close, but if I needed the Ministry of Rites involved, he could handle it. That left Chasen as my contact.
Back in my room, having risen early and endured so much, I fell asleep quickly.
The day’s events felt like a dream—absurd and strange, yet something I had to accept.
I woke in the middle of the night. The snacks Maggie had prepared were still on the table — she must’ve thought I was sleeping deeply and didn’t wake me, leaving them for when I woke to fill my stomach.
I sat alone at the table. There was a brazier in the room; Maggie had left the window cracked because she was worried I’d feel stuffy if it were shut tight. Cool air slipped through the gap and onto my face. Wrapped in that chill, I sat until dawn, and my restless thoughts gradually eased.
I met Chase at the same tavern as before. Since I’d already been once, the coachman remembered the way. What surprised me was that even though I arrived a little after the appointed time and pushed the door open, Chase was already sitting there on a chair.
When he saw me, he folded the fan he’d been playing with and smiled. “Long time no see, Miss Bennett.”
“One day apart and that counts as long?” I replied, smiling as I sat across from him.
“Miss Bennett, you’ve got that wrong. The ancients said a day apart is like three autumns. By that logic, we haven’t seen each other for years.” Chase’s officious reasoning earned a roll of my eyes. He ignored me and called the waiter over.
Before the waiter could speak, I was quicker — I tossed my purse on the table and said, “This one’s on me.”
“Last time was on you as well,” Chase reminded me.
“You’re accusing me of being fabulously wealthy, Mr. Hale,” I teased.
“I think you’re just silly and generous,” he shot back.
“You… who are you calling silly?” I flared, taken aback by a random barb I hadn’t invited.
“If someone invites you and you go, especially a Miss from Bennett Manor, hiding behind your family’s name and pretending to be important — that’s plain foolish.” Even without naming names, I knew he meant Ethan Hale.
I couldn’t deny it, so I switched topics, choosing my words carefully. “Thanks for yesterday. And the day before. But what is this—doing good deeds anonymously?”
Chase opened his fan and put on an air. “Fame doesn’t do much for me. Keep it for you. As for thanks—how do you plan to repay me?”
I smiled. “Depends what you want.”
He thought a moment. “How about you find me a position?”
“Huh?”
“I lost my parents young. Since I was sensible I’ve been working for the Langs. I’ve done my best, but the Lang family treats me poorly.” He sipped his tea. “I don’t see you as a stranger today, so I’m laying all this bare. I’ve helped you before; you’re kind. You wouldn’t just stand by, would you?” I glanced at Chase — his clothing was fine enough to show good taste; the jade at his waist was milky and carved with exquisite detail. If he left the city with such attire, he’d be well off.
Chase stood tall; when he’d been beside Victor Lang earlier, he looked every bit the gentleman.
With how Victor treated him, even a poorer house would at least keep appearances — Chase shouldn’t be too badly off.
“You’re a terrible liar, Mr. Hale,” I said, eyes smiling.
“This is the second time you’ve said that,” he replied.
“Second time?” I asked, puzzled.
“Just teasing. Aren’t you going to ask where I want to go?” Chase raised an eyebrow playfully.
“Anywhere’s fine. I could stuff you into the Palace if you want,” I waved off.
“I don’t want the Palace. I want to go to Bennett Manor.” He answered plainly.
I choked on my shrimp dumpling. I had to ask again to be sure. “Where?”
As if I might not hear him, he slowed and enunciated: “Bennett Manor — the home you’ll be returning to shortly.” I forced a smile.
So Chase and I returned to Bennett Manor together.
The place was large, with people coming and going like a river. Inserting someone new into the staff shouldn’t have been hard, but by chance we ran into my brother on the way back. Chase spoke up quickly, saying I’d recruited him as a personal guard. My brother, probably from everything that had happened lately, said bluntly that I was right to want protection. After asking Chase a few questions, he agreed. Maggie was shocked at first, then somehow Chase must’ve bribed her because she clammed up.
Everything went too smoothly.
The New Year was almost over and life fell back into its usual rhythm: needlework, reading, then music, chess, painting, and calligraphy.
Chase spent a few days with me and I soon felt how dull he was.
One day, I was in the study practicing my characters. He was sitting not far away, idly tossing peanuts into the air. He asked, “Are all girls from noble families this bored?”
I didn’t change my pen stroke. “If you’re bored, take a walk in the garden. Go along the east path — there should be plum trees at the end. Whites, pinks, reds. They haven’t all fallen yet; go look at them while you can.”
He straightened. “I asked if you were bored.”
“Fine,” I said. “Watch where you toss those peanuts so you don’t fling them on the floor.”
Hearing that, he tossed a peanut into his mouth, walked up to me, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and covered the hand I held the pen with.
I panicked. The brush on the paper splattered a big blot of ink.
“Chase, what are you doing? We’re—” I stumbled. “We’re master and servant.”
He was close. He smelled good — a clean, crisp scent I didn’t dislike. He murmured, “Isn’t teaching your own lady to write acceptable?” He glanced at the characters I’d just written and hesitated a long time before saying, “Your handwriting is…”
“What?” My script wasn’t bad; among ladies it held up. I was curious what critique he’d offer.
“Like a chicken scrambling,” he said, smothering a laugh.
I wanted to stand up and scold him, but his grip was strong. I couldn’t move.
He ignored me; instead, he began writing carefully himself. Resigned, I followed his pressure and practiced with his hand guiding mine.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen his writing — the note he used to invite me to the tavern had shown me that. Chase’s strokes matched his bearing: graceful and powerful, like a soaring swan or a startled dragon. I thought he might rival the masters who taught me.
I mentally cursed him for being a fraud — no servant should be able to write like that. “Miss nervous?” He was so close his breath brushed my ear when he spoke.
I turned my face slightly and could see the mole on his cheek. He remained focused on moving the brush across the paper. The intensity surprised me.
When he finished a line, he threw the brush onto the table, gathered the remaining peanuts, and walked to the door. With a smile he said, “Miss, see you later,” and slipped out in a flash.
“Hey!” I wanted to call after him, but he was already gone.
After his sudden embrace I’d had my thoughts in a muddle and only glanced at the start of what he’d written. Now that he was gone, I looked back at the paper. In big characters he’d written: Would you like to go out with me tonight?
I couldn’t help laughing. No wonder he’d run off so fast — he hadn’t even given me a chance to refuse.
Night fell. The sky held the last of the sunset, purple and black stitched together.
I sat in the pavilion alone when a familiar voice came from behind. “Miss, sorry to keep you waiting. I was held up.”
I turned. Chase was in front of me. He looked me over and frowned. “Aren’t you dressed too lightly?”
Let Him Regret What He Lost
“I’m not waiting yet — you arrived before I did. I just ate and came out without getting back to my room. If the maid who sweeps the door saw me go out wearing only a cloak, she’d probably run to tattle to Mother.” I smiled and nudged him. “If Mother found out, your monthly pay would be gone.”
Chase draped his crane-patterned cape around me. “If you catch your death, I’ll be losing my pay too.”
“It would probably be Maggie who loses it,” I said with a grin. The cloak still held his warmth; I felt noticeably warmer. I looked at him. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Mind your own affairs and don’t get yourself frozen. I practice martial arts; I’m not as cold as you,” he replied.
I couldn’t argue. I asked, “How do we go out without Mommy finding out?”
“You’ll see.” Chase took on a mysteriously knowing expression.
I did see — after staring at the dog-sized hole in the wall for a long time, I finally made myself ask, “You want me to crawl through that?”
“Of course. What’s wrong with that?” he said, smiling.
“You said you knew martial arts. In novels, people who know martial arts can move like the wind — why not just carry me over the wall?” I got flustered and asked quickly.
“You really read too many stories. No wonder you make the tutors write for you sometimes.” Chase moved aside the last bundle of brushwood covering the hole, dusting his hands. “But it was your idea that made me do this. I wanted to see the plum blossoms with you. This place is quiet and only separated from the outside by a wall, so I chopped through some of the nearby shrubs and made this opening. Now you can slip out any time you want.” He acted as if he’d done it all for my convenience. I almost gasped. I smiled with forced politeness. “Well, then — thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Helping my lady is my duty,” he said with an unchanging smile.
“All right, Mr. Hale, after you.” He was annoyingly prompt. The hole was already made; I couldn’t really back out. So I followed him out.
We were already out of Bennett Manor and onto the street when I grinned at Ethan and said, "Mr. Hale, did you know those were prize roses you hacked down? You took out half the patch. Mr. Hale—no, make that Ethan—I'm docking your wages."
"Ethan," he corrected gently. "Haven't you heard the saying, 'He who does not know is innocent'?"
"Why'd you stop calling me 'miss'?" I asked.
"Inside the Manor you're 'miss'; outside, you're 'lady.'"
"Well, aren't you precise. Hey—don't change the subject. I'm still taking the money. Three taels of silver." My little rose variety was rare; rarity made things expensive. One plant could cost three taels. Ethan had taken so many; asking for that amount wasn't unreasonable. That's how I justified it.
"Miss, tightfisted as ever. Why squabble with a servant?"
"Inside the Manor you're 'miss'; outside you're 'lady,'" I repeated, giving him back his own line with a smile.
The street wasn't as crowded as on New Year's. We wandered for a while before finding a shop with decent craftsmanship.
The shopkeeper's wife was effusive, claiming even princes and princesses came to buy many of their wares.
I smiled without answering. The goods were fine—good, but not breathtaking.
Thinking of Princess Hazel's temperament, had Liam Hart not presented them, she probably never would have worn such things. A princess invariably wore the finest.
The store had a full selection. I walked a few laps and picked a twisted-silver bracelet and a little embroidered purse with houses stitched on it, then paid.
Just as we left, I tossed the purse at Ethan.
He caught it and eyed it suspiciously. "This for me?"
