The gates of Chang'an slammed into view like a wall of fresh blood under the morning sun, and my stomach twisted so hard I nearly doubled over in the carriage.
I clutched the jade pendant until the carving dug into my palm. The days since the relay station, had run together in a haze of dust and creaking wheels, but none of it prepared me for this. I had smiled at Xie An when he pointed out distant hills, nodded at Bai Xueqing when she offered tea, and chewed the inside of my cheek raw every time the panic surged. Now the city waited. A million people, the Daming Palace somewhere behind those walls. And me, wearing Xie Yunxiang's face while Gu Yunxiang from Chengdu clawed at the inside of my skull.
Xie An leaned forward on the opposite bench, eyes shining. "Look, Sister. The outer gates. Father described them exactly like this. Twelve meters high, red lacquer, bronze studs the size of melons. We made it."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and kept my voice even. "Yes. We made it." The words came out in that smooth Nanzhao accent my mouth had decided was mine now, but inside my head I was still screaming in Chengdu Mandarin. The carriage slowed, hooves rang on packed earth that gave way to stone. I pulled the curtain aside just enough to see them properly. Massive and intimidating. Guards in leopard-skin hats stood rigid, spears catching the light. Armor gleamed. Behind them the city breathed, frying youtiao mixed with sharp foreign spices, sogdian merchants shouted over bales of silk and restless Central Asian horses. This was not some dusty textbook page. It was loud, filthy, alive, and it pressed in on me from every side.
Bai Xueqing guided her horse alongside the carriage and drew the curtain back a handspan. Her cheerful face had tightened. "Princess Yunxiang, the escort sent word ahead, that they are expecting us and the emperor's personal messenger waits in the first courtyard."
I gave one sharp nod. Calm and sure. I had spent the last nights in relay stations lying awake, replaying every Tang court trick I had ever studied. Perform the role. Master the etiquette. Never let them see the twenty-first-century girl trapped behind these eyes. My hands still trembled when I smoothed the silk over my knees. The robes felt heavier today, the embroidered clouds and birds pressing into my skin like brands.
The carriage stopped and a guard captain stepped forward, leopard hat low over sharp eyes. He checked the escort's seals with a flick of his wrist. Then his gaze locked on the carriage door. "Princess Xie Yunxiang of Nanzhao. Please step down for inspection."
Xie An squeezed my hand once, quick and brave. I stepped out into the glare. My legs felt numb after so many days on the road. The stone under my silk slippers was worn smooth by thousands of feet before me. The gates towered overhead, twelve meters of deep red lacquer and rows of bronze studs that winked like watching eyes. An inscription ran across the top beam in elegant characters. I knew it cold from my classical poetry classes at Sichuan University. A Tang poem about loyalty to the throne. The words sat on my tongue before I could stop them.
I read it aloud, voice clear and carrying in the crisp accent of the capital, not the softer southern drawl of Nanzhao.
"'The loyal heart follows the dragon's path, through wind and fire, unyielding as the mountain stands.'"
The words hung there. I froze the instant they left my mouth. A Nanzhao princess did not sound like she already belonged. I bit the inside of my cheek until blood flooded my tongue. Stupid and arrogant, I thought. I had read the records. Foreign brides spoke with deference, kept their own accents, did not recite capital poetry like they had lived here all their lives.
The guard captain stared at me, eyes narrowing under the brim of his hat. The other guards shifted their spears. One muttered something low. Bai Xueqing's horse stamped beside me. Xie An stood at my elbow, small face confused but proud.
"Princess?" the captain said slowly, polite but edged. "You speak the capital dialect with surprising clarity. Most southern envoys carry the mountain accent."
I pressed the jade pendant through my sleeve. Its warmth steadied me a bit. I lifted my chin and gave him the confident smile I had used in every university debate I had ever won. "The journey was long, Captain. I listened to many voices along the road. One learns quickly when the alliance matters."
He studied me another long beat. The silence stretched tight enough to snap. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he heard it. Then he stepped aside with a curt nod. "Proceed. The inner escort will take you to the palace gates. The emperor has been informed of your arrival."
Relief crashed through me so fast my knees almost gave out. We climbed back inside. The wheels rolled forward again, passing under the crimson arch. The city swallowed us whole. Streets ran in perfect grid lines exactly as the maps showed, but the life in them hit like a fist. Merchants hawked silk from the west. Children chased each other past five-story pagodas. Incense and street food tangled with horse sweat. I stared out the curtain and tried to breathe like a normal person.
Xie An watched me with those worshipful eyes. "Sister, you sounded just like the capital ladies in the stories Father told. The guards looked surprised."
I forced a laugh that sounded flat even to me. "A lucky guess at the poem. Nothing more."
Bai Xueqing rode closer. Her cheerful mask slipped. "That was bold, Princess. The captain will remember your voice. Be careful inside the palace, eyes are everywhere."
I nodded and pressed the jade pendant harder against my skin, the old habit grounded me. I could not afford another slip. Not when the Daming Palace loomed ahead, walls rising in the northern distance like a promise and a threat rolled into one.
The carriage turned onto a wider avenue. More guards lined the route. Bronze mirrors flashed on the walls every hundred paces so people could check their appearance before entering the inner palace. I caught my reflection in one as we passed. Too thin. Too pale. Eyes too sharp for a sheltered Nanzhao princess. I looked away fast.
Xie An leaned in. "Mother would be proud. You are doing this for all of us. For Nanzhao."
His words twisted something deep in my chest. I wanted to tell him the truth. That I was not the sister he remembered. That I had fallen asleep in a Chengdu apartment and woken up here, trapped in a body and a fate I had only ever studied from a safe distance. Instead I squeezed his shoulder and kept the performative confidence wrapped tight.
The carriage slowed again. We reached the outer palace gates. Taller than the city walls. Red lacquer gleamed. Eunuchs in dark robes waited in neat lines. One stepped forward, face smooth and unreadable. I knew the type from every Tang drama I had ever watched. Polite. Dangerous.
"Princess Xie Yunxiang," he announced, voice high and clear. "The emperor sends his personal welcome. He awaits word of your comfort in the Anning Palace."
Anning Palace. Peaceful. The name almost made me laugh. Nothing about this felt peaceful. My anxiety spiked hard,heir production, politics and execution. The triggers flashed through my head like warnings I had no right to know yet. I pushed them down and stepped out once more.
The eunuch bowed low. "This way, Princess. Your brother and attendants will follow after the formal greeting."
Xie An looked ready to argue, but I gave him a small nod. He stayed back with Bai Xueqing. I walked forward alone between the rows of eunuchs. Their footsteps made no sound on the polished stone. The corridors stretched endless. Incense drifted, sandalwood instead of the jasmine that haunted my half-remembered Nanzhao dreams. Every mirror showed a stranger wearing my face.
We reached the entrance to the inner palace. The eunuch paused. "The emperor has requested a private audience before you settle in your chambers. He wishes to see the princess who traveled so far for the alliance."
My pulse roared in my ears. Li Song. I touched the jade pendant one last time and lifted my chin. "I am ready."
The eunuch slid open a heavy door. Lamplight spilled out. A low table waited with scrolls and a single brazier. A man sat there, thirty-two years old, posture straight but shoulders carrying invisible weight. He looked up and our eyes met.
And in that instant I knew the slip at the gates was only the beginning. Something far more dangerous waited in the quiet space between us, and I had no idea how to perform my way out of it.