Chapter: A Thread of Crimson
Outside, the sunlight felt harsher.
I returned to Bao Lai in a hurry—only to stop dead in my tracks the moment I looked up.
There they were. Standing in the soft morning light, beneath the eaves of the open shop, Liyu... and Han Rui.
They were kissing.
I froze. My breath caught in my throat, the words inside me tangled and silent. Kissing? In the open? In broad daylight?
Had the world lost its sense of shame?
Wait—no, this couldn't be real. She had promised me. Liyu had sworn she wouldn't meet him again. Her own words: "Even if the world ends, I won't look back."
And now... she was looking straight into his eyes, holding his hand like they had never parted.
> "Is she breaking her promise?"
My fingers trembled slightly as I clutched the folds of my sleeve.
> "But... it's her choice, isn't it? Her life... her decision."
Still, something twisted tightly in my chest. I didn't understand what it was—anger? Disappointment? Or simply the ache of being left behind?
And then—
"Watch out!"
A voice rang out just as a heavy wooden signboard, loosened by the wind, came crashing down toward me.
Before I could even flinch, an arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back.
The world tilted.
For a heartbeat, all I could feel was the firm warmth of someone's chest, and the rustle of fabric against mine. My feet barely touched the ground as he held me, the morning sunlight flaring behind him like some strange scene from a storyteller's scroll.
My eyes widened.
> "Huang Ming?!"
He blinked at me. His face was inches from mine—those sharp, thoughtful eyes unusually soft in the light.
> "Princess Fengxi?"
The way he said it made it sound like a secret.
I stiffened. Slowly, I stepped away and straightened my posture, brushing down my sleeves.
> "Thank you... Huang Ming."
He gave a small nod. "There's no need to thank me, Prin—"
> "I'm Mengxia Liu," I cut him off quickly, lowering my voice. "Please don't call me that. Not here."
He looked confused. "But you're—"
> "Mengxia Liu," I said again, forcing a smile. "Nice to meet you, Huang Ming."
Around us, a few onlookers were still murmuring, watching with far too much interest. He glanced around, then gave a slight bow.
> "Nice to meet you... Mengxia Liu."
Behind him, Liyu and Han Rui had already stepped out from the shop. She looked worried, but when I noticed their hands still clasped together, my steps faltered.
I turned to Huang Ming.
> "Would you like to come inside? This is my shop. Let me at least offer you tea to thank you properly."
He nodded, still watching me with quiet curiosity.
Liyu looked like she wanted to speak—but I didn't give her the chance. Instead, I walked past her, leading Huang Ming into the shop. She turned to the crowd outside and clapped her hands.
> "Alright, the show's over! No more excitement today!"
People slowly began to disperse. Han Rui leaned in and said with a smirk, "You're something else. Let's go in and see if Miss Liu is alright."
Inside, I set a fresh cup of tea in front of Huang Ming.
He held it in both hands, eyes still on me. "Princess Fengxi... why the new name?"
I sighed softly. "It's a long story. I'll tell you one day. For now... just Mengxia."
He nodded. "Very well. By the way, I heard about a new shop called Bao Lai. I came to see it myself. I never expected to find you here."
> "Then stop calling me Princess," I said with a faint smile. "Mengxia Liu. Or just Mengxia."
He raised a brow. "If you insist. Then you can stop calling me 'Huang Ming'. Use my courtesy name—Mingkai."
I tilted my head. "Alright, Mingkai."
He smiled.
> "Actually," he said, setting his cup down, "I didn't just come to look around. There's an upcoming competition in two weeks. I missed it last year, since I wasn't in Tianxia. This time, I want to collaborate with you."
> "Competition?" I blinked. "I haven't heard anything about it."
> "Then allow me to explain."
He launched into the details with that easy calm of his. "All clothing shops must pair with a jewelry shop. Together, they must craft a ceremonial ensemble for His Majesty's New Year banquet. The best design will be selected by the Emperor himself. The reward... is quite generous."
> "That's... quite something," I murmured. "How long do we have?"
> "The guidelines were announced already. All designs must follow the specifications and be submitted before the deadline. If we start now, we'll have enough time."
I leaned back thoughtfully, then nodded.
> "I'm interested. I'll collaborate with you."
His eyes lit up. He pulled out a document from inside his sleeve.
> "This is an official collaboration form. It clarifies that if we win, the prize will be split equally."
> Seriously? He brought paperwork? I almost laughed but kept a straight face. "You really came prepared."
He handed me the brush. I read through every line and signed. He followed suit.
> "Now," he said, "we're officially partners."
I nodded. "Understood."
He rose from his seat. "I should take my leave now. I'll return later."
> "You're always welcome here," I said quietly.
He offered a parting bow and stepped out.
Just then, Liyu entered.
> "Master... are you alright?"
I didn't reply.
Instead, I walked past her, headed for my room.
Han Rui caught up to her at the door.
> "What's going on? Why isn't she talking to you?"
Liyu looked lost. "I don't know what I did. But I must have... I'll apologise."
> "Don't worry about Miss Liu so much," Han Rui muttered. "She's being a little unreasonable."
Liyu's eyes turned sharp.
> "She is my master. I won't let anyone speak ill of her. Not even you."
Han Rui raised his hands in surrender. "Alright. Got it."
Liyu's expression softened slightly. "You should go."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She froze.
He smiled faintly and walked away.
Only then did she turn and make her way to my room—silent, uncertain.
The door creaked softly behind me. I didn't look back.
My steps were silent as I entered the room, the faint scent of jasmine lingering on the hem of my sleeve—her scent. It used to bring comfort. Now, it felt like a quiet betrayal.
The tea on the table had gone cold. I sat without touching it.
Outside, the murmurs of the departing crowd had faded. Only footsteps remained. Light ones. Familiar.
A knock.
> "Master," came her voice, gentle as ever. "May I come in?"
I didn't answer. I didn't have to. She pushed the door open anyway.
Liyu stood in the doorway, looking unsure for the first time in a long while. Her hands clasped before her. Her gaze sought mine—and didn't find it.
> "Are… you alright?" she asked.
I didn't respond. Not immediately. The silence stretched just long enough to sting.
Then I rose slowly, smoothing out my sleeves, and turned slightly—only enough to let her see my profile.
> "Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, voice even, calm—too calm.
She blinked. "I thought… something seemed off after the accident. With the wooden board."
> "The accident?" I echoed faintly, almost amused. "That has passed, has it not?"
She hesitated. "Yes. But… you've been quiet. You didn't say anything even when I came in…"
My gaze finally met hers. That same face—loyal, gentle, sincere. And yet...
> "Why did you follow me?" I asked, my voice soft.
Liyu paused, uncertain. "I didn't. I came to check on you."
> "I see." I turned away. "And Han Rui?"
She flinched—just slightly.
> "He… he left. A minutes ago."
I gave a slow nod. "Good."
The air thickened between us. She stood there, watching me, searching my face for something. Understanding perhaps. But how could she, when I hadn't said a word?
> "Master," she began, stepping forward. "If I've done something wrong, please tell me. I'll correct it."
That word—wrong.
It almost made me laugh.
Instead, I smiled. A faint, tired smile that didn't reach my eyes.
> "You haven't done anything wrong," I said.
Not to me. Just to my trust.
Liyu looked like she wanted to say more. To press. But something in my tone held her back.
> "Then… may I stay?"
I didn't answer.
But I didn't ask her to leave either.
So she stayed, standing by the door, uncertain and small. Like a child waiting to be scolded for a mistake she didn't understand.
And I—
—I remained seated, still and distant, staring into a cup of cold tea, pretending it wasn't bitterness I tasted.