"For you."
"You have an eye. Most purses aren't embroidered with houses. You're not the first customer, are you?" He teased, but pocketed it.
"This purse suits you."
"Hm?"
"Ethan." I nudged him to clue him in.
His name—like many characters—had a couple of interpretations: deep, lofty houses; or the reference to the North Star, a stand-in for throne and rulership.
When I first heard his name I hadn't thought much of it—the sound was common. Later I saw the character and realized how audacious it felt. Remembering how Victor had reacted when he introduced Ethan made the pieces fall into place.
"Fraud," I said, pointing and laughing. "Even your name's fake. A downright con."
"Ethan…" His voice softened but he didn't finish.
I watched him for a long time. He still held the purse I’d given him; his fingers had curled around it tighter.
Even with his head bowed, it couldn't dim his striking, almost heroic beauty.
When he didn't continue, I asked, "Why so quiet?" Ethan gave me that half-smile with his eyes, returning to his usual calm: "Miss is too clever to speak; afraid one slip and you'll spot a lie."
"And now you won't call me foolish?" I asked.
"You have never been foolish," he smiled lightly. I could hear him perfectly.
His inconsistent answers made me laugh. "A liar's a liar—old habits die hard." At that moment, a vendor nearby began packing up, and I realized it was late.
"Ethan, let's go home. The later we are, the more likely my mother will notice," I said, pointing up at the sky.
It was fully dark; only a few stars showed.
We walked side by side. He suddenly asked, "Aren't you curious about the things I kept from you?"
"If I were curious, would you tell me?" I answered, glancing ahead. We were nearly home; the shadow of Bennett Manor was faintly visible.
His expression pleased him—the smile at his mouth like a full moon. "Maybe if you begged enough, I might tell."
I walked straight on, ignoring him.
When we reached the little dog-door, I said, "You go in first." Ethan looked puzzled but obeyed.
As I squeezed through, a dry branch snagged my dress. I didn't notice at first and kept pushing through, tearing a small piece of fabric from the hem.
The rip was small and hidden unless inspected closely, but I was cut up about it anyway—not because the dress was priceless but because it was brand-new. Today was my first time wearing it.
I pulled the light cloak off my shoulders and draped it back over Ethan, dusting his coat. I was about to tie the strings when he looked down and said, "You didn't answer my question."
The night was dim; I couldn't see the strings clearly and had to feel my way by memory. While tying, I said, "You said, 'inside the Manor you're miss, outside you're lady.' Claire Bennett might be curious about your business, but Miss Bennett wouldn't."
I finished the knot, stepped back, and smiled. "So I'm entrusting you with fixing this little tear. Your lady has gone back inside."
Even in the murk I could see him smile; the mole on his face was just a shadow, but he said, "Yes, Miss." He looked so handsome when he smiled.
I went to my cottage; the lamp was still lit, and faintly I could hear a piano. I knocked a short code—three quick, one long. The music stopped, then footsteps. The door opened and Maggie poked her head out.
"Miss, you're finally back. I couldn't practice another minute; my hands hurt." She held out her hands. I placed mine over hers, brought my face close, and blew on her fingertips, grinning, "Good job, Maggie." Then I slid the twisted-silver bracelet onto her wrist. Maggie's eyes lit up. "Miss, is this for me?" I tapped her head. "Of course it's for you."
"Did the brothers notice?" I asked.
"The young madam visited once. 'Lunar Moon' said she listened a bit at the door then left. Maggie's been playing the whole time." Maggie beamed and twirled the bracelet. "Thank you, Miss. I love it!"
I’d practiced the piano since I was little. Maggie had watched me and I taught her simple pieces. Tonight she’d played well.
"Glad you like it," I said. Just as I was about to climb into bed, a knock—three bangs—sounded at the door. It was late; I figured Mother must have come with something important. I swung the door open.
Instead of Mother, Ethan stood there.
He just looked at me and smiled, said nothing.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"I forgot something for you," he said, and produced a parcel wrapped in brown leather from his arms. He pressed it into my hands and ran off, pulling the door closed behind him.
I unwrapped it. Inside was something I knew well—sour apricots.
His gifts were always predictable. I popped one into my mouth out of habit.
They weren't as sour as I expected—chewy, almost sweet. The apricots were dusted with a thin layer of sugar.
There was a small note: only two characters in bold, vigorous handwriting: "Apology."
I thought of Ethan's earlier look and couldn't help smiling.
Winter faded into spring. Father and my brothers had become busier, sometimes staying in the study for days arguing state matters. Even Ethan seemed less idle than usual; I couldn't say what had him occupied.
Princess Hazel confided that the court was in turmoil and border defenses might collapse. She grabbed my hand and forced a bitter smile. "Claire, it looks like I truly can't marry Liam now."
If the border fell, talks of a marriage alliance would accelerate. For the royal family, a political marriage was often the last recourse to keep a country.
I couldn't believe it. Ethan was a fierce commander—no immortal invincible myth, but the title of young general wasn't empty. He shouldn't lose.
Why had last life gone differently? I couldn't understand. I felt a pang of helplessness watching Princess Hazel's reddened eyes.
There were soft footsteps outside but no one came in. I patted Hazel's shoulder and stepped out.
Even from the hem of a field-blue robe I recognized Liam Hart.
I smiled at him. He stood there, eyes vacant. "Since you're here, why not come inside?" I asked.
He didn't answer; instead he asked, "Is the princess very sad?"
"Yes."
"Please, Miss, comfort her. She's of royal blood—don't be sad for her. It's not worth it." His words confused me. "What do you mean?"
He only smiled and said, "I'm not right for the princess. She deserves someone better. I'm just a painter. If she stayed with me, there would be no future."
Anger prickled at me. "How do you know you and she have no future?"
"Miss Bennett, tell me—if you ate exotic delicacies every day, then for once had plain coarse rice, you'd savor it as a novelty. But who wants to eat unpalatable plain rice every day?" He trailed off as if that explained everything.
"A princess is born into privilege. She shouldn't have to give up her dazzling life for me," he said. "She should be wearing jeweled hairpins and silk gowns. Miss Bennett, I lived in poverty for twenty years — I couldn't even afford one of the pins she always wore — yet she never complained. Miss Bennett, I won't let rice and firewood ruin her."
"If she stays with me, what will the people think of her? Miss Bennett, I know she doesn't care for such empty honors, but I do. She's the finest princess I've ever seen." He smiled, his voice even, but I could feel him trembling.
I thought of the three days he spent kneeling in the snow and how it ruined his legs. That year the snow was heavy — heavier than the last snowfall.
I asked, "If Princess Hazel goes to be married off, what will you do?"
"If it's her true match, I should bless her," he said.
"But what if it's not? If she really is sent away—it's so far to the frontier. She's royal-blooded; what if she suffers? What if she cries?" I pressed.
"She's a princess of the realm…" Liam Hart's voice tightened; he started stammering.
"How could that not matter?" I lowered my voice. "Go in and stay with her. If you don't want her to be sad, you can help more than I can. She always tells me she wants me to be happy. But I'm the same—she likes you a lot."
"Princess Hazel must be waiting for you. She's clever; she can't not know it's you. The palace guards at the gate have been sent elsewhere — go in. The timing is right. I should head back." I waved at him with a smile, and only after I watched that dark figure slip into the hall did I leave.
As soon as I stepped through the palace gates, I saw another familiar flash of red. I gritted my teeth and turned to leave.
But Ethan Hale spotted me and rushed over, grabbing my sleeve.
"Miss Bennett, fancy meeting you again," he said with a smile.
I stopped avoiding his gaze and looked up at him. With my other hand I pointed to the sleeve Ethan still held and said, smiling, "Ethan, have some decorum."
He didn't let go. Instead he moved even closer. His face filled my view and then a sharp pain shot through my neck — I blacked out.
When I came to, I was in Hale House. Not the little courtyard home from my last life, but Willow Court, the place I'd given to Violet.
It was crabapple season; through the window the courtyard was a wash of red blossoms.
I was about to step out when eight guards blocked the door.
Without the general's permission, I couldn't leave.
I wanted to laugh at the idea of Ethan keeping me under house arrest. What right did he have? I had no ties to him anymore. I had Bennett Manor behind me — would Hale House really act like it owned the world?
With eight guards at the door, there was nothing I could do. So I sat in the empty hall and waited.
They brought meals three times and still there was no sign of Ethan.
I watched the sunset and yawned. Boredom was settling in; truth be told, I was sleepy.
Half-asleep, I felt someone wrap his arms around me from behind. I struggled, but he was strong. He buried his face in my neck and whispered, "Claire."
"Ethan, have some decency. I'm Miss Bennett. Let go of me," I said.
He didn't answer. His fingers tangled in a stray lock of hair and wound it around and around. I couldn't see his face, but I could hear him laughing.
"Why are you trembling, Claire?" he asked. "Are you afraid of me?"
I didn't answer him directly, only repeating, "Ethan, have some decency. Call me Miss Bennett."
His tone changed. Emotion bubbled up, uncontrollable; his grip tightened until I felt like I might be crushed. Veins stood out on his hand and I couldn't help a sharp cry.
He ignored it and chuckled softly. "Claire, why are you afraid of me? At the New Year's banquet that day, you looked at me strangely. Are you avoiding me?"
"You—what are you saying, Ethan? That dinner was the first time we met. I hadn't seen you before," I denied.
He smoothed that curl of hair back onto my head and smiled. "Claire, you're so used to deceiving — but your slip-ups are obvious. I won't believe anything you say now."
"You seem close to that young man named Carter. Claire, do you like him?" My reply got caught in my throat because I felt Ethan moving even closer — not a sliver of air between us.
"Do you even know who he is?" he asked, laughing like a child.
