Within a week, the notice spread throughout the capital.
From noble households to distant provinces, word traveled swiftly—
the palace would begin recruiting concubines.
By the end of the month, preparations were complete.
Guest halls were cleaned and redecorated. New attendants were selected. Etiquette instructors were summoned. Lists were revised again and again, each name scrutinized.
Queen Yǐn Lìhuá oversaw everything herself.
She walked through the halls daily, inspecting arrangements, listening to reports, correcting details others might overlook. Her steps were steady, her voice calm, her expression unreadable.
Only when she was alone did the weariness settle into her bones.
Wèi Zhèn returned on the fifteenth day.
Dust still clung faintly to his cloak when he passed through the palace gates. As he walked deeper into the inner court, he noticed the changes immediately—the unfamiliar decorations, the increase in attendants, the quiet tension that hung in the air.
So it had begun.
When he entered his chamber, Yǐn Lìhuá was already there.
She stood to greet him, her posture flawless despite the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
"Welcome back," she said.
She helped him remove his traveling cloak and change into lighter robes, her movements as careful as ever. As she adjusted his sleeves, he studied her face.
"You look tired," he said.
She smiled faintly. "There were many preparations."
"You don't need to push yourself," he said quietly. "This is only a formality."
Her hands paused for the briefest moment.
"Yes," she replied. "A formality."
After a pause, he added, almost casually, "Shall we play chess tonight?"
She looked up, surprised—then nodded. "If Your Majesty wishes."
That evening, lanterns glowed softly around the chess table.
The familiar board lay between them, pieces arranged in careful symmetry. For a time, only the sound of stone touching wood filled the space.
"You're distracted," Wèi Zhèn remarked.
She smiled lightly. "Am I?"
He moved a piece. "You never miss that opening."
She corrected herself without comment.
As the game continued, her sleeve brushed his hand.
She meant to pull away.
Instead, he closed his fingers around hers.
The move froze midair.
She looked up sharply, breath catching.
He stood, still holding her hand, and stepped closer. The distance between them vanished too quickly, too suddenly. His other hand rose to grip her arm, firm but not forceful.
She trembled.
Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes pressing tight as if bracing for something she could not face. Her body shook—not in resistance, but in fear she did not yet understand.
He saw it.
And he released her at once.
He stepped back, distance rushing in to fill the space he had crossed.
She opened her eyes, realization crashing down upon her.
Her breath hitched.
She sank abruptly to her knees, silk whispering against stone, composure breaking in that single motion. Panic threaded her voice despite her effort to steady it.
"I… I'm sorry, Your Majesty."
He did not turn back.
For a moment, he stood with his back to her, shoulders rigid—then he stepped away. The door opened and closed without ceremony.
He left her kneeling there, lanternlight trembling across the frozen chessboard.
Wèi Zhèn did not stop walking until the cold night air struck his face.
Disappointment weighed heavily in his chest—but not desire denied.
He had wanted certainty.
And tonight, he had convinced himself of something he had long feared:
That she did not love him.
And perhaps—
never had.