By the courtyard pond, the air had grown frigid, stifled by Lady Shīyí (诗仪)'s heavy silence. As Hànyuè (汉月) and her handmaid drew near, She did not so much as cast a glance away from the dark reflections in the water. With a voice as cold as stone, she commanded:
"I wish to speak with you alone."
With a sharp nod to her handmaid, Hànyuè dismissed her. Once the surroundings were vacant, she asked directly, though her voice betrayed a faint tremor:
"My Lady, has something occurred that you should summon me here with such haste?"
Shīyí turned slowly, her gaze locking onto Hànyuè's face; she paused, choosing her words.
"I have heard the news from the market!, that you spent the entire day, clandestinely, in the company of Prince Hēiláng (黑狼)!"
Hànyuè was taken aback. Her eyelids fluttered for a fleeting second, but she composed herself swiftly, casting her eyes downward.
"It seems you have forgotten whose daughter you are," She stepped closer, forcing Hànyuè to look up and said:
"You are the Lady of the second greatest house in this Empire. To wander the city with a stranger, when the anniversary of your husband's passing has scarcely lapsed by a few days... you are gambling with your father's honour and your own reputation. A more mature conduct was expected of you."
Hànyuè's head snapped up, her eyes shimmering with a controlled fury.
"Legally, my year of mourning is at an end. What more could you possibly expect of me?"
Shīyí cut her off with a decisive tone:
"My dear, virtue is not measured by calendars or laws, but by one's breeding. A woman of noble birth maintains her distance from men after her husband's demise. The entire manor is whispering about you; do you grasp the gravity of this?"
"That marriage was naught but a political contract!" Hànyuè's voice rose.
"I was a mere girl of nineteen when I was widowed. None of you know what it's like for a young girl to spend a whole year trapped in those white mourning robes." Her chin quivered for a moment with grief, but she pressed her lips together firmly.
Shīyí pressed on, indifferent to her distress.
"Your late husband was killed in your bedchamber on wedding night. And now, you are involved with the Emperor's second son! This creates a thousand dangerous misunderstandings for the Jīn (金) clan."
"This has absolutely nothing to do with Hēiláng!" Hànyuè retorted fiercely.
Shīyí fixed her with a stare so piercing that Hànyuè could feel the chill of her breath. "Lady, you've forgotten who I am. Do you think I don't know that you two have been together since before your marriage? Forget this man… You know nothing of the Lóng (龍) clan… I see no fair omen in the Prince's countenance. You are ill-matched. This must end here, before word reaches your late husband's kin."
Hànyuè drew herself up to her full height, her gaze no longer tethered to the ground.
"I may not know the Lóng family, but I know Hēiláng well, and..."
A faint flush crept into her cheeks, yet she stood her ground with unwavering resolve:
"And I love him, Whatever you may think of it. I have no faith in these superstitions or omens."
She arched an eyebrow, her voice laced with certainty: "Furthermore, I answer to my father; and he, unlike you, is a man of modern thought. He is quite fond of Hēiláng."
Shīyí froze, as if she had been struck across the face. Her eyelids remained motionless in shock.
"Your father? He... he knows of this and approves?"
"Exactly. After the disaster of my last marriage, my father doesn't want to ruin my life for old traditions anymore. He's letting me choose for myself."
Shīyí was left speechless. All the weight of her moral reprimand collapsed in a single heartbeat. Hànyuè held her sharp, triumphant gaze upon the stunned woman for a second longer, offered a cold, perfunctory bow, and said:
"If you'll excuse me, I'm leaving."
She walked away, leaving Lady Shīyí rooted to the spot by the pond. The Lady stood alone, a slight tremor finally manifesting in her hands—the only sign of her internal unravelling.
That night had become completely dark. Mùyě (牧野) arrived at Hēiláng's quarters to find him standing without, his hands clasped behind his back in a silent vigil. He was looking at the moon, which was half-hidden behind some moving clouds; he was already clad in his war-armour, primed for the march. Mùyě approached and offered a low bow:
"Your Highness, all is prepared for our departure."
Without a word, Hēiláng tore his gaze from the moon, looked at him, gave a small nod of approval and set off.
Midway, as they passed Hànyuè's residence, the flickering tremor of candlelight from behind her window gave Hēiláng pause; his stride slowed until he came to a halt. For a moment, it seemed as though a private thought had arrested his mind. He turned to Mùyě:
"Wait here. I shall return."
He walked forward alone and commanded the handmaid standing watch outside:
"Announce my presence to the Lady."
Inside the chamber, Hànyuè lay curled upon her side on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest as she stared into the void. Suddenly, she traced her fingers across her lips; as she remembered the taste of that kiss, she felt a sudden heat and blushed with shyness. The handmaid's voice shattered her reverie:
"My Lady, the Prince wishes to see you."
Hànyuè sprang up as if struck by lightning. She quickly smoothed her hair and tried to calm down, standing straight while her heart was beating fast.
"Bid him enter," she said.
Hēiláng entered with measured steps. His gaze locked onto Hànyuè, who stood in the centre of the room clad only in her thin night-robes. She looked so innocent. Her long, dark hair was gathered over one shoulder, falling softly across her chest. The sight was so tender and captivating that it stole Hēiláng's heart in a single breath.
"Still awake?" his voice was low.
Hànyuè averted her eyes: "Truth be told... Thinking about you leaving… just won't let me sleep."
Hēiláng answered her with a soft smile. Then he stepped closer, placing his hand on her arm.
"Please… don't make yourself ill by staying awake…", he said.
She lifted her head, her anxious eyes searching his.
"I'm scared for you..."
They looked at each other for a moment. Then, he pulled him a fraction closer and leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, and whispered:
"Hànyuè... nothing in that war can kill me... except seeing you like this..."
Hànyuè's breath caught in her throat. Her hands were shaking as she reached out to fix a few messy strands of hair on his forehead.
"Just come back soon," she whispered. "Promise me?
Hēiláng offered no spoken answer. He merely closed his eyes slowly and opened them again, a silent vow more binding than any word. Then, he turned and strode from the chamber. After he left, Hànyuè stood in silence for a moment before slowly crossing the room and sliding the door open, hoping for one last glimpse of him. But he was already gone...