The palace felt impossibly quiet without Li Mei. The vibrant, sometimes chaotic energy her presence carried was gone, leaving behind a silence that was both a relief and a hollow ache for Li Lan. Her days had settled back into a familiar rhythm of quiet solitude, a stark contrast to the dramatic confrontation at court that now felt like a distant, fading dream. She was once again the silent, dutiful wife, the political pawn who had served her purpose by maintaining the fragile peace.
As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in strokes of orange and violet, Li Lan sat in her private garden, tracing patterns on a teacup. The air was cool, the tranquility absolute. This was her sole haven, a place where she didn't have to pretend to be anything but herself—a woman who felt deeply alone even in a palace overflowing with people.
She had come to accept her fate. This was not a love match; it was a bargain between two kingdoms, a sacrifice she had made for her family and her people. Prince Wang Cheng was a stranger, a man who fulfilled his duties as a husband with a silent efficiency that was as cold as it was respectful.
Every night, he would come to her chambers, his desire for her a physical force that left no room for words or emotion. Li Lan, in turn, fulfilled her wifely duties without complaint. It was a transaction, nothing more, and it had been that way since their wedding night.
So when the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, long before the sun had even fully dipped below the horizon, she was profoundly surprised. Her heart gave a small, traitorous jolt. Her maid hurried to the door, and in the growing dusk, a silhouette appeared. It was Prince Wang Cheng. He was dressed in a casual robe, his usual stoic expression subtly softened by the fading light. He was holding a small tray with two cups and a decanter.
Her surprise must have shown on her face. He had never come to her at this hour before. He had never sought her company outside of their nightly ritual. He had never, in all the weeks of their marriage, simply come to sit and talk.
He motioned for her maid to leave, and the woman bowed, her eyes wide with curiosity, before quietly slipping away. The doors closed behind her, leaving the couple in a new, uncomfortable silence—a silence not of separation, but of unexpected, intimate presence.
"I thought it would be pleasant to share a drink with you," he said, his voice a low rumble. He set the tray down on the small table between them and took a seat.
The Prince pushed one cup toward her, a silent invitation that felt like a challenge to their established, impersonal routine. Li Lan picked it up, her fingers brushing against the cool ceramic. The plum wine, a taste of home, was a consideration she hadn't expected from a man who was, in her eyes, little more than a stranger fulfilling a duty. Her mind raced, trying to decipher his intentions. This couldn't be a genuine gesture of companionship.
The silence stretched, not the empty silence of separation, but the heavy quiet of two people standing on the precipice of something new and terrifying. He finally broke it, his voice a low, hesitant rumble.
"Li Lan," he began, "you spoke so beautifully at court. Your poem was simply majestic."
Her heart gave a small, traitorous jolt. He had listened. He had paid attention not to her status, but to her words. She was used to being seen as a political pawn, a symbol of an alliance. But here, in the quiet of her garden, he was acknowledging her.
The silent turmoil
Prince Wang Cheng's words were a quiet confession of his own turmoil. For weeks, he had watched her, a silent shadow in her own palace. He had fallen in love with her the moment he saw her on their wedding day—a love so profound and immediate it had knocked the air from his lungs. He was the least significant of his father's sons, a prince with no claim to the throne, and his marriage to a foreign woman was a mere footnote in a treaty.
He had felt sorry for her, marrying a man with such an unremarkable future. But when their bodies met on their wedding night, when she didn't push him away, he had felt a surge of love and pleasure so powerful it had consumed him completely. He knew he would do anything to make her happy, to love and respect her completely.
But then, as he tried to pull her closer, to hold and cuddle her as his heart desired, she had turned away. She had simply said she was tired and turned her back on him. The rejection had been a physical blow. He was terrified. Did she not want to be here? Did she love another man? He had fled in the early hours of the morning, unable to face the conversation that would surely break him. And so, their pattern began: he would come to her bed at night and leave before she woke, a routine born of his own fear.
This night, however, was different. Prince Wang Cheng could not continue with the cold routine they had established.
He took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze unwavering on Li Lan. "I have... I have often wondered," he said, the words coming out in a sudden, vulnerable rush, "if you are happy here. With me."
The question hung between them, a fragile, unspoken truth that shattered their carefully constructed formality. Li Lan felt her walls begin to crumble. He wasn't talking about politics or duty; he was asking about her. Her past, a life filled with the pain of feeling unseen, made it hard to believe his sincerity, but the genuine concern in his voice was undeniable.
Li Lan finally looked at him, not as a prince or a husband in an arranged marriage, but as a man who was, for the first time, truly seeing her.
She took a slow sip of the plum wine, its familiar taste a stark contrast to the unfamiliar feelings churning inside her. Her mind replayed the scene at court, not of a woman reciting a poem, but of a woman standing tall for the very first time in her life.
The power she felt in that moment, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister, was a new and intoxicating sensation. For once, she was not in the shadows. People were looking at her, not as the middle daughter, but as a force in her own right. And it was all because she was here, in this strange and foreign land.
Her gaze settled on Prince Wang Cheng, his eyes wide with a vulnerability she had never witnessed. He wasn't asking about her comfort or her needs as a political wife. He was asking about her happiness.
She placed her cup back on the table, the small clink echoing in the quiet garden. "Happy?" she repeated softly, the word feeling both foreign and profoundly true. She had never thought of her life in terms of happiness; it had always been a matter of duty, of survival. But in the Xialan Kingdom, a new, powerful purpose had ignited within her, one that was not just about her family, but about herself.
She looked at him, and for the first time, she spoke a truth that was entirely her own. "Here, in this place," she began, her voice clear and steady, "I have found myself. I have found my fate."
The words hung in the air, a profound declaration that wasn't a rejection, but something else entirely—a powerful new beginning for them both.