"Behave, Claire. Don't anger me; I won't be able to control myself." His voice turned almost pleading, then possessive: "Look at me. Give me time and I'll make you a phoenix. I'll make you a real phoenix."
I turned my head and looked at him. "Ethan, are you trying to put me under house arrest?"
He seemed pleased I'd asked. He released me and spread his hands. "Claire, we're husband and wife. 'House arrest' doesn't sound right."
He said a few more words and left me in Willow Court. The halls were quiet. The servants rushed about their chores and bowed, calling me "Madam," but I felt sick and had no mood to talk with any of them.
Ethan spread a lie that I had died — a simple story: kidnapped by brigands and thrown into the river.
The maid who took my place in death—the one they found in my clothes—had been in the water for days. By the time they pulled her up she was swollen and unrecognizable. They identified her by the garments and claimed she was surely the manor's young mistress.
Guilt gnawed at me. That living life… so young, and gone for my sake.
Ethan visited every day, always briefly. He was busy, he said. "Wait," he told me. He acted tender; he was so convincing he made his eyes look starry when he looked at me.
If I hadn't seen those dark years with my own eyes, if I hadn't watched him bring Violet home with such joy, I might have believed him.
I had hoped my father and brother would come for me. Once I hid behind a door and overheard the servants whispering: the outside is in chaos — it's a complete mess.
The frontier has collapsed. The tribes brought disease; people are terrified. Ethan is plotting rebellion.
Suddenly his promise to make me a phoenix made sense. He didn't want to be a general anymore. He wanted the throne. He wanted power.
But I didn't want to be a phoenix kept in a gilded cage. That wouldn't be a phoenix — it would be a canary.
I worried about my family: Maggie, Mother, Father. Then I thought of Carter and my brother Samuel being out there. For some reason I felt reassured. With them around, however Ethan moved, they'd be cared for.
I remembered when Ethan and I married in my last life — he was often away at war. At first I sulked like a child, resentful he didn't spend more time with me. He would always pull me into his arms and say, "The fate of the nation is a man's duty. A wife should understand." I admired him then — a young general with grand ambitions and a heart for the country.
But he changed, drifting farther from that boy I had loved until there was no overlap at all.
Ethan's power at court grew. He could even persuade the Emperor to send my father far away on some official assignment to a remote, disease-stricken region — my father was too old for that.
Ethan came to do my hair and makeup every day. I remember the first time I begged him not to let my father leave the capital. He smiled without speaking, cupped my face and wiped my tears away with idle words: "Claire Bennett of Bennett Manor has already died. Didn't you forget? It was a month ago."
Casual. But I heard it clearly — he rejected me.
I looked at him in disbelief; I don't think I ever hated him more in my life. He claimed to love me, yet he couldn't extend that care to my family. His so-called love brought ruin to my people.
I held back my tears and laughed up at him. "General Hale, two's company. Remember Violet? Why not marry them both?"
Mentioning Violet flared him up. The angrier he got, the more I wanted to laugh. My laughter seemed to wound him.
He slapped me — sharp and hot.
It was my first slap in both lives. I refused to let the tears fall and stared at Ethan. He seemed stunned, staring at the hand that had just struck me.
He faltered like a child. "Claire… I… I didn't mean to."
"Claire… does it hurt?" His voice grew frantic. I started to scream at him to leave. He actually complied and stayed away for several days. In that time the maids fussed over me constantly — ointments one day, cloying sweets the next, little toys to amuse me the next.
Within three days they had filled an entire table.
I didn't care for any of it. For those days Ethan stayed away, they were the calmest days I'd had in Hale House — and suddenly the slap felt almost worth it.
The day I escaped Ethan's watch was a stifling summer day. He had kept me from spring into summer, and lately he'd been more lenient. He still wouldn't let me leave the estate, but he no longer confined me to Willow Court.
He loved dressing me up in ostentation. I would already be wearing luxurious gowns, but he insisted on pinning a peony in my hair.
I looked at myself in the mirror — a puppet in cheap finery. I forced a smile at him, then, right in front of him, smashed the glass.
I dropped it on the floor and said, “I wish it had shattered across your face. That would have made me happy.” I smiled, lips trembling, and as was inevitable he clamped his hand around my throat. His grip was crushing. I could barely breathe. After a little while his fingers left red marks circling my neck. And then, of course, he couldn’t help himself — he apologized and said, “Luan, Luan.” Can you imagine? It’s absurd. I felt like I was going insane.
He threw grand banquets for me — lavish, ostentatious affairs hosted in the name of Hale House, in Ethan Hale’s name.
He thought I’d like the pomp and noise.
He even had Princess Hazel brought in to keep me company.
It was laughable. Outside Riverton refugees streamed past in waves not far from us, the people’s cries everywhere.
His power was so enormous he even staged a feast in the Palace. When I stumbled out to sober up I lost my temper and sent the two guards beside me away. They probably assumed I wouldn’t run — there were masses of soldiers posted at the Palace gates. Ethan was sure I couldn’t escape.
As long as I didn’t direct my temper at him, he tolerated everything and indulged me.
But who could have guessed the Palace’s largest lake flowed into the outer moat? When Princess Hazel and I spoke, we were watched; our words would be reported, unaltered, into Ethan’s ears.
Hazel secretly slipped me a note beneath my teacup. I unfolded it carefully. It said: The lake at the center of the Royal Garden leads out. Luan, run.
When I looked up, Hazel was smiling at me. I had never felt so helpless. If I ran, I didn’t know whether Ethan would punish that kind little princess.
There were others walking on eggshells besides me.
Hazel smiled so sweetly and mouthed the words; I understood. She was saying: Luan, be happy.
I forced the tears back, calmed myself, and mouthed back, “Thank you, Hazel.” She didn’t speak; she just gripped my hand tighter, shook her head, her hairpin bobbing.
I realized then that Ethan’s men were right outside our door.
In the Royal Garden I watched the lake; the surface lay still, unnervingly calm.
I closed my eyes, counted down — three, two, one — and dove.
The instant water filled my lungs, so many faces flashed through my mind, like the last images before you die. It felt like watching life pass in fragments.
But this time, there was also Chase Whitman. I missed the tear mole at the corner of his eye, his teasing smile, his sour apricot jokes without sugar.
Thoughts swarmed through me. I didn’t understand it — I hadn’t done anything wrong, except love the wrong man. That wasn’t a crime in my eyes, yet it brought me so much suffering. I couldn’t make sense of it.
When I woke, I was somewhere unfamiliar. Someone had hauled me out.
They’d “saved” me, but it wasn’t like in the stories. They used a tattered net to pull me from the water and then left me. The women there kept saying I had a blessed fate.
I thought the moat outside Riverton was full of bodies. Every day people fished a few up. When the river filled with corpses there was no water left to drink.
It was the rainy season.
Heavy rains had fallen lately, but they didn’t bring relief — only stifling humidity. The downpours released a rotten smell that rose like decaying meat mixed with mud. I couldn’t stand it and vomited many times.
When my stomach was empty and sleep wouldn’t come, I would wander by moonlight and look at everything — the long moat that had brought me here, every blade of grass, my own hands.
In only a few days my palms had blistered. Summer was the hardest. There was no ointment left. I missed my mother and Maggie so fiercely. If they saw me like this, they’d be crushed.
I met many kinds of people I’d never known before — cruel tongues, mean jokes, stones thrown, women called hags.
But I also met an old woman who treated me kindly.
She took me to food, taught me how to identify wild greens.
Even in this mess she was always smiling.
When I asked her name, she said her parents had sold her as a child. They never named her. Her previous mistress had called her “Jin-se.” She said by my bearing she could tell I’d come from a different life, not someone used to hard labor. She told me to dirty my clothes a little so fewer people would pick on me, and laughed, “Child, then they’ll leave you alone. Most folks here are rotten — ignore them.” I felt she was truly good and clung to her. Gradually I learned her story: she’d been a wet nurse for a wealthy town merchant; “Jin-se” was a name the family gave her. They were kind and had taken care of her until war came. Her legs were weak and she got separated from them.
When she told me, her face looked gentle, her hazel eyes reflecting the nearby moat. I thought her name was beautiful.
So I recited for her: “Jinse, for no reason fifty springs, one string, one bridge, thinking of youthful years.” It was a childhood poem my father had taught me; I still remembered it.
She praised me as clever, said her previous miss had recited it to her too, then asked my name. I wrote “Chen Luan” on her callused hand. Her fingers were rough beneath my fingertip.
She said my name sounded lovely, then sighed that she was illiterate and asked what it meant.
I leaned into her and said, “Chen is my surname. As for Luan, it’s a bird — a big, beautiful bird.” She nodded and smiled, “Birds are good — free to fly high.”
To hide from Ethan, I smeared coal ash over my face and watched my reflection in rain puddles. I looked like a beggar. Even Maggie might not recognize me.
My health was never strong and I couldn’t fight for food; the old woman and I scavenged in corners. Her lessons about wild greens barely saved us. I gnawed on tree bark and even tried clay. Having been used to good food, my stomach rebelled; nights found me waking with pain.
Every few days new soldiers patrolled by. They kept us corralled, towering over us, fearing we would go mad.
Because of that fear, the charity porridge was thin as water — you could count the grains on your bowl.
Rumors spread daily that tomorrow the court would burn us all.
At first I feared it. Not death as much as being burned. I’d heard if you were burned you might never see the people you wanted to see in the afterlife.
Honestly, I never thought I’d see Chase again. I didn’t expect he would recognize me in this state.
One morning the crowd was shouting, bowls heaped with porridge so full it spilled and people licked the overflow.
The noise jolted me awake. I grabbed my bowl and, seeing the old woman still asleep, took hers too.
Food had been scarce. The old woman — always protective of me — had become sleepier of late.
An ugly premonition sat heavy in my chest, but I clung to the hope that the thick porridge would save us.
