During the Yunhe Dynasty, the Tianyun Empire stood as a prosperous and orderly realm. Its palace rose at the heart of the capital, crowned with layered golden roofs and supported by white stone pillars that had never cracked despite the passage of many imperial generations. To the people, the empire appeared blessed by the heavens themselves. Yet few knew that such prosperity was built upon an ancient covenant—one never recorded in any official chronicle.
That covenant was forged hundreds of years earlier, when Tianyun stood on the brink of collapse, ravaged by war and a succession of disasters. At that time, the ancestors of the Li family—who had not yet ascended the imperial throne—pleaded with the Canglong Clan, a sacred race of dragons who dwelled among the skies and seas of cloud. In exchange for protection and salvation, the Li family swore that every seventh descendant would be offered through a bond of marriage to the Dragon Clan.
The covenant was passed down from generation to generation, guarded as a secret known only within the imperial family. Not every prince or princess was aware of its existence. Only those born as the "seventh descendant" would be told—when the time came.
And in this generation, that seventh descendant was Crown Prince Li Yanqing.
Li Yanqing was named crown prince at a very young age. At the time, he did not fully understand the meaning of the title placed upon him. He only knew that from that day on, his garments became heavier, the steps of the servants more cautious, and the people around him knelt more often when they spoke to him.
Yet beneath all of that, Li Yanqing was still just a child.
He had a habit of smiling at anyone who met his gaze—be it palace servants, elderly eunuchs, or officials who arrived wearing strained expressions. His smile was small and gentle, as though the world before him had never truly been frightening.
One spring morning, the Shen Clan was summoned to the palace.
The Shen Clan was a family of guards who had served the Tianyun Empire for generations. That day, the clan head brought along his eldest son to be formally presented. The boy walked half a step behind his father, his back stiff, his hands clenched beneath the sleeves of his plain robes.
His name was Shen Zhiyuan.
Shen Zhiyuan was two years older than Li Yanqing. Even as a child, his frame already showed signs of growing tall and strong. Unlike other noble-born children, Zhiyuan's days were filled with harsh physical training, strict discipline, and an education that instilled one principle above all else: absolute loyalty to the imperial family.
For a child stepping into the imperial palace for the first time, the main hall felt overwhelmingly vast. The pillars towered above, the floor gleamed slick and cold, and the echo of their footsteps rang far too clearly. Zhiyuan kept his head lowered, afraid that lingering his gaze might be deemed disrespectful.
At the far end of the hall, another child sat beside the Empress.
The child wore exquisite garments embroidered with fine gold thread. His hair was neatly tied, his face clean and bright. When his eyes met Zhiyuan's, he did not appear arrogant or aloof as Zhiyuan had imagined a crown prince would be.
Instead, the child smiled.
Zhiyuan halted reflexively.
He had never seen anyone smile at him like that.
"Your Highness," his father whispered softly, pressing a hand to Zhiyuan's shoulder to urge him to kneel.
Zhiyuan followed his father's movement a beat too late. His knees touched the cold floor, his head bowed deeply.
Li Yanqing observed the boy with sincere curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, then whispered to the Empress, "Mother, why does he keep lowering his head?"
The Empress held back a smile. "Because he is paying his respects."
"Oh." Yanqing thought for a moment, then stood up.
He stepped down from the small raised platform where his seat rested and stopped right in front of Shen Zhiyuan. Without thinking, he bent forward slightly.
"Then I should pay my respects too," he said innocently.
The hall fell into sudden silence.
Zhiyuan was so startled he nearly lifted his head. He blurted out hurriedly, his voice small and nervous, "N-no! You can't! Father said… Father said Your Highness doesn't need to—"
Yanqing looked at him, then smiled even wider.
"I'm not Your Highness. I'm Yanqing."
Zhiyuan didn't know how to respond. He cast a panicked glance at his father, but the head of the Shen Clan could only hold his breath.
"What's your name?" Yanqing asked again.
"Shen… Shen Zhiyuan," he answered at last, his voice barely audible.
"Zhiyuan," Yanqing repeated softly, as though tasting the sound. "It's a nice name."
Zhiyuan's ears flushed red. He lowered his head even further—this time not out of propriety, but out of embarrassment.
From that day on, Shen Zhiyuan was summoned to the palace more frequently.
At first, he was only instructed to stand at the edge of the courtyard while Li Yanqing played. His duties were simple: accompany, guard, and ensure the crown prince did not come to harm. But Yanqing disliked the distance.
"Why are you standing so far away?" he complained one afternoon, clutching a kite with tangled strings. "If you're that far, how can you help me?"
Zhiyuan hesitated before stepping closer. "Father said I shouldn't be too near…"
"In that case," Yanqing said seriously as he held out the kite, "I order you to come closer."
Zhiyuan stood still for a long moment before finally accepting the kite with both hands.
Two springs passed, and they grew increasingly close.
Yanqing loved to talk—about birds perching on the rooftops, about clouds shaped strangely, about why Zhiyuan always seemed so tense. Zhiyuan spoke less, answering briefly, but he always listened with full attention.
One evening, as they sat on the steps of a pavilion, Yanqing swung his legs gently. The evening breeze stirred the hem of his robes.
"Zhiyuan," he called suddenly.
