The room was dim, the listless morning light filtering softly through the thin paper of the windows (窗纸 - chuāngzhǐ), making dust motes dance in the air. Hàn Yuè (汉月) sat on a low, intricately carved wooden stool, holding a bronze hand mirror before her face. The reflection on the dull surface was far from polished, yet it was enough to ensure her appearance was impeccable.
Her preparation proceeded slowly, with precision and grace. She smoothed her hair with a wooden comb; every stroke was deliberate and measured. She gathered her tresses with skill, securing them with a delicate silver hairpin adorned with a plum blossom design. With her fingertips, she tidied a few stray strands and smoothed the creases of her pale green robe. She took a deep breath—a futile attempt to still the restless drumming of her heart.
At that moment, the soft voice of her handmaid rose from behind the wooden door:
"My Lady… may I enter?"
Hàn Yuè lifted her head slightly and said, "Come in."
The handmaid entered, excitement rippling through her voice as she gave a short bow:
"My Lady… Officer Mùyě (牧野) is near the manor. He shall arrive any moment."
Something trembled deep within Hàn Yuè's gaze. She asked,
"Has he come alone?"
The handmaid replied, "So I have heard, my Lady."
Hàn Yuè stood:
"I shall go to meet him."
Her poise remained intact, yet her steps, contrary to her usual manner, fell a little swifter upon the ground, as if her feet were rushing to greet the news before her heart could.
The courtyard of the Hǎilán (海蓝).
Mùyě arrived astride a horse weary from galloping along the winding mountain roads. He pulled the reins, leapt from the saddle with military prowess, and handed the horse to one of the guards. Without so much as brushing the dust from his clothes, he strode directly toward the Governor's hall. But before his foot could touch the first step, a slender shadow barred his path.
It was Hàn Yuè. She gripped the edges of her robe so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her eyes—a mixture of bright hope and dark anxiety—were fixed upon him. In a voice that exerted every ounce of strength to hide its tremor, she said:
"Officer Mùyě… welcome."
Mùyě halted and gave a stiff, formal bow:
"It is a pleasure to see you, my Lady. I bear a letter for His Excellency Liángwáng (良王)."
Hàn Yuè asked hurriedly, her voice unintentionally softening into a plea:
"The letter... was it sent by Hēiláng (黑狼)?"
Mùyě replied, "Yes, my Lady."
A moment of silence reigned. A faint, fleeting smile touched the corner of Hàn Yuè's lips, and a pale blush crept onto her cheeks. With a hope that shone through the cracks in her voice, she asked:
"Did he… send any letter for me as well?"
Mùyě averted his gaze for a second, staring at the blossoms scattered upon the ground. He felt the weight of the expectation in the girl's eyes, but the reality of politics was too cruel to leave room for romantic words. He spoke:
"My Lady, please forgive me; but the Prince sent a letter only for your father. That is all."
The colour drained from Hàn Yuè's face, as if the northern chill had suddenly reached her very marrow. She forced a bitter, artificial smile and whispered:
"Surely… he intends to come here himself. Does he not?"
Mùyě raised his head, looking her directly in the eye this time, but with a hidden sorrow:
"No, my Lady. He said nothing of the sort. He has recently been appointed Commander of the Palace Guard by the Emperor's decree. With such new responsibilities, I do not think…"
A cold, heavy silence fell over the courtyard. The handmaid, as if viewing this neglect as an insult to her mistress, cried out in disbelief:
"What?! But how could he…?"
"Do not interfere!" Hàn Yuè snapped, cutting her off without turning her head. Her voice was sharp, yet there was a tremor beneath it that spoke of profound pain.
She composed herself and fixed her gaze on the cold paving stones of the courtyard. Her voice had now faded to a broken whisper:
"Very well… you may go, Officer Mùyě. Deliver the letter to my father."
Mùyě bowed once more and walked away. A cold wind swept through the courtyard, making the cherry blossoms dance like snowflakes, leaving Hàn Yuè alone amidst the scent of spring and the coldness of solitude.
In another corner of that vast Empire :
After a long and breath-taking journey through rugged roads, Huìwén (惠文) and his companions reached a small, remote village where time seemed to have stood still. The house they had been directed to was a simple cottage with a thatched roof.
The Crown Prince gave the order to halt, dismounted, and walked toward the cottage while his companions kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, hands on their sword hilts. Only the sound of poultry and sparrows. The cottage door was ajar. A woman with a sun-burnt face, dressed in coarse hemp, was scattering grain for the chickens. Upon seeing the warhorses and the glint of bronze on the soldiers' chests, a shiver of fear took hold of her.
