Within the resplendent halls of the Great Yan imperial palace, golden lanterns bloomed like fire against a canvas of dusk. The grand banquet had begun, and the hall shimmered with opulence, its marble floors glowing beneath candlelight and crystal.
Envoys and nobles from Northern Di, Western Rong, and Southern Man had all taken their seats. Courtiers and aristocrats in lavish attire filled the room, and graceful ladies adorned in jewels sparkled like stars. Goblets clinked, laughter flowed like wine, and the air was threaded with the soft strains of zithers and flutes. Dancers swirled through the center of the hall, each movement a portrait of elegance and power.
As palace servants offered wine and delicacies, conversation gradually turned to the Third Prince of Great Yan.
"I heard His Highness has yet to be betrothed. Quite rare, isn't it?"
"Wasn't he once promised to a princess of Xiliang in childhood? But that kingdom has long since fallen… and the princess… is gone."
"A pity, truly. They say the Xiliang princess was as sweet and delicate as spring blossom. If she were still alive…"
Regret tinged the whispers, mingled with veiled curiosity and unspoken speculation. The words drifted like shadows across the hall—quiet, insidious, and unseen.
At one corner of the banquet, Yan Changxin paused with her silver chopsticks mid-air. Her breath caught in her throat.
In an instant, her chest tightened. Her blood felt as if it had stopped flowing.
She bowed her head quickly, fingers curling ever so slightly against her sleeve to steady herself.
The familiar tightness returned—an invisible claw raking through her chest. It was a sensation she had known well: pain that bloomed whenever the heart stirred too deeply.
No one must notice.
She forced her breath to steady, then turned slightly toward her maidservant and whispered, "I need some air."
Without waiting for a reply, she stood and left the hall with quiet grace. Her steps remained composed—fluid, practiced, untouched by the storm within.
Outside, the night wind swept past the palace walls, carrying a subtle chill.
Yan Changxin inhaled slowly, one hand pressed lightly to her chest. Her fingertips trembled, as if echoing the chaos she dared not release.
Then—footsteps behind her. Steady. Deliberate.
"Miss Yan. Are you unwell?"
The voice was low, emotionless on the surface, yet laced with a subtle thread of concern.
She looked up.
Xiao Zhengyu stood in the shadows, his dark brocade robes glowing softly in the mingling light of lanterns and moon. His presence, calm and composed, seemed to root the night in place.
She quickly reined in her emotions and offered a polite curtsy. "Your Highness. The banquet hall was a touch stifling—I simply stepped out for a breath."
His gaze swept over her pale profile. Though she wore serenity like a mask, he noticed the tremble in her fingers.
His eyes darkened faintly. "If you're unwell, why not summon the imperial physician?"
She gave a faint smile, almost dismissive. "It's nothing serious. A small discomfort. I'll be fine."
He did not answer immediately. He merely watched her, his expression unreadable, his gaze fathomless.
At last, he spoke. "The banquet is not yet over. Once you've rested… return with me."
Yan Changxin paused. She knew lingering too long outside would draw attention. She nodded softly. "As you wish, Your Highness."
Together, they turned back toward the hall.
But just as they reached the doorway, a wave of applause rippled through the room.
"Her Highness, Princess Li, offers to grace us with a dance tonight. Would the honored guests care to witness her elegance?"
Li Zhiyu stood at the center of the hall, dressed in a flowing robe of gold-embroidered flame silk. Her eyes shimmered beneath the lights, and her smile was as radiant as dawn.
Cheers filled the air.
Southern women were famed for their mastery of dance, and Li Zhiyu had long held court as their crown jewel. Her performances never failed to enchant.
Yet just then, her gaze flicked to the entrance—where Xiao Zhengyu and Yan Changxin had entered together.
Her smile faltered. A flicker of something cold passed through her eyes.
Then, her lips curved once more. She stepped lightly forward and said sweetly, "Since tonight is a rare occasion, why not invite Miss Yan to dance with me? Would that not add even more splendor to this gathering?"
A hush fell over the hall.
Yan Changxin stilled, her thoughts swift as wind.
A shared dance?
Before she could respond, murmurs broke out like wind rustling reeds.
"Princess Li's dancing is legendary. But this woman from Northern Di—can she even dance?"
"Ha! Women from the north are cold as ice and hard as steel. They can't match the grace and charm of our Southern princess."
Li Zhiyu's gaze rested on her, soft and smiling, but laced with challenge.
Yan Changxin raised her eyes—and met that gaze without hesitation.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then she smiled gently and nodded. "Since Princess Li so kindly extends the invitation, I would not dare decline."
The musicians began preparing at once. Candles flickered in the hall's center, casting rippling light across the glassy floor like molten gold.
The music rose.
Li Zhiyu moved like fire, her sleeves flowing like wings, her every motion vibrant and alive—each step a flourish of sensuality and elegance.
Yan Changxin's style was utterly different.
She moved with quiet precision—light but controlled. Her gestures were restrained, yet within them pulsed an unfamiliar rhythm, as if something deeper stirred beneath the silk and stillness. She danced like a phoenix ascending—graceful, but with power coiled beneath the surface.
As the music swelled to its climax, Li Zhiyu spun with dazzling radiance, her robes fluttering like starlight.
Yan Changxin lifted the hem of her skirt. Her turn was straight, swift, and sharp—like a blade wrapped in silk. In her fluidity, there was a hint of unwavering resolve.
The hall erupted with astonishment.
"Princess Li is indeed divine—elegant and poised, her dance like flowing clouds!"
"But Miss Yan is impressive as well. So cold, so composed… yet her dance has a strange, compelling rhythm."
"In terms of allure, Princess Li still reigns—but the girl from Northern Di…"
Whispers tangled in the air like smoke.
Only Xiao Zhengyu remained silent, his gaze fixed on the center of the hall.
He was watching Yan Changxin.
Every step she took, every turn she made—there was a precision there. A kind of intent.
This was no mere performance.
This was… martial training.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The candles continued to flicker. The feast carried on.
But beneath the glittering performance, a hidden contest had already unfolded—far sharper than any words spoken.
And within Xiao Zhengyu's heart, suspicion stirred once more.
Who exactly is Yan Changxin?