The line for porridge was long. By the time it reached me it was nearly noon.
I handed my two bowls forward but the server wouldn’t take them. I looked up.
“One bowl per person. No more. Why you grabbing so much?” someone snarled. Panic rose; I tried to explain, “No, it’s not just for me — there’s the old woman, her bowl has a chip on it.” The man scoffed, “Not allowed. She has to come herself. Someone else can’t claim it.” He was impatient.
“But I—” I stammered, blocked for words. People behind me began to grumble.
My face burned but I wouldn’t give an inch.
“Wang Wu, give her some,” a voice said.
I couldn’t believe it. I followed the sound and saw Chase Whitman. He looked better than he did at Bennett Manor — wearing a plain purple robe, the little pouch I’d once given him hung at his waist, oddly out of place. His hair was swept up under a jade crown and his eyes smiled. That tear mole at the corner of his eye stood out.
He looked like something out of the storybooks: backlit by midday sun, like he’d stepped out of light.
I looked down at myself and didn’t call out.
Wang Wu, at Chase’s word, stopped arguing and said, “Yes, sir,” then ladled porridge for me.
I took the bowl and looked up. Chase was watching me and then came forward, carrying another bowl and handing it to me. He smiled and said, “Miss — it’s been a long time.” Everything about it sounded ordinary, but I heard him shaking.
I stood there, stunned. Ethan had sent wave after wave of people to search for me and none had recognized me. Yet Chase had seen me at once.
He seemed to read the confusion on my face. Ethan said, “Your brows are the same, your voice is the same, the mole on the back of your right hand by the fourth finger is the same—and your mole isn’t black, it’s a red one.” Seeing my shock, he smiled and smoothed my rough hair, then added, “I suppose you never noticed yourself. I only saw it that day when we were writing together.”
“We never thought you were dead.”
“We were all worried about you—Maggie, your brother, your parents, and me.”
“We waited for you.”
“I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Claire.” He smiled like a child, folded me into his arms and buried his head into my shoulder. “After searching so long, finally I found you.”
Heat rushed to my face. I didn’t know how to reply, so I could only say, “Get up. I’m covered in coal ash—so dirty and ugly.”
He didn’t lift his head. A smile softened his voice. “Coal ash can’t compete with a lady’s beauty. Claire, you’re beautiful without knowing it.”
I felt my face grow even hotter and blurted, half embarrassed, half teasing, “Get up. If you spill that bowl of porridge on me I’ll scold you.” He ignored me and hugged me even tighter.
Being in his arms, I was surrounded by him—his scent all around me.
Just then my stomach betrayed me with an untimely growl. I stuck out my tongue at Ethan and, half embarrassed, half laughing, said, “I’m hungry.” Only then did he let me go and gesture for me to eat the porridge. I shook my head and said to wait a bit.
Ethan smiled and took off his shoes, offering them to me. “Put them on,” he said.
He led me to the woman everyone called Nana—the place where we slept.
There was nothing much—just a bed of straw.
Nana was still in the exact same position I’d left her. She wasn’t moving.
Panic bubbled up. I rushed to her side and called, “Nana!” I kept calling but got no reply. I cupped her hand and it trembled in mine—so cold.
There was no warmth left. I stopped calling her Nana and started calling her Jinse—the name she liked.
But no matter how many times I called, she wouldn’t call back, “Child.”
I put my finger to her nostrils—no breath. I tried again and again. When the result was the same each time, I finally accepted it: she was really dead.
I couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed down my face.
I remembered when I first met Nana. I had only been here a few days, still with some lady airs, often bullied and too proud to answer back. It was Nana’s kindness that got me out of those scrapes—she scolded them for me.
I had no bowl to eat from; she gave me the one she used and searched long for a small damaged bowl for herself. No matter what I offered, she refused to swap back.
I wanted to burn something for her—something that would help her remember me, and that I could remember her by.
I looked up and Ethan had been standing quietly behind me the whole time. “Do you have paper and brush?” I asked. He nodded.
So I wrote. From noon to dusk, from dusk to night. My writing filled sheet after sheet until they were dense with the same line of poetry: “The fifty strings on a brocade zither, each string and bridge recalling youthful years.” I signed the end with my name: Claire Bennett.
I thought about how many times I’d written it on her palm. I’d written it so often not long ago—looking much the same—that she couldn’t possibly forget me.
Ethan stayed by my side and copied what I wrote. His signature wasn’t Ethan—he wrote the family name Zhou. In all the land, only someone sharing the same surname as the princess and worthy of the name “Chen” could be the absent Crown Prince.
I looked up at him.
We filled many sheets—stack upon stack—until the paper Ethan had brought ran out. His calligraphy was neater than mine; Nana would certainly have liked his notes more.
I watched Ethan’s profile, and in my peripheral vision I could see the city moat not far off.
“Do I call you Ethan, or Prince Zhou, or Crown Prince?” I cut in before he could answer, teasing, “Ethan, are you very impressive now?”
He turned to me. Ink had smudged into a dark patch on his hand from his writing. Looking at me, he said, “I’ve always been impressive.”
“Then do me a favor, okay?”
“Hmm?”
“Give Nana a proper burial—let her go with dignity. Burn these for her. I can’t go; I’ll cry if I see it, and I want Nana to leave smiling. Make the funeral big enough but not too big; have music, but not so loud she’d think it noisy. Don’t make it feel like a raucous party.” Saying it felt absurd, like caprice. I added, “Do I sound like an unreasonable lady?”
Ethan shook his head. “No. Whatever you wish. Besides, you are a lady.”
“Even in front of Prince Zhou?” I asked, satisfied by the answer and cheekily throwing out the prince’s name without a second thought.
“The prince hasn’t returned to the capital. In front of you, he’s Ethan.” He said this while straightening the papers that had started to scatter. “Claire, do one more thing for me?”
“What can I do?” I smiled brightly.
“Come home with me.”
“All right.” I looked at him and repeated, “Ethan, I’ll go home with you.” The capital was under strict watch; gates were guarded and carts inspected one by one.
“How did you know I was outside the capital at the refugee shelter?” I asked.
He pointed toward the Palace. “There’s the princess—Hazel, the emperor’s sister. Outside the palace, there’s the painter Liam Hart.” I remembered then how Princess Hazel had quietly told me that the royal family kept pigeons for message-carrying—few people knew. Near the Palace there were many birds of all kinds, most of them pigeons.
At first I thought it elegant—birds were beautiful though a nightmare to manage. After Hazel confided the truth, I realized it was a smokescreen. Liam Hart, the court painter, had a lax position and could come and go in the Palace unmonitored. If Ethan had someone loyal inside the city, communication wasn’t impossible.
I hid under the seat in the carriage. The inspector was lazy that night—he just lifted the curtain, glanced at us, and let us through.
Ethan didn’t take me straight to his residence. He went to his family’s clothing shop and tossed down a heavy embroidered pouch with a house stitched on it. “Pick anything you like.” The pouch thudded solidly against the table with a satisfying sound.
The shopkeeper stared as we entered. Even though I was ragged, the owner treated me like spring—cordial and teasing that Ethan and I made a fine pair. Ethan looked pleased and tipped the man extra.
Maybe I’d been holding everything inside for so long that when I finally put it down I just felt exhausted.
That night, in Ethan’s courtyard, I ran a high fever.
When I came to—still foggy—I tried to roll over but the blanket wouldn’t lift. Ethan was leaning across the edge of the bed, asleep.
He must have kept watch for a long time. At the first motion, he woke up startled. Seeing me awake, he hurried to ask if I felt ill, if I wanted to eat, and fretted that I’d been wronged and clouded in distress.
I thought a moment and realized I must have been talking in my sleep. Nana had told me before that when I first came I used to talk in my sleep—things like, “Ethan, get lost. Let me go…leave me alone…” and the like.
Seeing Ethan look guilty, I laughed and said, “No, I’m not wronged. Didn’t you come to me?” Then I put my hand on his face and stroked the tear mole at the corner of his eye with my thumb. “Ethan, I’m hungry. I want preserved sour apricots, with lots of sugar—don’t tease me. I don’t like sour.”
“You should eat lighter food while you recover. I’ll have the kitchen make porridge.”
“But I only want sour apricots.”
“No.”
“Please. I’m better now—take care of me.” Ethan looked at me and sighed as if giving in: “Drink the porridge first. After you finish, I’ll go buy some.”
“Good.” I smiled and pressed both hands to his face, squeezing out a grin. “Ethan, don’t look so woeful. It’s not your fault. I’m grateful to you. Smile—when you smile, you’re handsome.”
I stayed in Ethan’s courtyard four days. He always seemed busy, leaving me with the one line that my father and brother were well and would return to the capital soon. He would arrange things with Princess Hazel—he told me to rest easy.
Once I recovered, I hardly saw him. People came to the courtyard to speak with him—business dealings. I understood. He was not just Ethan anymore.
On the fifth morning, early, I heard a knock at the door. I thought it was the early meal delivery—how rude to come so soon.
I opened it and Ethan stood there—weariness on his face. He wanted to do my hair for me. I almost refused, seeing how tired he looked, but he insisted. I gave in; it had been so long since I’d seen him.
He was cautious and I kept making him flinch, accidentally hurting him a few times.
“Have I ever done a lady’s hair before?” he asked, inserting the pin as he talked. “No, Claire. You’re the first.” Then he bent his head and asked, “Does it hurt, Claire?” I looked in the bronze mirror at my loose hair—simply done, propped up with one pin—and pointed. “Not yet. Put the pin higher—it's coming loose.” He smiled and obliged.
I stared straight into the mirror and asked, “Ethan, where did you learn this hairstyle? It looks familiar.” He neatened his creation with a proud grin and said, “You must have seen it. The old woman who sells sour apricots ties hair like this.”
