Chapter 51
He turned slightly, just enough for the dim light to catch the sharp lines of his expression.
"It teaches people to measure lives."
Another pause.
"To weigh silence against truth."
"And to decide... which one is more convenient."
Katsuro's jaw tightened-not visibly, not fully-but enough.
"You think I chose convenience?" he asked.
For the first time, there was something beneath his voice.
Not anger.
Not yet.
But something closer to it.
Wuming's eyes met his again.
"No," he said.
And for a moment-it almost sounded like understanding.
"I think you chose control."
The words settled between them like a verdict.
From outside-
"...nine!"
Xie Zheng's voice grew louder.
Closer.
Unaware.
Wuming stepped back this time, the distance returning between them as if the moment had already ended for him.
"As for what I want..." he said, turning slightly toward the entrance.
"...nothing complicated."
His tone softened-not in emotion, but in finality.
"Just don't pretend you didn't know."
"...ten! I'm coming!"
The voice rang out.
The moment shattered.
Wuming moved past Katsuro as if nothing had happened, his steps calm, unhurried, his presence returning to that same unreadable stillness.
As if he had not just peeled away a layer of something far deeper than either of them had intended to expose.
Behind him-
Katsuro remained where he was.
Still.
Silent.
And for the first time in a long time-
Not entirely in control.
The door had already slid shut behind him.
Wuming did not linger inside.
The air of the hall, thick with voices, warmth, and something he could not quite name-something too soft, too alive-had become suffocating without warning. So he stepped out, silently, without announcement, without permission.
And now-
He stood by the outer corridor, near the open window.
The night had begun to settle.
A quiet kind of night. Not empty-but vast. The sky stretched endlessly, deep and dark, holding the pale glow of the moon like something sacred. Its light spilled over the estate, washing the polished wood, the curved rooftops, the distant trees in a soft silver hue.
The wind had turned colder.
It brushed past him, slipping through his loose hair, stirring the ends of his robe, carrying with it the faint scent of winter's approach.
Below, the courtyard lay still.
Lanterns flickered gently.
Shadows stretched long.
Everything looked... peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Wuming's gaze remained fixed outward, his posture straight, hands resting behind him exactly as before-calm, composed, distant.
As if he belonged more to the night than to the house behind him.
Inside-
Katsuro paused mid-motion.
Something... shifted.
He didn't turn immediately.
Didn't speak.
But he felt it.
That presence.
Not loud.
Not forceful.
Yet it spread-subtle, quiet, almost indistinguishable from the air itself, and yet unmistakable once noticed.
Everywhere.
Katsuro's fingers stilled around the teacup.
For a fleeting second, the noise of the room dulled.
His awareness sharpened-not outward, but inward-like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
Wuming.
The name surfaced in his mind without effort.
And with it-
A strange, unfamiliar weight.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze lowering just slightly, though his expression remained unchanged to anyone watching.
He's sharp... too sharp.
Not just intelligent.
Not just observant.
There was something else.
Something that did not belong to a child.
Katsuro's thoughts moved, unbidden, to something buried deep in the records of the Xuan-something few remembered clearly, yet none dared forget entirely.
The heir... six generations ago.
The one whose name was no longer spoken lightly.
The one who had not merely inherited power-
But changed it.
A silence stretched in Katsuro's mind.
Is this... the weight of that name?
His grip tightened slightly.
Or something beyond it?
A faint unease settled in his chest-not fear, not doubt-but something dangerously close to both.
Why do I feel... like this?
His eyes shifted, though he did not turn his head.
I can't do anything...
The thought came quietly.
Firm.
Final.
Wuming... my child.
For a brief moment-just a brief one-the composed Marquise, the strategist, the man who stood above countless others-
Faltered.
As much as you are disappointed in me...
His gaze darkened, though no one noticed.
I am more disappointed in myself.
The truth did not wound him.
It settled.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I cannot give you answers.
I cannot give you justice.
I cannot even give you the truth you deserve-
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
But I can protect you.
That-
That he could do.
Even if it meant-
Sending you away.
The thought lingered longer this time.
Colder.
More deliberate.
Even if it breaks Yin Fu's heart.
A pause.
Even if it makes you hate me.
His fingers loosened around the cup.
I will do it.
Because between love and power-
Between truth and survival-
He had already made his choice.
I will choose you.
Outside, the wind grew slightly stronger, brushing past Wuming once more.
Inside-
Xie Zheng had completely lost the seriousness of the world.
He was crouched near the low table, lifting cushions, peeking behind them, then dramatically checking places that made absolutely no sense.
"Wuming! I know you're hiding somewhere here!" he declared loudly, pulling open a cabinet and staring inside as if expecting enlightenment.
Nothing.
He frowned.
Turned.
Looked under the table.
Then behind a pillar.
Then-very confidently-at the ceiling.
"...you could be up there."
He nodded to himself, impressed by his own logic.
Then straightened, placing his hands on his hips.
"Hmph. Difficult opponent."
He glanced around again, completely missing the open doorway, the quiet corridor beyond it, and the boy standing under the moonlight just outside.
And then-
With absolute confidence-
"I will find you eventually."
Outside, Wuming did not move.
Did not react.
But for a brief moment-
Just a brief one-
The stillness around him felt... less empty.
The silence inside had grown unnatural.
Not peaceful-no.
It was the kind of silence that came when thoughts weighed heavier than words.
And that... was not something Wuming liked.
So when even the faintest trace of sound faded completely-when even his father's presence stilled into something distant-he turned.
And walked back in.
The door slid open without resistance.
Soft.
Controlled.
