Bǎihé walked briskly, her steps slowing only once she reached the quiet corridors beyond the celebration. The music from the hall still drifted faintly through the air—soft, distant, like a memory of joy echoing off stone walls.
She exhaled deeply and placed a hand against her forehead, brushing her sleeve over her brow. The delicate fabric of her hanfu fluttered gently with the movement, rustling in the night breeze.
Then she saw it—
A figure.
Still. Shadowed. Standing at the center of the moonlit garden that connected the royal courtyards—hers, her sisters', her parents'. All paths met there.
The figure wore a dark hood, and though the night cloaked most of his form, the pale moonlight offered just enough to see what her instincts already knew: this was no palace guard.
Heart lurching, Bǎihé instinctively slipped behind one of the stone pillars flanking the arched garden entrance. She dared a glance.
The hooded figure turned.
The face beneath the hood was... faceless.
A hollow darkness. As if the person wore no face at all.
Bǎihé's breath caught in her throat. She ducked back, her heart pounding wildly, her fingers curling against the cold stone. When she finally looked again—
He was gone.
Vanished.
Like mist carried off by the wind.
She stepped into the garden, her silk shoes soundless on the stone pathway, her eyes darting around the shadows.
Where are the guards? she thought in confusion. This path is never left unattended...
The garden seemed to hold its breath. Leaves hung still. No sound but her own breathing.
Then—
A soft rustle.
From one of the large flowering trees, the leaves stirred slightly. A piece of fabric, dark and thin, fluttered faintly from a branch above—caught on its bark.
Her stomach turned. She didn't dare stare directly, didn't want to alert whoever—or whatever—might still be watching.
Am I going to die here? she thought, heart thudding like a drumbeat in her chest.
Then—
"Bǎihé!"
The voice made her jump.
She spun, fists half-raised, ready to strike.
It was Haoyu.
He stood a few steps behind her, looking confused, concern written across his face.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently.
She didn't respond right away, her wide eyes drifting past him—back toward the tree. But the fabric... was gone.
No figure. No movement. Only moonlight and still branches.
Her gaze returned to Haoyu, who was now also looking at the tree, his brow furrowed, uncertain of what she had seen.
"Uhm..." Bǎihé cleared her throat loudly, composing herself.
Haoyu looked back at her, a hesitant smile flickering across his face as though waiting for her to smile in return.
She didn't.
Her expression remained cold, unmoved. The smile faded from his lips as he shifted his posture, placing his hands nervously behind his back.
"I wanted to talk," he said softly.
"I don't want to talk," Bǎihé replied, her voice flat.
"Bǎihé..."
Haoyu stepped closer, extending his hand slowly toward hers.
She stared at it. She didn't move.
"After almost three years... don't you miss me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Bǎihé gave a snort—half laugh, half scoff.
"Did you ever miss me?" she asked, her voice laced with quiet pain.
"Of course I did," he said, surprised by the question, almost hurt.
"Forget it," she muttered, turning on her heel.
"Wait!"
He reached for her, his hand gently catching hers.
For a moment... time stilled.
The leaves rustled softly in the breeze, and Bǎihé's long, wavy brown hair danced in the moonlight. The garden seemed to hold its breath.
She turned slowly.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant, the fire of her anger faded—if only slightly. In his gaze she saw not a prince, not a mistake of the past, but the boy who had once brought her peace. A boy who had stood beside her during her most uncertain days. The familiarity in his eyes tugged at her heart in ways she despised... and longed for.
"Two weeks..." he said gently. "Until your birthday. I'll be here until then. I'll be anywhere you need me to be."
He paused, letting the words linger between them.
"I know it's been a long time, and maybe you're not ready to talk. That's alright. Gather your thoughts. I'll wait. I'll be here in the morning."
Slowly, he released her hand.
Bǎihé didn't speak. She stood still, her face unreadable.
Then she turned and walked away, her figure quiet and composed as she made her way toward her courtyard.
Haoyu let out a long, weary sigh as he stood alone under the moonlight, watching her disappear once again.
He turned back, one last time, toward the tree. The shadows were still now, as if nothing had ever been there.
Without another word, he began the walk back to the hall—each step slow, thoughtful, his heart heavier than before.