"Gōngzhǔ Fāng doesn't love him—and he doesn't love her." Hépíng muttered, dropping a bundle of damp garments beside Xiu, a fellow servant in the courtyard of Princess Bǎo, the last princess of the dynasty. Steam rose faintly from the copper basins, and the air smelled of soap and wet fabric.
Xiu's eyes darted nervously to the other maids, each bent diligently over their tasks. "Shhh!" she hissed, her voice barely above the splashing of water.
Hépíng rolled her eyes with weary defiance.
"And how do you know this?"
"Right before he left for the military camp... he told me himself."
Xiu's scrubbing slowed, her brow furrowing. "When was that? And more importantly, why would he tell you such a thing?"
Hépíng hesitated, the corners of her lips twitching as if she regretted speaking.
"I just think..." she faltered.
Xiu leaned closer, urging her silently to continue.
"Well, I mean... the princess had only ever loved only one boy before. We do not speak his name sadly, but everyone knew how she adored him before the prince came along. I think this engagement—it's a sham. Perhaps the love she once had for the prince is nothing more than a coping mechanism."
"Hépíng!" Xiu's voice cracked as she looked around, startled. "You cannot say such things. If anyone overhears, it could cost us both dearly."
Still, Hépíng pressed on, her voice trembling with both fear and conviction.
"I only think the prince deserves better. He is kind, well-mannered, and—"
"Don't tell me you still have a little crush on him." Xiu cut her off, shaking her head in dismay.
Hépíng bit her lip, lowering her gaze. "No... I just think..." Her words trailed off like the last drop of water sliding from a washed garment.
Xiu sighed, her expression softening into pity. "Don't, Hépíng. Leave it. Whether you know it or not, a relationship between a prince and a servant can never be. Such a thought is dangerous."
Silence hung between them, heavy as damp linens.
At last, Xiu handed her a bundle of clothes. "Now, don't sulk. Help me with the scrubbing instead of sitting there dreaming." Her tired smile carried both warning and comfort.
⸻
Elsewhere, beneath the reddening sky, Bǎihé and Haoyu wandered hand in hand through the lively streets of the city. Lanterns were being lit one by one, their warm glow flickering against the coming dusk. Laughter spilled from teahouses, and the faint scent of roasted chestnuts drifted on the evening air.
"You should head back to the palace now," Haoyu said softly, reluctance in his tone.
"Where are you staying?" Bǎihé asked, her eyes bright.
"At the Hòu mansion. But I'll come see you tomorrow—we'll go horse riding," he promised, holding her hands tighter, as though unwilling to let go.
"I'll escort you back."
Bǎihé shook her head lightly, strands of hair brushing her cheek.
"No, I have somewhere to be this evening."
Haoyu frowned. "Will you be safe on your own? Let me escort you—"
"It's fine," she interrupted, her voice teasing, though her eyes carried secrets. "I'll leave now. You go rest."
"But—"
"Bye!" Bǎihé laughed, cutting him off. She gave Yíchén, who stood nearby, a brief acknowledging smile before skipping away into the crowd, her robes flowing like a drifting petal.
Haoyu's laughter faded into silence. His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, but his mind felt distant, clouded.
"Follow Bǎihé," he ordered quietly. "Make sure she is safe."
Yíchén raised a brow, his tone sharp. "I'm not your lap dog. Do it yourself."
Haoyu's jaw tightened, but his voice softened almost into pleading. "Please."
Something in his tone made Yíchén pause. With a reluctant nod, he turned and disappeared into the busy streets, shadowing the princess from afar.