And yet, the moment he stepped inside-
The atmosphere shifted again.
But not where Katsuro stood.
Not where Xie Zheng still lingered in his own little world of searching and failing-
No.
Wuming's gaze moved past all of that.
Toward the far end of the hall.
And what he saw-
Was an entirely different world.
The room stretched wide, far more expansive than it appeared at first glance, its architecture unfolding in layers of refinement and authority. Carved pillars stood like silent sentinels, their surfaces etched with intricate patterns of ancient artistry, while silk drapes in deep hues cascaded gently from above, swaying ever so slightly with the movement of air.
Lantern light mingled with moonlight.
Gold met shadow.
Warmth met cold.
And at the center of it-
They sat.
Yin Fu.
And Xie Mao Mao.
Positioned like rulers within their own domain.
A low table rested between them, polished to a mirror sheen, upon which delicate porcelain cups were placed with precise symmetry. Steam curled faintly from the tea, carrying a subtle fragrance that blended with the sweetness of neatly arranged cookies-each crafted with care, untouched, almost ornamental.
Around them-
Order.
Ten palace guards.
Nine arranged behind in perfect rows of three, their posture unwavering, their heads lowered in disciplined submission.
And one-at the front.
Kneeling deeper.
Lower.
As if the weight of his words required it.
Behind Yin Fu, maids stood silently, their presence almost invisible, yet precise-every movement calculated, every step measured. One of them stepped forward just as the guards entered, positioning herself at the exact distance required-neither too close nor too far.
And Yin Fu-
She did not move.
Not immediately.
She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed yet commanding, fingers resting lightly against her knee, the elegance of her bearing untouched by the presence of those before her.
Her attire-
Was nothing short of breathtaking.
Layers of deep black silk formed the foundation of her robe, flowing like liquid shadow with every subtle shift of her body. Yet beneath that darkness, rich undertones of crimson revealed themselves-like embers hidden beneath ash-glimpsed only when the fabric moved.
The outer robe was embroidered with intricate golden patterns-fine threads tracing across the sleeves and hem, forming motifs of blooming flowers and winding vines, each stitch precise, each detail deliberate. The gold did not shine loudly-it gleamed softly, like restrained power.
Her waist was cinched with a dark sash, adorned with a subtle clasp that held everything in perfect balance.
Her hair-
Long.
White, silver shining.
Smooth as silk.
It fell down her back in controlled elegance, only partially gathered and secured with a delicate ornament-the translucent hairpiece resting like a piece of frozen moonlight against her crown. Its intricate shape curved like flowing branches, adorned with a pale tassel that swayed faintly with even the smallest movement.
And her face-
Calm.
Composed.
Cold.
Her golden eyes held no warmth now-only quiet authority, the kind that did not need to announce itself to be obeyed.
"Your Imperial Highness... the Royal Princess Yin Fu..."
The guard's voice broke the stillness.
Measured.
Respectful.
Lowered.
"Your brother, the Royal Crown Prince Yin Jiuheng, has sent this letter to you... and a present."
At his signal-
Two guards stepped forward in perfect synchrony.
One carried a box.
Gold.
Not merely gilded-but crafted.
The surface shimmered under the lantern light, its edges engraved with delicate patterns that spoke of imperial craftsmanship-refined, deliberate, unquestionable.
A maid stepped forward from behind Yin Fu without being called.
She knelt.
Took the box.
Opened it with steady hands.
And lifted it slightly-just enough for Yin Fu to see.
"Anything else, General Fan?" Yin Fu's voice came.
Soft.
Even.
Yet it carried weight.
"No, Your Highness."
A pause.
Then-
"Bring the other."
Another box was presented.
This one-different.
Black.
Deep.
Polished like obsidian.
And across it-
Golden dragon patterns coiled, their forms alive with movement, their presence unmistakably imperial.
"Your Imperial Highness..." General Fan spoke again, bowing even lower. "This is for the young nephew of the Crown Prince."
Yin Fu did not react.
Not outwardly.
Her expression remained unchanged-still, distant, unreadable.
Then-
A slight movement.
"Leave."
The command was simple.
Final.
The guards bowed once more.
And withdrew.
Silently.
Swiftly.
Like shadows retreating at dawn.
The room quieted again.
But this time-
It was different.
Xie Mao Mao leaned slightly, her posture relaxed, her curiosity far less restrained.
"Hm?" she murmured lightly, lifting her cup before setting it down again. "What did your brother send you?"
Yin Fu did not answer immediately.
Instead-
She reached forward.
Opened the first box fully.
Inside-
A delicate arrangement.
Osmanthus cakes, carefully placed, their soft golden hue almost glowing under the light.
Beside them-
A letter.
And-
A hairpin.
Golden.
Refined.
Its design intricate, almost mirroring the ornament she already wore-yet lighter, more delicate, crafted with a precision that spoke not just of skill, but intention.
The gold caught the light-
And for a moment-
It reflected in her eyes.
Unmoving.
Unchanging.
But something-
Something subtle-
Shifted.
She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips, murmuring softly, "What a cunning fox," as her golden eyes lowered to the letter in her hands.
The paper was fine, almost translucent under the light, carrying the faint scent of ink and something warmer-familiar. She unfolded it with deliberate grace, her gaze moving across the words:
My dear elder sister Yin Fu,
I apologise for being unable to return to the palace at the time you needed me. Accept this small gift of mine-and one for my little nephew as well. I have prepared a sword and attire for him, for the upcoming Emperor's fiftieth birthday banquet.
A faint smile lingered on her lips as she finished reading.
End of 51