As the doors to Princess Hana's old building shut behind them with a heavy groan, Lianxue and Ming'er descended the long stone staircase in silence, heads bowed. Their cloth shoes whispered against the worn steps, and the silk of their formal gowns rustled faintly in the breeze, the only sound filling the tense quiet between them.
But for Lianxue, the silence was deafening.
Her heart pounded so fiercely it seemed to reverberate inside her skull, drowning out the world. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by invisible chains of judgment. She could feel the gazes of the passing servants—sharp, disapproving, burning into her back. The low murmurs of the guards nearby, their voices dipped just enough to remain indistinct, sent a fresh shiver down her spine.
The hatred pressed in from all sides. Accusations she hadn't earned. Stares she couldn't escape.
Her vision blurred.
A single misstep—then a stumble.
Lianxue gasped as her foot caught in the trailing hem of her too-long formal gown. Her body pitched forward. Ming'er's hand shot out in time, steadying her just before she would've hit the hard stone.
"Miss!" Ming'er's voice cracked with alarm as she tightened her grip, but Lianxue didn't move.
She sat where she fell, her knees folded awkwardly, her hands gripping the stone beneath her like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic motions. Panic clawed up her throat, thick and bitter, threatening to choke her. Her hands trembled, and behind her eyes, heat built with unbearable pressure.
"Miss, are you okay?" Ming'er's voice pierced the fog.
Lianxue blinked rapidly, trying to focus, to pull herself back into the moment. Her legs felt like water. Her mind buzzed with static. Still, she forced a smile, even as tears stung her eyes.
"Yes… Just still shocked," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "By everything that happened."
Ming'er nodded, her face taut with concern. She helped Lianxue up slowly, her movements gentle, as if she feared the girl might shatter with too much pressure. "Of course, ma'am. Let's get you back to your room. You need to rest."
For a fleeting moment, the idea sounded like sanctuary. Her muscles ached, her scalp throbbed from the intricate and too-tight hairdo they'd twisted into her, and the oppressive weight of silk dragging behind her made her feel like a doll dressed for display—not a person. Still, her mind refused to rest.
Because she couldn't stop thinking about the copper hairpin.
It glinted in her thoughts as vividly as it had when she found it—half-buried in the corner of Hana's old quarters, glinting unnaturally against the silk and paper fans. A detail out of place. A whisper of something deeper.
"Ming'er," she said, her voice suddenly alert, cutting through the quiet.
The maid looked up from brushing dust off the hem of her gown. "Yes, Miss?"
"Do you know anything about copper hairpins?"
Ming'er paused, her hands stilled against the fabric. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Usually… merchant daughters wear them," she replied. Her voice lightened slightly, happy to be useful again. "They're considered modest but respectable. Not something a noble would choose."
Lianxue's gaze narrowed slightly. She nodded. "I see."
Ming'er resumed smoothing her gown, but Lianxue's thoughts were miles away. When Ming'er finished and stepped back, Lianxue rested her hands on the girl's shoulders—not only for balance, but to ground what she was about to ask.
"I need to go to the market stalls," she said quietly. "Will you come with me?"
Ming'er recoiled instinctively. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Miss, no! You need to rest! You've already fallen, and if someone sees—"
"I won't push myself," Lianxue interrupted gently, giving her a reassuring smile. "I promise."
But Ming'er was trembling now, her hands tightly gripping Lianxue's sleeves as though afraid of letting go. Her breath came unevenly, and for the first time, Lianxue saw past the nervous servitude to the raw fear beneath.
Was it fear for Lianxue? Or fear of what might happen if they were seen? Or perhaps… something deeper? Something from before, from a life Lianxue didn't remember but the girl still lived?
Ming'er bowed her head, then gave a stiff nod—one single nod, as though she'd been forced. As if she was back in that place again, a blade against her neck and no choices left.
Lianxue's throat tightened.
Before she could speak, a deliberate throat-clearing sound rang out behind them.
Lianxue turned sharply, and her breath caught.
Standing just beyond the base of the steps was General Hau Wenji—her father.
Or rather, the man who had fathered the woman whose body she now occupied.
Ming'er immediately dropped to her knees, folding her hands together in front of her in a posture of near-reverent submission. Her forehead nearly touched the ground. She didn't speak, didn't dare raise her eyes.
Lianxue remained frozen.
Wenji stood tall, his expression unreadable. His eyes, dark and heavy with age, locked onto hers. The tension that crackled in the air seemed to vanish the moment their gazes met. In its place, something quieter. Something almost… gentle.
The breeze played at the edges of their robes, carrying the faint scent of incense from the temple across the gardens. A strand of Lianxue's hair fluttered across her cheek. She made no move to brush it away. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the world.
"Did I hear you right?" he asked, voice rough and gravelly, like someone who'd smoked all his life. "You need to go to the market?"
Lianxue's mouth opened, then closed. She hadn't expected him to speak, much less offer something… normal.
"We haven't gone out in a while," he added, eyes narrowing slightly in the corners with what might have been the shadow of a smile. "Shall we go together?"
The question hit her like a thrown stone. Lianxue nearly stumbled again, catching herself by quickly raising a hand to her lips and pretending to cough.
Wenji's brow lifted slightly, but he said nothing. He simply waited.
He didn't rush her. Didn't demand anything.
That, more than anything, unsettled her.
Lianxue looked down at the ground, mind spinning. Ming'er would never approve. Rest, the girl had said. Rest before you collapse again. But resting meant losing time. And time was the only thing Lianxue had never had enough of—not in this life or the last.
She looked up.
"I would be honored to go with you, General." She bowed deeply, mirroring Ming'er's earlier posture.
Something changed in Wenji's face.
His mouth drew tight, and his eyes darkened—not with anger, exactly, but something colder.
"Who told you to bow like that to me?" he asked sharply.
Lianxue flinched. "Was that not right?" she asked quickly, straightening her spine and dropping her arms to her sides.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy.
Wenji sighed and looked away for a moment, rubbing his hand across his jaw.
"We'll talk about it another time," he said at last. "Just… don't bow like that again. To anyone."
Then, with surprising gentleness, he stepped closer. His large, calloused hand settled on the small of her back, and he nudged her forward down a side path that led away from the residential wing. Lianxue scrambled to lift her gown properly, trying not to trip again.
As they walked, she ventured a nervous glance upward. "What about the emperor?" she asked, her tone joking.
Wenji gave a snort, then leaned down, covering his mouth with one hand.
"If you can help it," he whispered, "don't bow to that old fool either. Gods know I do all the work anyway."
A startled laugh burst from Lianxue's throat before she could stop it. It echoed down the path and startled a few birds from a nearby tree.
Wenji chuckled as well, straightening beside her with his hands tucked behind his back. Ming'er followed a few paces behind, eyes lowered, but Lianxue caught the twitch of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
And just like that, the weight on her chest lightened.
The stone staircases and accusing glances faded behind them. The copper hairpin still gleamed in her mind, and the danger hadn't passed—but in this brief, strange walk with the man who was supposed to be her father, Lianxue allowed herself a single, dangerous hope:
Maybe she didn't have to do this alone.