Zhiyuan turned his head. "Yes, Your Highness?"
Yanqing tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if thinking hard.
"When we grow up… what is the one thing you want most to do?"
Zhiyuan fell silent.
No one had ever asked him such a question before. His father had always told him what he must do—never what he wanted. He lowered his gaze, fingers twisting together on his knees.
"I… don't know," he answered honestly after a while.
Yanqing looked at him without pressing.
After a long pause, Zhiyuan finally spoke softly, "I want… to stay here."
"In the palace?" Yanqing asked.
Zhiyuan gave a small nod. Then, in an even quieter voice, he added,
"By Your Highness's side."
Yanqing was silent for a moment, then smiled—a simple, unburdened smile.
"Then," he said lightly, "I'll have to always be all right."
Zhiyuan nodded solemnly. "I will make sure of that."
When Li Yanqing reached the age where his lessons grew longer and more tedious, his days were filled with classical texts and the monotonous voice of palace tutors.
He sat neatly at a low desk, his back straight as taught, brush moving slowly as he copied characters. Yet his eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.
Near the window, Shen Zhiyuan stood without leaning, his hands folded before him. To an outside observer, he appeared to be a guard focused solely on the palace grounds. Yet from time to time, his eyes flicked toward the study table.
When Yanqing's head dipped for just a moment too long, Zhiyuan shifted his foot one step.
The faint sound of his shoe against the floor startled Yanqing awake. He straightened immediately and glanced toward the window.
Zhiyuan did not turn.
But Yanqing knew.
He bit his lip, then smiled to himself before returning to his writing.
____
A few days later, Yanqing fell ill.
The fever came on suddenly, leaving him weak and pale. The palace tutor was dismissed early, the pavilion sealed tight. Physicians came and went with serious expressions.
The palace order was clear: no one was to stand guard except servants and physicians.
Yet when night fell and lanterns were lit, Shen Zhiyuan still stood outside the pavilion. He did not enter, did not sit, and did not lean—only stood there, like a shadow that refused to leave.
An elderly eunuch approached and whispered, "This is not your duty."
Zhiyuan lowered his head. "I know."
"If you're discovered—"
"I won't interfere."
The eunuch sighed, but eventually left.
Inside the pavilion, Yanqing stirred from his restless sleep. His eyes searched vaguely, as though sensing something missing.
"Zhiyuan…" he murmured faintly.
The servant startled. "Your Highness?"
Yanqing shook his head weakly. "It's nothing."
He closed his eyes again, his breathing slowly calming.
Outside, Zhiyuan remained standing until dawn.
___
When the sun finally rose, Li Yanqing awoke fully, his body still weak. His head felt light, yet his chest felt strangely hollow.
He turned toward the pavilion door.
"Is… Shen Zhiyuan outside?" he asked softly.
It felt to Yanqing as though he could sense the young man's presence beyond the walls.
The servant replacing the cloth on his forehead hesitated before answering carefully, "Lord Shen stood guard outside all night, Your Highness."
Yanqing paused, then said, "Tell him to come in."
The servant hesitated. "Your Highness… that would violate—"
"It's all right," Yanqing interrupted gently. "I asked for him."
The servant bowed and left the pavilion.
Yanqing waited.
He imagined Zhiyuan entering with his usual cautious steps, standing stiffly near the door, bowing as he addressed him with overly formal titles. For some reason, the thought warmed his chest.
But time passed, and the pavilion door remained closed.
The servant returned with an awkward expression.
"Your Highness…" he said softly.
Yanqing turned at once. "Where is Shen Zhiyuan?"
"There's no one outside anymore," the servant replied. "Young Master Shen returned to his clan residence at dawn."
Yanqing said nothing.
He merely turned his gaze to the window, watching the morning light spill across the pavilion floor. The small smile that usually came so easily to his face did not appear that day.
His chest felt heavier than before.
Meanwhile, at the Shen Clan residence, the atmosphere was far from warm.
Shen Zhiyuan stood straight before his father, the head of the Shen Clan. The room was simple yet orderly, with weapon racks and scrolls of military strategy lining the walls.
"You know why I summoned you," his father said without preamble.
Zhiyuan lowered his head. "I do."
"You are no longer a child," his father continued. "Nor are you merely an ordinary guard. At your age, you should begin to demonstrate your worth."
Zhiyuan clenched his fists slowly. "Father wants me to—"
"The Shen Clan is known for one thing," his father cut in sharply. "Excellence. Loyalty alone is not enough. If you wish to become the crown prince's official guard, you must prove that you are the most worthy."
Zhiyuan lifted his head slightly. "And if I fail?"
"Your position will be replaced," his father replied coldly. "You have cousins. Other children of this clan. Many are waiting for the chance."
Silence filled the room.
Zhiyuan lowered his head again, deeper this time. "I understand."
"From today onward," his father said, "you are not to approach the crown prince without orders. Focus on your training. If you wish to stand at his side in the future, you must be strong enough to do so."
Zhiyuan pressed his jaw tight.
"Understood," he said at last. "I will not disgrace the Shen Clan."
But as he turned to leave, his fingers trembled slightly within his sleeves.
Not out of fear of failure.
But because he knew that the distance newly created would hurt more than any training ever could.