Spring is in the heart of the Liang estate, a season of endless bloom. Petals of cherry and plum trees danced freely with the wind, blanketing the stone paths in hues of soft pink and ivory. In the center of this picturesque world stood Liang Yueqin, her tiny feet barely stepping into the world, her laughter light, her cheeks flushed like roses. She was six years old, the apple of the entire household's eye, the jewel born of the first wife of General Liang.
"Yueqin, slow down, please!" a servant called out breathlessly, chasing after the child as she darted around the courtyard, a silk ribbon streaming from her braid like a fluttering banner of joy.
"I want to see the koi first! The red ones are my favorite cause it's bright!" she giggled, her voice clear as chimes ducking under the servant's arm.
Her world was small but rich, spun from the silks of palace gifts and the weight of ancestral glory.
Her father, General Liang Zhen, was a man of towering stature and a fierce legacy whose name was revered by rebels and court ministers alike. Yet at home, to Yueqin, he was the kind father who lifted her high onto his shoulders and carried her through parades.
"You are my lucky star," he would often murmur, letting her small fingers touch the medals on his chest.
Everyone in the manor, from the old wet nurse to the guards by the main gate, adored her. The kitchen prepared her favorite candied chestnuts even when rations were tight. Embroiderers crafted toys from imported fabric. Tutors rarely raised their voice when she dozed off during poetry recitation.
But not all children in the Liang household were adored equally.
Liang Ruyue, her younger half-sister born to a quiet concubine from a humble background, has always lived in the shadows of Yueqin's brightness. She watched from a distance as her father swept Yueqin into his arms, her knees bruised from sword drills.
At five, Ruyue was already being trained like a son; her mornings were filled with calluses, her nights spent memorizing military classics, and her face was always pale from exhaustion.
"Father only scolds Ruyue because she's not doing well enough," Yueqin once whispered to her maid, oblivious to the weight of her own words. "He doesn't scold me because he loves me more."
And honestly, she believed it.
For Yueqin, love had always been easy, immediate, and all-consuming, just like what she felt the day she met Zhao Yanrui.
That afternoon, the estate was in an unusual stir. The Crown Prince was visiting for martial lessons with the General. Yueqin's mother had her dressed in a pale pink Hanfu embroidered with butterflies, her cheeks dabbed with powder, and her hair tied up with tiny jade ornaments.
"He's older than you, and also of important status," her mother had warned gently, smoothing a crease from her sleeve. "Mind your manners, my dear."
But Yueqin had no intention of merely watching.
Zhao Yanrui was ten that year, tall for his age, with eyes dark as winter lakes. His every movement was precise, and his presence already carried the weight of a future emperor. He was dressed in a muted robe of midnight blue, hair tied neatly at his nape, with posture impeccable as he stood beside the General in the training yard.
Yueqin peeked from behind a pillar, wide-eyed, heart fluttering. She felt something strange, like a thousand butterflies had nested inside her chest. And when he turned and glanced at her, she froze.
He frowned slightly. "Who is that?" he asked not unkindly but without warmth.
"She's my eldest daughter," General Liang said proudly. "Yueqin, come greet His Highness."
Yueqin ran forward too fast, stumbled, and landed on her knees with her arms open. "Your Highness!" she chirped, eyes sparkling. "You're very handsome, like a man from my paintings!"
Gasps rippled among the servants.
Zhao Yanrui blinked. "You're… not supposed to say that."
"But it's true!" she declared, completely unbothered. "I'm going to marry you when I grow up!"
Silence.
Then, the General let out a booming laugh. "She's too bold for her good!"
Yanrui said nothing. His face didn't change. He offered her a shallow nod and turned back to the General.
But that didn't matter to Yueqin. For the rest of the day, she followed him around like a duckling, bringing him sweets, fanning him in the heat, and even attempting to imitate his sword stances with a broom.
Ruyue stood by the edge of the courtyard with the other young trainees, sweat soaking her back as she executed perfect forms under her father's critical eye. Her hands bled from gripping the wooden sword too tightly. Not once did her father look at her with the indulgent pride he gave Yueqin.
But Yueqin didn't notice.
She only noticed Zhao Yanrui and his quiet power, his grace, the slight tilt of his brow when he found her annoying, and the rare, fleeting glance when he was almost amused.
That night, Yueqin crawled into her mother's bed, cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Mother," she whispered, "I've decided."
"Decided what, my pearl?"
"I will become the Crown Princess one day. You'll see, mother!"
Her mother smiled, faintly brushing her hair. "Do you love him that much already, now?"
"I do," she said with innocent conviction. "He will love me back, too. One day."
In the years that followed, Yueqin's love remained steady—like the moon's devotion to the sun. Every visit from Zhao Yanrui became her festival. She dressed in her best silks, rehearsed lines in front of the mirror, and practiced calligraphy with his name hidden in the strokes. He never responded with affection, but he didn't push her away either. Sometimes he would sigh, sometimes he'd ignore her entirely, but once in a while, he would ask if she had been well, and that alone would send her heart soaring for days.
The entire manor humored her dream.
"She's the perfect match," they whispered. "A gentle, noble girl from a great family."
Even the Emperor seemed charmed by her sincerity when she was presented formally at the palace during her coming-of-age ceremony.
"She is pure-hearted," he said thoughtfully. "She brings warmth where she walks. Let the engagement be announced."
Liang Yueqin wept from joy.
Ruyue, by then, had grown into a poised, cold young woman who spoke little and kept to her books and sword. She never expressed opinions on Yueqin's engagement and never smiled when the other servants congratulated her. She merely bowed and left the room.
"She must be jealous," Yueqin thought at the time. "She doesn't have anyone to love her like Zhao Yanrui loves me."
She still hadn't noticed.
She hadn't seen how Zhao Yanrui's gaze lingered longer when Ruyue passed by during training. She hadn't heard the quiet conversations they shared when the night was still. She hadn't wondered why Ruyue's harshest scolding came only when she made mistakes in front of him. She hadn't realized that the distance Yanrui gave her wasn't shyness, it was retreat.
Not yet.
In her heart, Yueqin still believed that love, like everything else in her life, would come to her if she just waited patiently, brightly, and beautifully.
Because she was the flower everyone adored.
Because she was the chosen one.
Because she loved him purely.
And surely, she thought that was enough.