The Crown Prince stepped forward with grace and calm so as not to frighten the woman. He asked in a gentle yet commanding tone:
"My apologies for disturbing your peace. We are looking for the master of this house. Where is he?"
The woman asked in a trembling voice:
"Who are you? What do you want from us? We have only just paid our taxes and have nothing more."
The Prince said:
"Be at ease. You are in no danger. I am a friend of that man."
The woman, somewhat calmed by the Prince's respectable appearance and dignified manner, replied:
"He is not at home, sir. At daybreak today, he took his axe and headed into the forest. He has gone to fetch firewood."
The Crown Prince nodded with a calm that spoke of his trained patience and said:
"Then we shall wait for his return."
He clasped his hands behind his back and stood in the small, dusty courtyard. He cast his gaze into the distance. His soldiers took their positions around the yard, but Huìwén stared with a strange delight at the simplicity of the surroundings—at the weathered stone walls and a peace that was unattainable in the glamorous capital.
Meanwhile, the woman went to a large earthenware pot over a fire in the corner of the yard. As she lifted the lid, a thick steam rose, and the sweet scent of cooked rice filled the air. With a wooden ladle, she carefully plucked one of the zòngzi (粽子), wrapped in bamboo leaves, from the scalding steam. She placed it in a clean cloth and approached the Prince.
She offered the food with both hands:
"It is simple fare, but it is fresh."
A spark of joy lit up the Prince's eyes. Without a hint of arrogance, he took the food. The warmth of the rice seeped through the layers of leaves into his hands. He said with a sincere smile:
"Thank you, madam."
Then, calmly, he untied the hemp string, peeled back the green edges of the leaves, and placed a piece of the warm white rice in his mouth.
An hour passed. The sun was on the verge of setting, casting a flickering orange light upon the ground, when suddenly the heavy sound of footsteps rose from amidst the dry foliage. A man appeared in the distance. A massive bundle of firewood was strapped to his broad shoulders, yet he walked with such steadfastness as if he were carrying a load of feathers. His broad, old axe was in his hand, and beads of sweat glistened on his sun-burnt forehead under the red light of the sun. His clothes were tattered, yet they took nothing away from the majesty of his presence.
Shénwǔ (神武) paused for a moment when he saw the glint of the soldiers' armour in his courtyard from afar. His gaze darkened, and a frown creased his brow. He approached the yard with increased speed and a hidden anger in his movements. Without looking at the soldiers who cautiously made way for him, he dropped the bundle of wood with a thunderous thud; dust billowed into the air, filling the small courtyard.
The woman hurried forward and whispered in the man's ear: "Quickly, tell me who this gentleman is. What does he want with you?" Shénwǔ brushed her aside and said in a deep voice:
"It is no concern of yours. Clear the wood from here."
He then walked toward Huìwén. He gave a short, curt bow:
"What brings you to this humble abode?"
Huìwén, fascinated by that same old bluntness, replied:
"I have taken the hardship of this long journey upon myself solely to speak with you for a few moments, Master."
Shénwǔ leaned his axe against the wall and said coldly:
"Well, speak then please."
The Crown Prince looked at the weathered walls and the crowded yard and asked:
"Will you not invite me inside?"
Shénwǔ said bluntly and with reluctance:
"Your Highness, if you have come to take me back to the capital, you are wasting your time."
One of the Prince's companions, incensed by his insolent tone toward the Emperor's son, stepped forward and shouted:
"Mind your tongue, General! You are speaking to the Crown Prince…"
"Stand back, Officer!"
Huìwén's commanding voice cut him short. With a sharp look, the Prince made it clear the officer had no right to interfere.
Shénwǔ gave a smirk that looked more like an old scar: "General??"
He gestured to his torn clothes and calloused hands:
"Does my appearance resemble that of a general?"
Then, turning his head in a cold and forced bow, he added: "Please, leave this place."
Without waiting for a response, he headed toward the cottage entrance. As he passed, he deliberately slammed his broad shoulder into the arm of the accompanying officer; the impact was so heavy that it jolted the armed officer and knocked him off balance.
Huìwén, ignoring the stifled rage of his companions, followed him into the cottage. The roof was so low and the interior so somber that the tall, magnificent stature of the former general could barely fit inside.
The Crown Prince closed the door behind him. His face took on a serious expression and he said:
"General, I must speak with you regarding a grave matter that is tied to the fate of this Empire."
Shénwǔ paused for a moment, stared into a corner, and said:
"I know..."