The pine trees of Long Zhi stood bare beneath a wide grey sky. Clouds moved heavily above the ridgelines—pregnant with snow but refusing to break. That morning, the air held a metallic taste, like the edge of a blade waiting to be drawn.
In the council chamber of YongShen hall, Liwei stood before a detailed map of the northern valleys. His officers stood around him—Zhao Yue, Lian Hong, Yuchi—all silent as he issued orders in low, precise tones.
"There's movement beyond the river Yun," Liwei said. "Bandits, likely Mongol origin. Small detachments testing the reach of our scouts."
Scribe-general Lian Hong nodded. "They're organized this time, my Lord. Not just raiders."
Liwei traced a path on the map with one gloved finger. "Then we draw them into a channel. Set decoys here—," he pointed to the forested slope near Mount Yushan, "—and close them off once they're too deep to retreat."
Commander Zhao grunted. "We'll need fresh archers. I can dispatch riders to the outer villages."
"No," Liwei replied. "I've already ordered a call-up from the local reserves. They'll be here in
two days. Until then, hold the line."
He looked toward captain Yuchi. "You'll remain behind when I depart."
Yuchi blinked. "Me, my Lord?"
Liwei nodded. "You'll oversee grain distribution and training rotations. I need someone loud enough to keep discipline, and loyal enough to carry it out without ambition."
Yuchi smirked. "Understood."
From a shaded corner near the doorway, Lianhua listened.
She had begun attending council meetings not as Consort, but as observer. No one had objected. No one had dared.
She watched Liwei —how he measured every word, how the men leaned in to hear him, how he commanded not with volume, but with certainty. He was colder than any general she had ever
known. But he was never unsure.
That afternoon, in the eastern garden where the stones were still frosted with yesterday's air, Princess Zhenli found her walking alone.
"I thought I might find you here," the princess said, tucking her hands into her sleeves.
"Everyone else is indoors, pretending the wind doesn't exist."
Lianhua smiled slightly. "The silence helps me think."
Zhenli glanced at the frost-coated branches above. "It's beautiful here. Quiet. Less suffocating
than the capital."
"Do you plan to return soon?" Lianhua asked.
Zhenli hesitated. "I don't know. There's no urgency. And to be honest… I feel more myself here.
I was thinking of extending my stay."
Lianhua turned toward her. "Would that be allowed?"
"I'll speak with my mother," Zhenli said with a wink. "If I insist, I'm here to help you adjust to the customs of Tiānguó; no one will question it. And besides—someone needs to keep your maid
from glaring at every nobleman who blinks at you."
Lianhua laughed. "That would be Malati."
"Yes. And she has been staring daggers at Prince Lujian whenever he smiles in your direction."
Lianhua's smile faded a little. "He smiles at everyone."
"Especially you," Zhenli said. "But I don't trust his eyes. They smile too quickly."
Lianhua nodded slowly, sensing the shift in Zhenli's tone.
They stood in silence, the garden pine branches shifting overhead.
For the first time in days, Lianhua felt she was not alone.
That night, as she prepared for bed, she found a folded note on her desk—no seal, only her name written in Liwei 's sharp calligraphy.
"Meet me at the west tower at the third bell."
Wrapped in a woollen shawl, Lianhua followed the moonlit corridor. When she arrived, Liwei stood beneath the tower arch with his back to her, watching the mountain skyline.
He turned, holding a small lacquered box.
Inside it was a second hairpin—this one darker, made of obsidian and silver, carved into the shape of a pine needle curled around a falling petal.
"I noticed you didn't wear the jade one today," he said flatly.
"I was saving it."
"Then wear this one tomorrow."
He handed it to her and turned away, as if the gesture cost him nothing.
But her fingers closed around it as if it were the most fragile thing she had ever received.
He will go soon. To war. To frost. To silence.
But this—this was warmth. And it was his.