The Eastern Palace was beautiful in the way prisons often were.
Wide courtyards. Quiet halls. Too many guards.
Zhen Luo stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the moon. From the outside, he looked calm—obedient even.
Inside, his patience was thinning.
"They think moving me will fix things," he said quietly.
Feng Huai stood near the door, arms crossed. "They think distance weakens attachment."
Zhen Luo smiled faintly. "Then they don't know Han Jian."
As if summoned by his name, the candle flame flickered.
Then went out.
Feng Huai's hand flew to his sword. "Who's there—"
"Relax," Zhen Luo said calmly. "You'll scare him away."
A soft thud sounded near the window.
Han Jian slipped inside, landing lightly, robes dark, eyes bright with mischief. "Wow. New palace, same bad security."
Feng Huai stared. "You—this place is sealed!"
Han Jian waved. "And yet, here I am."
Zhen Luo turned, relief flashing across his eyes before he masked it. "You shouldn't be here."
Han Jian walked closer, grin lazy. "You already said that once. It didn't work then either."
Feng Huai groaned. "I'm going to pretend I see nothing."
He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Silence settled—thick, charged.
"They moved you," Han Jian said softly. "Separated us."
Zhen Luo met his gaze. "Did it work?"
Han Jian scoffed. "Please. I died once. Distance is nothing."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Zhen Luo's eyes sharpened. "You died… once?"
Han Jian froze for half a second.
Then he smiled. "Careful, Your Highness. Curiosity is dangerous."
Zhen Luo stepped closer. "So are secrets."
Their faces were too close. Breath against breath. Neither crossed the line—but both felt it trembling beneath their feet.
Outside the palace walls, Li Shuran was not idle.
She stood beside the Queen, posture perfect, voice gentle. "The Crown Prince has been relocated. The boy should no longer interfere."
The Queen's gaze was cold. "Should is not enough."
Li Shuran lowered her head. "Then I will make sure."
That night, Han Jian returned to his body's original residence to find it ransacked.
Furniture overturned. Papers scattered. The mirror shattered.
Xu Ren knelt, jaw tight. "They were searching for something."
Han Jian stepped over the debris, eyes darkening. "They won't find it."
Xu Ren hesitated. "They're escalating."
Han Jian smiled slowly. "Good. I was getting bored."
He knelt and touched the broken mirror.
For a moment, the reflection changed.
A woman stood there—bloodied, smiling, defiant as flames consumed everything behind her.
"I didn't survive once," Han Jian whispered. "I won."
In the Eastern Palace, Zhen Luo lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time, the idea of marriage felt unbearable—not because of duty, but because there was someone he wanted who could never be named.
Somewhere between candlelight and shadow, Han Jian stood on the roof again, looking toward the eastern wing.
"Be patient," he murmured. "I'll tear this palace apart quietly."
Below him, guards passed by, unaware that the most dangerous thing in the empire was smiling above their heads.