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The morning court had stretched longer than the Emperor had intended.
Matters of defense, taxation, the crumbling embankments along the southern river-each minister had spoken with caution sharpened by fear.
When the final bow was offered and the vermilion doors of the Hall of Diligent Governance closed behind them, the silence that followed felt heavier than their words.
Emperor Xiao Zhenyu remained seated upon the dragon throne long after the echo of footsteps faded.
On the lacquered table before him lay scrolls bound with jade clasps-reports of border skirmishes, grain yields, and the increasing cost of reinforcing the northern walls.
But none of those parchments weighed upon him as much as the last matter raised before dismissal: the condition of his younger sister.
Princess Xiao Lihua.
A fever for seven days.
Seven days was an eternity in the palace.
He rose at last, sleeves cascading like dark water. "Prepare my carriage," he commanded quietly.
The eunuchs bowed low. Outside, the palace corridors shimmered beneath afternoon light.
Courtiers and servants knelt as he passed, but his gaze remained fixed ahead.
He was emperor to the world.
But to her, he was only an elder brother.
The Princess's residence stood in the eastern quarter of the palace, where the wind carried the scent of magnolias and the murmuring of koi ponds.
Unlike the splendor of the harem, her courtyard was gentle-white stone pathways, carved railings painted in pale green, and silk wind chimes that whispered whenever the breeze passed.
The physician stationed outside immediately knelt.
"Your Majesty."
"How is she?" Xiao Zhenyu asked without slowing.
"The fever has lowered since dawn," the physician replied carefully.
"But Her Highness remains weak. We have prescribed cooling herbs and instructed strict rest."
The Emperor's jaw tightened slightly. "You instructed. Does she obey?"
The physician hesitated-answer enough.
Xiao Zhenyu dismissed him with a flick of his sleeve and entered the chamber.
The room was warm with the fragrance of medicinal broth and sandalwood. Gauze curtains filtered the light into soft gold. On the inner couch, propped against embroidered pillows, sat the Princess.
Princess Xiao Lihua looked nothing like the vibrant girl who once raced horses beyond the capital walls. Her complexion, once lively as spring peach blossoms, had paled. Yet when she saw him, her eyes brightened as though no illness had ever dared approach her.
"Brother."
Her voice was thin but teasing.
Xiao Zhenyu's stern expression softened in a way no minister had ever witnessed.
"You should not be sitting up," he said immediately, crossing the room. "Lie down."
She pouted faintly. "If I lie down any longer, I will melt into the mattress."
"You nearly melted into a funeral pyre," he replied sharply.
The words hung heavier than he intended.
Her smile faded, but only slightly. "You exaggerate."
He did not.
Seven days ago, her attendants had come running in panic. A sudden fever. Shivering. Delirium. For one night, her breathing had grown so shallow that even the most composed physician had trembled.
Xiao Zhenyu sat beside her couch.
"Why were you riding in the rain?" he demanded quietly.
She looked away, fingers twisting the edge of her silk blanket. "The storm came suddenly."
"You are not a child to chase thunderclouds."
She turned back to him, eyes gleaming faintly with mischief even now. "And you are not an old scholar to scold like this."
He exhaled slowly, then brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. His touch was careful, almost reverent.
"You are the only family I have left," he said, voice lower than a whisper.
She grew still.
Their father had died in battle. Their mother soon after. The palace had devoured relatives like a starving beast. Allies became rivals. Cousins became threats.
Only the two of them remained bound not by politics-but by blood.
"I know," she murmured.
He studied her face, searching for lingering heat beneath her skin. "You must not frighten me like this again."
Her lips curved softly. "You? Frightened?"
"You would not have liked the sight."
She laughed faintly, though it dissolved into a cough. He immediately reached for the porcelain cup of herbal broth on the bedside table.
"Drink."
She obeyed this time, perhaps sensing the edge beneath his calm.
After a moment, she said, "The court meeting was long today."
"You heard?"
"Servants whisper louder than thunder," she replied lightly.