The way a woman’s hairstyle differs from a maiden’s is distinct. Although I’d tied women’s hair before, in my former life I had been the wife of a general—Claire of the Bennett family—lived in splendor. I’d never tied the common folk’s hair like this.
I couldn't help the little twitch at the corner of my mouth. "Ethan, I'm barely sixteen."
"I know." Ethan shrugged.
He looked at me as he said it. "Doesn't matter—it's lovely." I noticed the curl of his lips and snapped, "Ethan, you're doing this on purpose!"
"That's easy," he said. "Besides, Claire, you're beautiful by nature. Anything looks good on you." Hearing that deflated half my anger. I only managed a huffy, "You're all mouth, slick and silver-tongued."
Ethan seemed unusually cheerful today. He wasn't going anywhere—he just stayed with me.
I didn't want to waste the moment, but there wasn't much to show off. The blister on my hand had mostly healed, so I thought I might play a piece on the zither—Ethan hadn't heard me play yet.
I told him, but he insisted my hand wasn't ready and that I should wait till it fully healed.
I had no choice. "Then what do you want to do?"
"Let's play chess. I haven't played you yet."
He told me he'd once played with my brother while working at the house and barely managed a draw. "From what Samuel said, Claire's bold and skilled—I'd love to try. Claire, do me the honor." Ethan smiled, earnest in his eyes. He'd clearly taken my brother's words seriously. I inwardly cursed Samuel all over again.
It was hard to refuse the intensity of his gaze. I hesitated, forcing a smile. Finally I managed, "Are you sure?"
"Sure. What's the matter?" Ethan looked puzzled by my hesitation.
Since things had already come this far, I decided to stop being picky. "Fine. Come on."
He led me to a table out in the courtyard and had someone bring a board and pieces.
After a few rounds, I noticed Ethan's expression darkening. Knowing my own limits at the game, I forced a smile. "Ethan, thoughts?"
He pinched a white piece and peered at the board before answering through his teeth, "Claire's style is truly… unique." Heat crowded my cheeks and I was about to push the board aside when he surprised me with, "Claire, one more."
I glanced at the sun hanging high—almost noon—and then back at the stark black-and-white board. We had already played twenty-three games.
"Ethan, seriously? I don't want to play anymore." I pointed at my eyes, solemn. "My vision's blurry from so many rounds!"
"Alright, no more. How about I take you out for a walk? I heard Maggie mention you like that Dreamshade rouge shop. I can take you to buy some."
"It's Dreamshade, actually." I moved closer to him and he didn't flinch. We were barely a few inches apart; I could hear his breath.
"You're awfully free today." I cleared my throat. "These past few days you haven't been free at all. Besides, who goes out at noon when the sun's baking?"
"Then we'll go tonight. I want to be with you." He reached up and I stopped him by covering his mouth with my hand. "Ethan, you lied. You're terrible at it—worse than your chess. The Crown Prince is returning to the capital, right?"
Ethan stiffened, then smoothed my hair with his hand. "Claire, clever as you are—worse than your chess—there's no saving you." His bluntness made my face burn.
He noticed my change in expression and took a half step back, then, oddly, asked, "Claire, do you want to swing?"
I blinked. "Why that question? Is there a swing?"
We'd been here only a short while, and many men came through Ethan's house—mostly to discuss business. They didn't visit my courtyard, so to avoid suspicion I rarely left it either.
I loved swings as a child; Bennett Manor had one along the plum-path where Ethan had gone that day.
He said, "They put one up. I'll take you."
Since he offered, I didn't want to be disagreeable. It had been ages since I'd swung, so I agreed.
"Great." I stood. "Let's go now—swing first, then eat. If we wait till later the sun will roast everything."
I chattered on, suddenly aware of how far I was from the poised mistress I'd once been.
Ethan walked ahead without answering, only giving me a small nod.
The swing was indeed set in a quiet, tucked-away spot. A narrow plank hung by two rough hemp ropes—about the simplest swing I'd ever seen. It was dusty, littered with dead leaves. I dusted it off and hopped on—no sign of any prim lady in my movements.
"Come on, Ethan, push!" I called.
He laughed and obliged.
The swing wasn't much, but it went high. I'd never vaulted this high on a swing before. My hands tightened on the ropes.
Even though the air was warm, the wind on my face cooled me like a blessing.
"You're not afraid?" Ethan asked suddenly, as if to spoil the moment.
I was having a fine time and found the question baffling—Ethan would never let the swing break, so why be afraid? I stayed silent and he pushed harder.
Then his teasing voice came up behind me. "Claire."
"Mm?"
"I've never swung before." His words chilled me; I snapped, "Put me down." He laughed loudly and said, "Nope. Hold on tight."
…
That evening he came with me shopping. I hadn't had many chances to leave the house—my childhood had been a mix of play and strict rules from my mother. Holidays or careful excuses were the only times I slipped out.
I wore a veil that hid most of my face, leaving only my eyes and brows visible. I didn't like veils, but Ethan insisted. "Ethan said, 'Ethan is still looking for you. Be careful,'" he'd warned, and so I actually felt afraid. I suggested we not go at all—less trouble is better. Rouge isn't essential anyway; after all the years at Bennett Manor, what little rouge and powder I had could probably stock half a small shop.
Ethan wasn't bothered. He didn't argue. Instead he adjusted the veil over the lower half of my face, tying it carefully, then said, "If something happens, I can fight for you."
"With so many people—can you win?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Hero with his beauty. For you, Claire, I'd gladly fight," Ethan said, leaning closer. I could see my reflection in his pupils; he seemed to be waiting for a blush to tease me.
His antics were childish. I couldn't help laughing. "Save your pillow-embroidering bravado. Aren't you embarrassed? If you were really a great fighter, why crawl through holes like before? You could've used lightness skills and whisked me home."
I remembered the dog-hole incident and teased him. He ducked my stare with a grin.
The street was quieter than before; many shops were closed, though the snack stalls were open and I bought plenty. Patrolmen under Ethan's purview passed near us a few times.
At first I clung to Ethan's sleeve, nervous. But I soon saw the patrol was lax—casual, even holding my portrait without recognizing me. The portrait was of me as the general's wife—my old, severe makeup twisted into a bright smile that didn't fit. Someone had painted an overly flashy peony in my hair; it looked gauche.
I muttered, "Tasteless."
Ethan stifled a laugh. "Didn't expect this is how others see you."
I let go of his sleeve and, with a mischievous grin, shoved the snacks I'd just bought into his mouth. "Food won't shut you up." I had filled my hands with soft treats; I piled too many into his mouth. A red bean bun peeked out like a rabbit.
I softened my tone. "Ethan, don't move."
He nodded, puzzled.
I took a candied hawthorn off a stick, bit two berries off and held them in my mouth. Then I jabbed the blunt end of the stick into the exposed bun. The hawthorn stuck precariously into the pastry.
"Hold it. Don't drop it—this is a gift from me." Ethan, afraid of losing the confection, steadied the skewer with his hand.
He tried to spit what was in his mouth out, but I beat him to it. "Ethan, how rare—Claire Bennett, the heiress of Bennett Manor, feeding you." He mumbled through clenched teeth, "Claire." I laughed and darted away.
It had been a long time since I played such a prank. It felt wonderful.
The street still hummed with vendors hawking their wares—the living, breathing bustle of city life.
But suddenly a wave of sadness hit me. I thought: if Maggie, Princess Hazel, and Nana Perkins were here, things would feel right.
Maggie would still be begging me to sneak her out of the house, pleading for little trinkets and snacks.
Hazel would still be whispering in my ear—young girls can't hide how their hearts flutter; one sentence from Liam Hart, court painter, could decide her mood for the day.
Nana Perkins would still be smiling and leading me by the hand. If she were still alive, I'd be the one to lead her now. I'd take her to taste the best shrimp dumplings in Riverton—I could eat a whole basket in one sitting, and Nana would surely love them.
I'd teach her to know her own name, help reconnect her with her old family, and if she wanted, I’d beg for her to stay at Bennett Manor.
Oh—Bennett Manor.
I found myself wishing we were going back there.
My brother would still be waiting at the gate, even in the dead of winter; he’d bicker with me all the time, but he always called me his sister. Mother would still be strict with me, scolding that I lacked the airs of a proper lady, yet at social gatherings in Riverton she'd shamelessly brag that our Claire Bennett was exceptional.
Father would still be seldom seen, but my little tea table would always receive small gifts he'd filched from his travels.
I looked up. Tonight the moon was full—white as a porcelain plate.
I looked back at Ethan Hale. He wasn't far. I stared at the moon; he stared at me. I smiled, then called to him, “Let’s go home.” I really wanted him to be my one true partner.
Ethan hurried over to my side, sugar stick already finished. He handed the candy skewer back to me.
I swung that candied hawthorn gently. Moonlight fell just right; for a moment it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us. I couldn't help but ask, “When are you going back to the Palace?” “Tomorrow.”
“But I shouldn't say I'm exactly returning,” he said after a pause.
I understood why he'd been clingy all afternoon. He answered plainly, with nothing to hide, and I couldn't be upset—so I asked, “So soon… then, will you take me with you?” Ethan stopped abruptly. “Wait here for me. Wait until I come for you. Will you be my wife?” He said it without embarrassment. I remembered Princess Hazel's question—“Claire, would you want to be empress?” The thought of being the mother of the nation felt overwhelming. It required dignity, propriety, the grave composure of an empress. I truly disliked the idea of that kind of dreary life.
Still—what if it were Ethan? I looked at him; my gaze drifted up to the corner of his eye. I thought nothing of it except that the little mole on his cheek sat in such an appealing spot—it made his face seem touched with warmth no matter how you looked.
I narrowed my eyes but didn't answer him directly. “Come back before dinner tomorrow. I'll make you porridge.”
He smiled. “That’s putting me out, Claire.”
