The guest chambers of the Yi Dynasty delegation in Medang Palace were steeped in the scent of sandalwood oil and the soft cooing of doves. The air was peaceful, serene, even idyllic—
except on the main bed, where Chen Lu Han lay… wincing in dramatic agony.
"This pain… it goes deeper than any blade. It's… a wound of the soul," he whispered, staring at the ceiling like a man abandoned by destiny.
Mei Lin, changing his compress, simply sighed. "Your Highness merely fell from the General's arms. Onto grass."
"But the grass was soaked in memories."
Han Yue stood silent at the corner, jotting in his logbook.
"Your Highness… can already walk. Already ate two full portions. And last night, we caught Your Highness trying to open the backup weapons chest because you dreamed of becoming a war god."
"That wasn't a dream. That was… visual training. My second life's calling."
"The first being survival after a lifetime of assassination attempts by your brothers?"
"And the second…" Chen's eyes drifted toward the window, "…is winning the heart of a general who can both break my ribs and heal me with a single gesture."
Meanwhile...
Sri was inspecting the rear garrison's readiness when a breathless servant arrived.
"The envoy from the Yi Dynasty… is hallucinating again. And calling your name, Senapati."
Sri looked skyward.
"Gods above… let this not be some diplomatic stunt."
Still, she went. Out of respect.
As she entered the chamber, she found Chen reclining theatrically on the bed, blanket pulled dramatically high—despite the sweltering heat.
"Senapati…" he raised a hand like a stage actor's final scene.
"If you can say my title that clearly, you're not dying."
"I'm fine physically. But my heart… is shattered. Especially after you… you—"
"Used your body as a weapon?"
"And… revealed wounds I wasn't meant to see."
Sri paused.
"Those scars were from combat. What's the issue?"
Chen swallowed.
The issue was—every night since—her unbound hair and those warrior's scars haunted his thoughts. His chest tightened at the memory of that thin line of blood, which to him… looked far too seductive.
"The issue," Chen murmured, "is I don't know if I'm unwell… or in love."
At the corner of the room, Mei Lin hid her laughter behind a fan. Han Yue leaned against the wall and whispered:
"At last. The ancestors deliver their punishment. An emotion he can't outwit."
"A divine punishment indeed," Mei Lin agreed, reverently.
Three days later…
Chen was still faking his ailment. Each time Sri visited, he arranged his blanket, his breath, his expressions—like a seasoned actor.
Unfortunately for him… Sri remained Sri.
"You're either fully recovered, or I send you to military training camp. That'll get you walking fast."
"If you're the instructor… I'm happy to stay bedridden another month."
WHACK!
The hilt of her sword met his skull.
And this time… he smiled like a prince hopelessly in love.
That night...
Sri sat at her pavilion. Rain had just fallen, leaving behind the scent of damp soil and a creeping chill. Her left arm was bandaged. Her shoulder still ached. But her mind was far louder than her pain.
Before her: a bowl of bitter tea, now lukewarm.
Behind her: a quiet footstep. Too soft for a soldier. Too casual for anyone… but—
"May I sit?" came Chen's voice.
No mischief. No flirt. Just… voice. Straightforward. Calm.
Sri didn't reply. But she didn't send him away either.
Chen sat. Letting silence settle around them like mist.
"Thank you," he said at last.
"For what?" Sri asked, turning slightly.
"For not letting me die. For not slitting my throat with that bamboo card. And… for still being here."
Sri studied him for a long moment, but said nothing. Wind slipped between the leaves, making the lantern sway faintly.
Chen leaned against the wooden pillar beside her.
"You know… in that skirmish—
when you threw me like a spear into two armed men—
I thought: 'This is it. Not death by war, but by poorly timed unrequited love.'"
Sri exhaled.
But her cheeks felt warmer than usual.
Chen glanced over. His face half-shadowed.
"I'm no soldier, Sri. But I've always wished to die with honor. And for some reason… being hurled by you toward armed enemies felt like a noble death."
At last, Sri spoke. Quietly.
"You say the stupidest things… with the most serious voice I've ever heard."
"That's because it's not stupid. It's my truth—
just… packaged in humor. So you won't be afraid of it."
Silence fell again.
Crickets filled the spaces between their words.
Chen stood. Gave her a respectful bow.
"Tomorrow, I'll learn how to walk in the woods without tripping over roots. That's my vow."
"That's not a vow. That's basic survival."
"Well… for you, I'll relearn it. Until I get it right."
He walked away.
But just before disappearing behind the pillar—
"Chen," Sri called.
He turned. Brows raised slightly.
She didn't look at him. But her voice was clear.
"Don't ever throw flower petals on my face again.
…But if you bring fried rice… I'll consider it."
Chen laughed.
And that night, Sri still sat alone.
But the darkness felt… a little lighter.