Hua Rui's spine straightened instinctively, but she said nothing. She could feel his gaze weighing her down. It wasn't cruel—it was just too sharp. Like he saw too much, too quickly.
"You were chosen for me," he said at last, "Do you find that unfortunate?"
Hua Rui met his eyes without flinching, even as her heart pounded.
"It is not for me to decide what is fortunate. The Emperor's will is law."
Wei Li almost smiled—almost.
"A dutiful answer," he said. "But not a real one."
He turned again, looking up at the blossoms overhead.
"I don't care for this engagement. And I doubt you do either. But until the Emperor grows bored or finds another purpose for us, we'll play our roles."
Hua Rui hesitated.
"Are you truly so indifferent to your own fate, Your Highness?"
He looked back at her with something unreadable in his gaze.
"Fate is only for those who believe they have control. I gave that up a long time ago."
And then, softly—
"Do not get too close, Lady Gu. It will be a mistake."
There was no warmth in his voice.
But something about the way he said it—quiet, like a warning, or maybe… a plea.
...
That night, back at the General's manor, Hua Rui stood at her window long after the candles burned low. She couldn't stop thinking about his eyes.
There was something behind them.
Something broken.
Something... that had once called out to her, though she couldn't remember when or where.
But even without memory, some part of her whispered:
I've met that voice before.
...
Far from the lantern-lit halls of the palace, in a chamber where not even the moon dared shine, a candle flickered weakly—fighting the darkness that curled like smoke.
A figure sat cross-legged behind a curtain of silk, incense burning low. Another knelt before them, head bowed, face obscured by the hood of a raven-black robe.
Silence reigned.
Until—
"It is time," the seated figure said, voice smooth like poison. "They've grown too comfortable."
The one kneeling did not move.
"The Emperor is distracted with marriage games and sons playing prince. He does not see the roots rotting beneath his throne."
The flicker of the flame cast a crooked shadow on the wall—twisted, monstrous.
"The Fourth Prince has returned," the kneeling one murmured.
The voice behind the silk laughed—soft, dry, humorless.
"Like a forgotten ghost. And now he's betrothed to that girl… Gu Hua Rui."
They said her name like it was a curse.
"She is not just a girl. She is a thread. One that, if left uncut, will unravel everything."
The one kneeling finally raised their head slightly.
"She is still young."
"And so was her mother," the figure behind the curtain replied. "But flowers born in shadow learn to grow thorns."
A breeze slipped through the open screen door, stirring the flame.
"The time to watch is over. The court is ripe with fools. The sons are too busy playing noble. The Fourth Prince may act indifferent, but he is not blind."
Silence again. And then:
"Move the pieces. Stir the court. Set fire to old wounds. And when the flames rise…"
"Strike?"
"No," the figure said. "Wait until they turn on each other. Then, we will only need to whisper—"
A cold smile.
"And the empire will crumble."
The candle went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The palace was quiet that night. Too quiet.
Hua Rui had stayed behind after the court's afternoon gathering to deliver her mother's response to the Empress Dowager's invitation.
A mere formality—but one her mother insisted she carry out herself.
As she returned through the eastern corridor—a place she wasn't entirely familiar with—she noticed something odd.
Two guards. Not palace guards, but ones in deep grey. Standing too casually outside a side hall that hadn't been used in years.
They glanced her way and smiled a bit too easily.
She lowered her gaze, steps light. But curiosity tugged at her. Why were there guards in a forgotten wing? And that smell—burnt wax and herbs, mixed with something metallic.
Her footsteps slowed as she passed, and she slipped behind a tall carved screen just around the bend. A shadow moved inside the old hall. Voices drifted through the cracked door.
"It's set. The poison will be in the Second Prince's tea by dawn," a deep voice said.
Hua Rui's breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Are we certain it's him? The Emperor will demand answers."
"Let them suspect the Fourth. It's always him they fear, anyway."
She froze.
Poison? Blaming the Fourth Prince?
"And the girl?" another voice asked. "The one from the General's house?"
"Keep an eye on her. She's more than she seems."
The sound of footsteps. They were coming out.
She turned to run—but in her haste, her sleeve caught a loose lantern hook, tearing the silk with a snap.
"Wait—did you hear that?!"
She bolted.