“It’s putting me out too, okay?” I held my hands up between us. “I'm a lady who’s never touched spring water, remember?” Ethan pressed my fidgeting hands down. “How hard is porridge? Even a fool could make it.” Then he sighed, like he was remembering something, and muttered, “Right—only a fool could make something that sweet; the sugar hadn’t even dissolved.” He spoke so softly I couldn't catch it, so I asked him to repeat it.
He tapped my head. “Nothing. I'm really afraid of you.” “Ethan, what did you say?” “I said okay.” He repeated, then suddenly lowered his head, smiling with mock-seriousness, and called my name: “Claire?” “Hmm?” “Are your ears bad?”
I didn't want to humor his teasing; I ran off.
Even from far away I could hear him calling.
“Claire!” “Slow down, don't fall!” “Claire, I’m not teasing—wait up!” I ignored him and ran faster, but I couldn't stop smiling.
He was letting me win; there was no way he could outrun me. I’d always had keen ears—Mother used to joke I had wind-hearing as a child. In a past life I could hear Ethan’s footsteps and Violet Gray’s coquettish laugh from miles away. My ears were good; I just wanted him to say it again.
I shouted back with a grin, “Ethan, you’re the one with bad ears.” When I turned, I saw him admit it. I don't know why, but I wanted to laugh—and I laughed harder.
That's how we ran back to the house.
That night I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I told the palace maids several times to wake me early, saying I needed to collect some dew to brew tea for the morning.
I couldn’t sleep. I opened the window; the moon still hung bright—brighter inside my room than on the street.
The next morning no one woke me. For some reason I woke early by myself.
Ethan must have known—he’d assume that if I told the maids to wake me, I’d nap the morning away. His meaning was clear: stay put, don’t go anywhere.
Ethan wouldn't drug me. He worried that any lingering harm would be bad for me; even his ordinary broth was carefully mild. I kept thinking—if it were Ethan Hale’s rival, someone like Victor Lang, they’d drug me just to be safe, to put me out for a long sleep.
I hadn't stayed here long. There were a few sets of clothes in the wardrobe. I picked a simple dress and put it on.
As expected, Ethan had someone posted at the door, but they were different from the guards Ethan's rival would set. I was used to the dramatic scenes at the other place; convincing guards there was a practiced art. I made a scene until the overmatched attendant finally gave up and let me go.
If Father or Mother had seen me, they’d likely have told my brother to break my legs like he threatened. But a man followed close behind me, refusing to leave no matter what. I recognized him—the man who'd refused me two bowls of porridge that day. His name was, I think, William King.
Ethan had reinforcements; he’d carved a path through Riverton’s gates, and many refugees had poured in, forming a large following for the Crown Prince.
I didn’t know where he got the troops, but he had help—and that calmed me a little.
Word that the Crown Prince had returned spread that morning, and crowds gathered. Most people wouldn't hesitate to rally behind someone with an army. Even if you didn't fully trust him, showing support was safer than doing nothing—after all, life under the Hale family’s dominance, the border’s fall, and a court that ignored the people had left everyone in misery. Whoever claimed promise became everyone’s hope.
I stepped into the main street and was shocked. Many people followed the troops, marching and demonstrating. Most were men, but some women came too—some clutching newborns.
Among the crowd I recognized the old man who sold candy paintings for Maggie. He held up the wooden stick he normally used for sugar art and kept pace with the procession. He wasn’t fast, but he didn’t lag.
I tried to slip into the crowd when a broad-shouldered man grabbed my shoulder. He was stocky, sleeves and pant cuffs rolled up. His clothes looked new and neat, but I could smell meat on him from years at his trade—definitely a butcher.
“Little miss, what are you doing out here? Go home, stop causing trouble,” he barked. I didn't answer; I pushed into the swarm. The butcher shoved me hard enough I nearly fell; William King grabbed my arm to steady me.
The butcher continued, “Why are girls like you so stubborn? Stubborn as a mule. Go back.” I grew annoyed but forced myself to explain. “I’m of marriageable age.” I pointed to a group of women not far away. “Why can they go in but I can’t?” He glanced and understood. “Their men died in battle recently—taken by that bastard General Hale to serve, and they didn’t even come back. Lost their husbands and the bodies weren’t retrieved. Most of the women here are like that. Who’d come otherwise? Nothing will change their minds—good luck to you.” He turned to continue scolding me, but I cut him off.
“I’m married. My husband is right here. I’m not leaving—I stand with him.” Music rose in the distance—raw and chaotic, a jumble of instruments. Against all odds it felt somehow moving. I smiled at the butcher. “I’m a musician from the guild. My husband is fine—he’s strong. I’m no longer a girl, but thank you.” The butcher didn’t reply; his face stayed the same, hands still ready to drag me away.
I caught William King’s eye and signaled. He nodded and shoved the butcher aside, letting us move with the flow.
It was summer; the heat weighed down the crowd. Bodies pressed tight, the air barely moving. The mix of sour sweat and stifling heat made everything worse.
Sweat dripped down unchecked; no one’s hair stayed dry. You could see dark sweat patches on coarse linen garments.
The music nearby was scattershot, woven into the murmur of voices. I kept up with the press, doing my best not to fall behind. So many instruments played at once—I couldn’t tell how many tunes were muddled together.
Not far off was a woman playing the flute; she carried what looked like a pipa on her back.
Honestly, her flute wasn’t beautiful. A few notes were off—maybe from lack of breath or poor technique—and some were thin and sharp to the ear.
I quickened my pace a little, finally reaching her side, and forced myself to start a conversation. I wanted to borrow her pipa — or rather, not just borrow it, I wanted her to give it to me, because once we parted, who knew if I’d ever see it again.
The girl’s face was familiar. She froze for a moment at my words, then didn’t react much. Maybe she was just that kind of person, or maybe the war had made her numb. She kept her mouth moving as if chatting, but she listened to everything I said. Then she shifted the flute’s tune, as if closing a curtain.
She was straightforward. She unstrapped the pipa from her back and handed it to me.
Standing so close, I caught a scent from her I couldn’t name — but I liked it.
I must have looked surprised by how brisk she was, because she just shrugged like it was nothing and said she’d picked it up at the music house. She worked odd jobs for them. Once everything started, the other performers all ran off.
Her voice was soft and a little sticky-sweet even when she talked about it.
I thought of Maggie — no, Maggie was livelier.
I shook the thought away, trying to push memories out of my head.
She truly seemed to believe I was a pipa girl from the music house. She looked pleased and pushed the instrument back into my lap.
I’m best on the guqin, but who walks and plays a guqin? I thought it would’ve been perfect if this were one of those storybooks where wandering martial heroes play as they walk.
I wanted to play something ordinary, something to slip into the crowd and blend in with the regular folk.
No matter how noble a phoenix is, to me it’s still just a bird — an ordinary bird.
Her voice lost that sticky softness and gained strength. She told me to play — faster, louder — to fill every cobblestone of Riverton with sound, to let every person in the city know that even the merchant women won’t keep singing love songs while the nation falls.
She started to cry as she spoke. The tears welled up but didn’t fall. Her hands trembled, yet they stayed on the flute; she pressed her lips to it and blew broken, hesitant notes.
Michael Reed had already come back to stand beside me, but he said nothing. He just stayed there.
I plucked the pipa, a bit rusty. Honestly, I didn’t play pipa often. The ladies in the capital only needed one respectable talent to keep up appearances and polite conversation.
Still, I began a tune I’d learned back when I was wandering — a melody every commoner in the city would know.
The strings on the instrument weren’t great, maybe recently replaced. They bit into my fingers more than when I first learned.
Michael held it in for a long while before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t be out here, girl. Stay put and wait for Master. It’s chaotic out there. What’s the point of playing?” His words were rough; I couldn’t argue. To him, this probably looked like a spectacle.
I’d been the model noblewoman for so many years, and the only thing I could genuinely do well was play an instrument. If I didn’t seize that, what else could I do?
He wanted to say more, but I cut him off.
“You can sing along, or go help Chu Chen’s people. Just don’t stand idle.”
“Huh?” Michael blinked, still not fully with it.
“You can go to Master?” “Of course.” I waved a hand.
“He’ll have me guard you.”
“I’ll obey Master.” He hesitated, then asked, “You really won’t go back?” I watched the procession moving forward and looked at Michael. He still had that boyish face, a stubborn innocence that made him so alive. I said, “Outwardly everyone may seem unified, but fear creeps in. If I were leading them, my legs would be shaking. I’m not playing to make a show. Whether I’m a Bennett lady or a music-house girl, we’re all people of the Zhou. If Chu Chen is the crown prince, then he is the ruler; people follow their ruler — it’s natural.” I stopped lecturing Michael and kept walking, playing. At first I sang; then the people around joined a few lines, and even quiet Michael hummed along.
I muted my voice and just played — they sang better than I did; my singing was off-key.
We walked on like that until a wave of soldiers arrived to drive us off. Their blades flashed cold in the sun and looked terrifying.
They were there to intimidate rather than kill. Ethan Hale would know not to spill blood — if there was blood, the countryside already angry would bolt the whole city against him.
This wasn’t the Palace road; it felt more like the drive to Bennett Manor, my home.
I asked Michael about it. He looked shocked I hadn’t known: “Ethan Hale moved into Bennett Manor a while ago. Because of that, court opinions have been loud against him. Some old ministers have submitted petitions for three days straight, but Ethan ignores them. Nothing changes.” I swallowed my disgust and said lightly, “Well, the manor’s views are nice.” Then I played on.
Used to carriages, walking felt unbearably long this time.
Michael’s throat had gone a bit hoarse; I told him to stop singing.
He refused, then asked me to look at my hand.
I wasn’t used to these strings, and after playing a while, the skin of my right-hand middle finger had rubbed raw and bled faintly. I’d felt it long before he pointed it out.
