The air in the palace hung heavy after the scuffle in the village square. The Black Scorpion's men, though bound by thick iron chains, still held an aura of danger that lingered in every step they took as the guards led them through the palace gates. The villagers had cheered the prince and princess, but within the walls of the royal estate, silence prevailed.
Word spread quickly.
When Emperor Han Zixuan heard of the mark on the prisoners' arms—an unmistakable scorpion tattoo reserved only for the personal guards of the infamous Black Scorpion—he rushed to the main court in alarm. His eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of the prisoners.
"By the heavens... it's them," the Emperor whispered.
He turned toward the captain of the guard, his expression dark. "Take those chains off. We cannot afford war—not with them."
"But, Your Majesty—"
"I said unbind them."
With hesitant hands, the guards unlocked the prisoners' restraints. The men stood, clearly surprised, but silent. Emperor Zixuan walked to them, forced calmness in his tone.
"I will not turn this into a matter of bloodshed. Tell your master that I harbors no ill intentions."
He motioned to a servant, who brought forward a polished wooden box filled with silver coins and delicacies wrapped in silk.
"Take these," the Emperor said to the leader of the group. "As a sign of goodwill. And you will be escorted safely to the border."
The Black Scorpion's men exchanged looks, confusion mixed with restraint. One of them bowed slightly. "We will deliver your message, Your Majesty." He said with a smirk.
With that, the guards led them to a waiting carriage prepared for their journey. Peace, it seemed, would prevail—at least for now. But no one knew what the Scorpion's reaction would be.
And the Emperor __was not at ease.
Just minutes after the Emperor r had ordered the release of the Black Scorpion's men—ensuring their chains were removed, loading them with silver and gifts, and assigning a safe carriage to escort them home—the palace returned to a tense calm.
From the eastern corridor, soft laughter echoed—genuine and carefree. Prince Lingyun and Princess Yuyan strolled side by side, their faces lit with amusement, their voices blending in teasing joy. They had just escaped a public battle unscathed, and the villagers' cheering still echoed in their ears.
But as they turned into the main hall and caught sight of the Emperor, standing tall and grim in his gold-embroidered robe, their joy vanished like mist.
The hall fell quiet.
Yuyan lowered her gaze. Liang straightened, stiffening beside her. The moment was heavy.
The Lingyun didn't raise his voice.
"Where are you two coming from?" he asked calmly, though his tone held a sharp edge that cut through the air.
Neither of them answered at first.
"I asked a question," the Lingyun repeated, stepping forward. His gaze fell hardest on Yuyan.
"You," he said, voice thick with restrained anger, "are the Crown Princess of this kingdom. A young woman. You slipped out of the palace without permission, entered the market veiled and alone, and got into a fight with trained killers. Are you mad?"
Yuyan flinched, opening her mouth, but no words came.
"Do you think your title protects you from a blade? Do you think those men would have shown you mercy had your brother not arrive in time?" His tone grew harder. "What were you thinking?"
"I—" she started, but he raised a hand.
"I'm not finished," the Emperor said.
He turned briefly to Lingyun. "And you. You knew your sister's nature. Firstly, you should have stopped her from going out and secondly, you should have alerted me not followed her into danger."
"I was only trying to protect her—" Lingyun muttered.
"By putting yourself in the same risk?" the Emperor snapped. Then he sighed, shaking his head.
"And you again," he said, eyes locking with Yuyan's again, "you're a girl and also the eldest. You must be smarter. You can't afford mistakes like this. One wrong step and we could have lost you."
Yuyan's lips trembled. His words stung. Her heart rebelled, yet a part of her understood his fear. She was the first daughter of the realm. His daughter.
The Emperor's gaze softened only slightly. "The people cheered you, yes. But battles are not for glory, Yuyan. They are for survival. Don't gamble with yours so recklessly."
Silence lingered, thick with unspoken emotion.
Without waiting for a reply, the king turned and walked away, the train of his robe brushing the polished floor behind him.
As the heavy footsteps of the king faded down the corridor, silence returned like a looming shadow.
Princess Yuyan stood frozen in place, her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts racing with confusion, guilt, and that ever-present ache she couldn't name. Slowly, she turned to look at her younger brother.
But Prince Lingyun was no longer smiling.
His face, usually so full of mischief or quiet warmth, was cold—stern in a way that pierced her more deeply than their father's words ever could.
"You shouldn't have gone," he said flatly, not shouting, just... disappointed. "Didn't I warn you?"
Yuyan opened her mouth, her lips trembling with a thousand unsaid explanations. But nothing came out.
Before she could find her voice, Lingyun shook his head and turned his back on her. His footsteps were lighter than their father's but somehow felt just as heavy as he walked away without another word.
She stood there alone in the wide corridor, her throat tight and her eyes burning with unshed tears. Everyone she loved was upset with her. And yet, none of them truly understood the ache in her chest. It wasn't rebellion. It was longing. A search for something she herself didn't yet understand.
A gentle rustle of robes brought her back to the present.
"My child…" came the soft, regal voice of the Emperess, Wei Ruyan.
Yuyan turned slowly.
The Emperess looked at her with a mixture of compassion and concern. She walked forward, graceful and dignified, and placed a hand on Yuyan's cheek.
"You've always been strong-willed, ever since you were small," Wei Ruyan said, brushing a loose strand of hair from Yuyan's face. "But strength without wisdom can bring sorrow."
"I'm sorry," Yuyan whispered.
The Emperess gave a small nod. "I know. And I know there is something stirring in your heart. Something you don't fully understand yet."
Yuyan's eyes glistened. "I… I just needed to see him. I thought maybe, just maybe…"
The Emperess's expression didn't change, but her eyes shimmered with something like knowing.
"You seek a dream, right?." she said quietly. "But some dreams must come to us in their own time. Not be chased in daylight. If you believe in this dream so much, then don't rush it."
She leaned forward and kissed Yuyan's forehead.
"Rest now," the Emperess whispered. "Let your heart speak to you in silence."
Yuyan nodded faintly, unable to say more. She turned away and walked slowly down the corridor, her steps heavier now. The laughter from earlier felt like a memory from another world.
In her room, she shut the door quietly behind her.
She didn't speak to the maids. Didn't ask for tea. She simply went to her bed, curled into the soft blankets, and closed her eyes tightly.
"Please…" she whispered into the darkness, "let me see him again."
But when sleep finally took her, there was only emptiness.
No forest.
No flute.
No boy.
She woke hours later, her chest hollow.
Out of the silence, she reached for the one thing she could use to keep herself busy—her book.
With trembling hands, she opened it again… and began to read.