He almost smiled.
"They spoke of borders," he said, tone returning to measured composure. "And coin. And walls."
"And?" she prompted.
"And you."
Her brows lifted.
"They asked after your condition," he continued. "The ministers believe the empire's fortune dims if its princess lies ill."
She rolled her eyes. "Superstition."
"Politics," he corrected.
She leaned back into her pillows. "Then tell them their princess will not die so easily."
Silence settled between them-comfortable, familiar.
Outside, wind stirred the magnolia branches.
After a while, she spoke again, softer.
"Brother... when I recover fully..."
His gaze sharpened immediately. "You will rest."
She ignored him deliberately. "When I recover, I wish to visit the imperial garden."
He blinked.
"That is all?" he asked.
"For now."
"The garden is always there."
"But I have not seen it in weeks," she replied. "The willow by the western pond must be blooming by now."
At the mention of the willow, something unreadable flickered across his expression-an old memory stirred.
A small figure hidden behind trailing branches.
Silent tears.
Shaking shoulders.
He pushed the thought aside.
"You may go," he said at last. "When the physician confirms your strength."
Her eyes shone with gratitude. "Truly?"
"On one condition."
She sighed theatrically. "I knew it."
"You will not wander without attendants."
She smiled. "You mean you will accompany me."
He did not deny it.
"Perhaps."
She studied him carefully.
"There is something else," she added gently.
He raised a brow.
"The palace speaks of a new concubine."
The air shifted.
Xiao Zhenyu's expression returned to imperial stillness.
"You should not concern yourself with harem matters."
"I concern myself with my brother," she corrected softly. "They say he is... different."
He did not answer immediately.
"They say he does not speak," she continued.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the gauze curtains.
"He fulfills his duty," the Emperor said evenly.
"That is not what I asked."
A long pause followed.
"He is quiet," Xiao Zhenyu admitted.
She tilted her head. "Quiet can mean many things."
He rose slightly, adjusting her blankets with unnecessary precision.
"Rest," he ordered.
She watched him with knowing eyes.
"You look tired," she said gently.
"I am not."
"You are."
He did not respond.
Her fingers reached out, lightly catching his sleeve. "Brother."
He stilled.
"Do not carry the entire empire alone," she murmured. "Even dragons must land sometimes."
His eyes softened, though only for a heartbeat.
"I cannot land," he said. "Not yet."
She smiled faintly. "Then at least breathe."
He exhaled slowly-perhaps the first true breath he had taken all day.
Outside, footsteps approached, but halted at the doorway.
The Princess leaned back against her pillows, closing her eyes briefly. "Will you stay a little longer?"
"I will."
He remained seated beside her, watching as her breathing steadied into a gentler rhythm.
For a moment, he was not emperor.
He was simply a brother guarding the last blossom of his family tree.
When at last she drifted into sleep, Xiao Zhenyu rose carefully.
He stepped outside into the courtyard, where magnolia petals floated across stone like fallen snow.
The chief eunuch bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."
"She will recover," the Emperor stated.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Ensure the physicians remain vigilant."
"Of course."
Xiao Zhenyu's gaze shifted beyond the courtyard walls-toward the direction of the imperial garden.
The willow tree stood there still.
Years had passed since that rainy afternoon when he had found a boy trembling beneath its branches.
A boy with bruised wrists.
A boy whose tears made no sound.
He turned away.
"Prepare a visit to the garden in the coming days," he ordered calmly. "The Princess wishes to see it."
"As you command."
The Emperor walked back through the palace corridors, robes whispering against marble floors.
Behind the unyielding mask of sovereignty, something faint stirred-a memory, a question, perhaps even regret.
In another wing of the palace, Shen Yunxi might have been gazing at the same sky.
But for now, the Emperor's thoughts lingered not on the silent concubine... but on the fragile sister who remained his only light in a palace of shadows.
And in the imperial garden, the willow branches swayed-waiting.
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(End of Chapter 4)