When I was learning instruments, a wound on the fingers hurt more than anything — ten fingers like one heart.
Michael said he’d stop if I did, and as long as I kept playing, he’d keep singing. His tone was kinder than when he’d spoken earlier; it felt strange.
But I didn’t dare stop. More people joined the procession; I even recognized a few talented young men and refined young women who had nodded to me. They followed silently.
Look at that — rare courage.
Crowds thickened at the gate of Bennett Manor. My chest tightened with a complex mess of feelings. There were many people posted at the manor gate; no more common folk moved forward.
Under the pressure of old rules, what they’d done was already brave.
I handed the pipa to a respectable old man to watch and slipped out of the crowd.
I grabbed Michael’s sleeve and pulled him down the street to the right side of the manor. I sped up, praying we’d find what we needed.
Michael followed without question, though he seemed puzzled.
Fewer people were around the farther we got. I estimated the spot — the walls here were stacked with firewood, overrun with weeds and wildflowers. I wasn’t sure where exactly to look, and the dried sticks scraped my wounds uncomfortably.
Michael saw what I was doing and, though he didn’t know why, began to help move the wood. After some searching, my hand brushed an opening. I couldn’t help the excitement; I ignored any lady’s decorum and thrust my hand through, pointing and grinning at Michael. “It’s empty. Help me!”
There was a doghole, and my heart leapt.
Michael rushed to help, teasing as he worked: “Even the Bennett place has a doghole. Not enough silver to fix the house, I guess.” I was in a better mood and played along. “A petty servant did it. The house doesn’t know yet — otherwise we’d skin him.” “Only servants and women are hard to manage. Your manor has everything then. Maybe you should ask my Master to help; he’s good at catching miscreants.” I couldn’t help laughing. “How good is your Master?”
“The best I’ve ever seen.” Michael puffed with pride. He glanced at me, then said, “Master seems to like you. At first I thought you were a ragged little beggar, then I learned you were a delicate lady, and now…you’re alright.” I thought of how Chu Chen had a way with people, how he’d won Michael over. I tossed a pile of wood at Michael and feigned annoyance: “Saying I’m ‘alright’? Don’t get cocky. I’m a lady; I give orders. Hurry up.” Michael fussed with the wood, muttering, “Girls are trouble. Who—ugh, why leave so much wood?” I tapped his head. “Don’t badmouth your Master.” “I’m not touching the Master’s name. Besides, that hole — your Master dug it.” “Huh? You accusing me?” “Why would I?” “Really Master dug it?” Michael’s voice went husky from singing. “Yes.” “Nice digging.” He slapped his palm and shoveled harder. “If not for Master, we wouldn’t get in.”
I watched him and couldn’t help admiring the way Chu Chen had pulled people in.
The doghole opened soon enough. We’d gone through these holes before, so there was no fuss. Michael started to cover it back up.
I scanned around — no one in sight. This garden was secluded. Voices from outside still drifted over the wall.
Luckily, this corner wasn’t too close to the main gate; otherwise we’d be in trouble.
I planned to slip through the garden to the front yard, where they should be gathered. Just then, Michael stopped me.
I bristled. “Don’t block me.”
“I’m not stopping you. Do you want me to polish your blade first?” he said.
“No one will kill me.” Panic rose in me. Out there earlier, I’d felt buoyed by that surge of energy and courage. I could make noble statements then; I could stir others. But the closer I got to Chu Chen, the more my chest tightened. Anxiety turned to a strange irritability I couldn’t name.
“But Chu Chen isn’t the same. Ethan Hale isn’t human — he would kill him.” Memories flooded back: nights with Ethan, the frantic hysteria, Violet Gray I couldn’t bring myself to speak of, the shattered teacup, the bright peony crown on my head — all pressing down until I couldn’t breathe.
Michael watched me for a long beat, then said simply, “Trust Master.”
“I do,” I whispered.
“Okay, Prince, tell me straight—how many reinforcements did you bring, and how many troops does Ethan Hale have? This is Riverton after all. If you and Liam were placed by my side, you must be capable. Go through the cabinet on the right in the study. Check the small drawers on the right. If he stashed anything at Bennett Manor, there should be useful things there. Go look—this is how you help your master.”
I mapped Ethan’s old habits from my past life onto this one: he liked to hide things in the study, usually on the right side. Of course, “right” could mean different places, but habits stick. When Wang didn’t move, I couldn’t help urging, “Hurry.”
Wang hesitated a beat and then asked, “And you?”
I brushed the dust off my clothes and smiled at him, “Miss is exhausted. I’ll rest here and wait for you right here.”
Still no movement. I poked him a few more times.
“Are you going to help your master or not?” Wang’s temper stiffened. He reached out a hand and hooked his finger with mine. “Pinky promise—we’ll link pinkies. You wait right here and you don’t leave. If you leave…”
“If I leave…”
“You’ll never get married, you’ll stay an old maid forever.” He said it like a verdict.
“Okay, okay, I won’t go. Pinky promise.” I sounded annoyed on the surface, but inwardly Wang was unbearably cute—almost a little silly, really.
I finally watched him go. Once he was out of sight, I shifted my body and felt a pang of guilt. I’d lied for my brother countless times over the years, but this felt different—maybe because Wang had been so childlike about it.
Still—Wang, if your master says he’ll marry me, your lie won’t hold. It was Liam Hart who spoke first. I am a phoenix—Princess Hazel’s description, and I am the one Liam chose to marry.
I followed the narrow path. Luckily my ears were sharp; I heard footsteps from afar. I ducked into a woodshed and waited. The footsteps drew closer, then lighter, then faded.
Bennett Manor’s layout is clever. Beyond the living quarters, rooms connect like a secret passage. My mother had controlled my meals when I was small to keep my figure perfect; I grew up slipping into the small kitchen to steal scraps.
I’d never expected those old design tricks to be useful now.
I crept to the front hall. The noise grew nearer—not just the voices of townsfolk at the gate but shouts and the scraping of weapons. I’ve always hated the sound of metal against metal; I shivered.
I half-expected to be playing the hero of a novel—sneaking through secret corridors always carries the risk of discovery. But the path had been oddly smooth; with the near-miss the only scare, everything else fell into place. I pressed the back of my neck where my skin was tender—I'd bled earlier and scraped my arm picking wood. Even though it was summer, the wound felt cold.
I concealed myself behind a pillar in the front hall. One pillar alone wouldn't fully hide me, but I’d hung a curtain here once; with it draped, the pillar offered good cover. I’d used this hiding spot before to eavesdrop on my mother and her friends. Women together meant juicy gossip—far more interesting than father’s politics.
I’d never been seen.
Then my sleeve brushed something and before I could react a familiar male voice whispered, “Who’s there?”
It was Victor Lang.
I put a finger to my lips and whispered up at him, “It’s me.”
He finally saw me and asked, “Miss Bennett, what are you doing here?”
“This is my home, of course I’m here. But Victor—what are you doing?” He didn’t hide anything. “The crown prince and his men are about to attack. I’m lying in wait to help him.”
I opened my mouth to say more but Victor hushed me.
I could hear it then—the clash of steel much closer. Victor peeled back a sliver of the curtain to look out. The sounds of blades were so near they felt like they were in my ears. He said softly, “Miss Bennett, stay here. I’ll go first,” and then he was gone, like a wisp of wind.
After that everything blurred. I remember rushing forward and taking a blade meant for Liam. The cut wasn't deep, but Ethan’s dagger was poisoned. It sliced my arm and pain flared—sharp enough to bring tears. I heard Ethan and Liam shouting my name, loud and raw.
It felt exactly like a scene from a novel.
Wang had stolen the military token. Everything aligned—timing, luck, people. I knew Liam would win.
My life at last split from the path it had taken before.
I wanted to cry from the pain, and laugh at the same time.
I blacked out, then woke up and everything had ended. It all happened so fast.
I slept a long time. When I woke, Liam was beside me like he had been when I’d been ill before, guarding me. He looked at me and didn’t know what to say. He called softly, “Claire.”
His voice was hoarse; it made me uneasy.
“Oh? Liam, long time no see,” I forced a smile.
“We only just saw each other yesterday, Claire.” “You said absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I teased. “Weren’t you supposed to make me porridge? How did you end up here?” He stared at me. I reached up and touched the small mole at the corner of his eye.
“Reckless?” he asked. “Liam, you don’t have to marry me—I'll marry you.”
He paused, then slipped back into his usual composure, smiling but with no warmth behind it. “I’d be honored.”
“Liam, aren’t you happy?”
“Does your arm hurt?” “Don’t be mean. It doesn’t hurt much now. I’m your lady, and I had Zhang help make porridge. Didn’t you go back to eat?” “No.” “Then maybe next time. I hope Mr. Hart enjoys his meal.” I teased.
He looked momentarily stumped, then said slowly, “I may not have that chance.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Save the treat for Prince Hazel.” He smoothed my hair. “Claire, it’s over.”
“Claire—I'm going to marry you.” He held me. I smelled the clean, pleasant scent on him and felt the rough little tickle of his hair against my cheek.
He asked again quietly, “Claire, does your hand hurt?” The question tugged at my wounded pride.
“It hurts so much, Liam. The plectrum was really new.” I joked, trying to downplay it. “I’m such a terrible lute player—my old teacher would be furious.” I put my hand near his and grinned, “Liam, will you blow on it for me, please?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he took my hand and, like a child, blew on the wound. His ears reddened.
I’d never have guessed Liam—always teasing others—could look so shy.
I wished my mother were there. She's strict, but she wouldn’t let me carry a scar.
He seemed to read my thoughts. “The Bennett household will return to Riverton soon. Don’t worry.”
He hesitated. “Do you want to see Princess Hazel?”
Hearing Hazel’s name lit me up and I agreed at once.
“Tomorrow, perhaps. I’ll walk with you in the garden.” I couldn’t help smiling. “What’s the plan—are you bored?”
“When serving a lady, one must attend to her. Do you want to swing on a swing?”
“Of course. But how did you know I liked swings? Did you trick my brother?” “No.” He walked ahead with a smile. “I knew you long before Miss Bennett thought you did.”
His voice was low; I hadn’t caught it all. “Liam, what did you say? I didn’t hear.” “Nothing. Claire, let’s go.” I didn’t press it. He wasn’t the sort to share easily.
He had something in his hand—a piece of jade I’d seen on him the first time we met. He tucked it into my palm; it was still warm.
I saw Ethan again about three days after I woke.
He sat in a cell, staring at the single small window. Light framed a neat square on the floor. He didn’t look up when I entered, only fixed his gaze on that slice of daylight.
I waited for him to speak.
The poison on his blade wasn’t incurable—just harder to treat, maybe leaving a scar. I wouldn’t stoop. “Mr. Hale, why are you here?” I asked.
He still didn’t look at me, and he no longer called me Claire, which, strangely, sounded better to my ears.
“Claire, what are you doing here?” Ethan finally said. “Don’t lecture me about duty. I’m the general’s son. Am I expected to throw my life away to be heroic? Why should it be like that?” His words were jumbled, not answering what I’d come to ask.
I didn’t reply. I waited for him to say more.
Ethan Hale kept talking to me: “Claire, will you go buy those osmanthus cakes from East Street? They’re so good. Get eight—give you four.”
I didn’t move. He raised an eyebrow and went on, “What, afraid I’d poison them?” He sounded like he was slipping into memory. “Relax. I don’t have that ability. And the old woman who makes them is a good soul.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I replied, “I doubt it.”
“You just don’t trust me, Claire.” Ethan chuckled. “Don’t be like that. Why don’t you scold me a little? Like before.”
I looked at him, unable to figure out why his mood kept changing. When Ethan smiled, one of his canine teeth showed—pointed, boyish. Suddenly I remembered: he’d been reborn once. He was still just a young man of twenty.
I was about to say something, but images from Hale House kept flashing through my head, and I shut up.
I watched Ethan’s retreating back and said, “I’ll send for them.” Honestly, I didn’t feel like asking anything more. I was about to leave when he called out again.
“Claire, I’m going to the frontier.”
“Hm?” I turned.
“The frontier fell. I’m a general—well, I don’t even know if I still hold the title—but I should be defending it.” He smiled, oddly delighted. “Only I can hold it.”
“You’re going to fight?” I asked.
“Claire, I know what you’re worried about. I don’t have military command.” He spread his hands. “That crown prince—he’s come after me. He really wants me dead. If I don’t go, I might as well stay and die here. It’s suffocating.”
“What are you telling me this for?” I said.
“I didn’t promise him anything, Claire. I’ll wait for your word.” He looked at me, eyes bright. “If you tell me to go, I will.”
“I’m no different from Chuxian. Do as you please.” I said it and turned to leave. I thought I heard him whisper, “Claire, I’m sorry.” I didn’t look back. I walked out in long strides.
Hazel came by often. She was afraid of Chuxian—though they were siblings, they hadn’t grown up together. That didn’t stop the girl from being cheerful. Liam Hart was still his tall, lanky self and favored blue robes, but I knew he was helping Chuxian with affairs. He would soon be more than just a court painter.
I still liked calling him Chuxian. Old habits stick.
Father and the rest had returned to Bennett Manor. Mother was pleased with Chuxian—not just his background, but his manners. To me, Chuxian was better at pretending than I was.
My brother loved dragging him into chess games. At first I watched, but it became tiresome—there were moves within moves, veiled words, and the matches always ended split down the middle. Nothing exciting.
Maggie stayed as impulsive as ever. Lately, because I’d set a wedding date, she’d been patiently learning embroidery from the seamstresses for days, claiming she wanted to stitch things for me.
The Zhou emperor had been under house arrest for a while; public support had evaporated. A new emperor would be chosen, and the throne would rightfully belong to Chuxian.
Chuxian told me Ethan had gone to the frontier.
He’d been busy and came to Bennett Manor often; at last there was relief. I sighed in relief too—if the frontier stabilized, Princess Hazel wouldn’t have to be married off to the Northern Territories. Hazel always told me, “Claire, you must be happy.” Now I could return the favor: “Hazel, I wish you happiness too.”
Autumn came. The heat hadn’t fully left yet. After dinner I sat in the pavilion to cool off.
A pair of hands covered my eyes. Of course, I caught sight of the little hand-stitched house pouch hanging at his waist.
I laughed. “Did you crawl in through the dog hole?”
“You’re no fun, Claire. You didn’t even guess.” He removed his hands from my eyes but denied sneaking in: “I came through the front gate—trumpets and drums and all. A whole production, more dramatic than an opera. So troublesome.” He leaned closer. “Claire, do you want to go out and play?”
He had that smiling look, warmth at the corners of his eyes—overflowing affection.
I held my hand out. “Okay. Do you want me to swap out your pouch?”
Chuxian casually touched the pouch, rubbing the stitching with his thumb. “No need, Claire. I like it.”
“Really like it, or pretending?” I still loved the little mole at the corner of his eye. My hand, unreliable as ever, reached up to touch it.
“I like everything you give me.” He moved closer. “Claire, you’re a proper lady—why don’t you embroider one for me yourself?”
“You’re all mouth. I won’t do embroidery.”
“Why not?”
“I hated learning it as a child. I cried and ran; not even three nannies could keep me. I always ran off.” Thinking of childhood made me laugh.
Chuxian laughed with me. After a long time he asked, “Claire, do you want some sour dried apricots?”
It sounded ordinary, but hearing it made my mouth water. I looked at him. “Sure. Shall we go? Front gate or dog hole?”
Chuxian laughed and took my hand. “I’ll take you out like the heroes in the stories. I’ve got lightness skills.”
“You liar. You said you couldn’t before!” I swung at him; he didn’t dodge.
My wedding was in winter—an auspicious day chosen carefully from the almanac by my parents and Chuxian. Hazel cried. Maggie did too. I could make a whole troupe out of them. In my last life my own wedding had been in a similar season, but things were different now. I watched the big snowflakes drifting outside. They lay on the ground like cotton—surely a good harvest would follow. This snowfall felt like a blessing.
News came from the frontier: Ethan was dead, killed in battle. I heard it while arranging my hair. I felt nothing at first; only later did I realize I had truly let him go.
To the messenger I said, “If his remains return, burn three incense sticks for him. If there are no remains… then nothing.”
Scenes flashed through my head—an uncontrollable habit.
On my wedding day the celebrations were grand. Mother braided my hair, chanting with a smile, “One braid to the end, two braids to white hair at the brow, three braids for children aplenty.” Her voice was gentle.
The makeup artist was touching up my face; I asked her to paint a little mole at the corner of my eye—just like Chuxian’s.
I remembered Wang Wu tattling on Chuxian the day before—how nervous he’d been. His clothes had been made days ago, perfectly fitted, but he tried them on seven or eight times and still felt unsatisfied. He’d also tried to dot a red mole on the back of his right hand, the spot extending onto the ring finger; he said I had one too. The dot was hard to place—too big and it would bleed—so he insisted on doing it himself and ended up flustered.
Thinking of his fuss made me laugh.
I climbed into the bridal carriage. Chuxian rode a horse at the front of the procession. Trumpets and suonas clamored around me. I watched the musician puffing at his cheeks, face flushed. I thought we should tip them well later.
Chuxian’s horse had a big red flower tied to its bridle. Against the white snow it added a festive touch. When he saw me, he dismounted to help me into the carriage and whispered in my ear, “Born at the right time, Claire. I am fortunate.”
I reached out casually; a clump of snow drifted into my hand and melted, cold and sharp.
Spring winds, autumn moons, summer clouds and rain, winter’s chill—we would see many seasons together. Chuxian, I felt lucky.
Hazel still acted like a girl, hiding Liam Hart’s paintings in her study, sneaking them out to show me. “Isn’t Longqing’s art superb?” she’d ask. I asked why she didn’t display them openly.
Things weren’t the same now.
Hazel gripped my hand and said, smiling, “I’m used to it. Once I’m married I’ll put them all out so everyone can admire Longqing’s talent.”
She beamed, proud. I teased, “What if he becomes a prince consort and can’t serve in office?”
Hazel didn’t answer directly. She held my hand tighter. “Longqing said we shouldn’t be afraid. If I’m with him, I’m not scared.” Her hand was warm—different from before.
I imagined watching Maggie marry, watching Hazel wed Liam Hart, preparing generous gifts for them. My brother wouldn’t have to marry some lowly family because of me. I wanted to build a fine tomb for Old Miss Jin, to find the woman who lent me a pipa and thank her, to show the butcher how impressive my husband was. I wanted to raise cats and flowers and watch them all grow with Chuxian.
No one spoke of Ethan anymore. He seemed to have vanished from my world.
I remember asking Chuxian, “If you become emperor, what about three thousand concubines?”
He was as flippant as ever, smiling. “One phoenix is enough for me.”
He looked at me seriously then. “Miss Bennett, let’s be formally introduced. I am Zhou Chen.”
I laughed and offered my hand. “I’ve long heard of the crown prince. My surname’s Bennett—one character, Luan. Pleased to meet you.”
“The honor is mine.” He was all slick charm, and I scolded him for it.
Outside the window, the snow still fell. By spring, when the willow buds turned tender green and pale yellow brushed the branches, the whole realm would be renewed.
I am Claire Bennett, and this is the story of Chuxian—or rather, of Zhou Chen—and me. I stopped writing because, finally, this phoenix found a place to rest.
The end. There’s an extra Ethan Hale epilogue in the main text.
