"Bǎihé... Bǎihé... listen... Bǎihé!"
A voice called persistently, distant yet urgent.
Shadows flickered across Bǎihé's closed eyes.
"We must change our fate... you must change it! Focus, listen! Change is approaching—our bloodline!"
Bǎihé jolted awake, her breath shallow. Warm sunlight spilled across the silk canopy above her bed, piercing through the carved wooden shutters. Her vision swam, adjusting to the morning glow.
Hépíng, who had been quietly tidying the chamber, gasped and rushed to her side.
"Gōngzhǔ, are you alright?"
Bǎihé nodded faintly, beads of sweat dampening her forehead despite the cool morning air.
"I... need water," she whispered hoarsely.
Hépíng quickly poured a cup of fresh water from the porcelain jug and guided it to her lips.
"Was it the dreams again?" she asked, her tone heavy with worry.
Bǎihé gave a slow nod.
"We must send for a physician," Hépíng urged, wringing her hands.
But Bǎihé shook her head firmly, slipping the covers aside. The polished floor was cool against her bare feet.
"No... I only need a breath of fresh air."
"Gōngzhǔ!" Hépíng cried softly, rushing after her.
"Change first—you're still in your nightgown."
Bǎihé paused, then gave a faint smile and nodded in agreement.
⸻
The two soon walked together beneath the quiet corridors of the morning, the cool air of the gardens settling around them.
"Bloodline?" Hépíng repeated, still puzzled.
Bǎihé lowered her gaze and nodded.
"I don't know what it means... only that someone is warning me. The dreams grow stronger—closer."
"But Gōngzhǔ... how can that be possible?" Hépíng whispered.
Bǎihé shook her head, her face troubled.
"I do not know," she finally said.
⸻
"Bǎihé!"
A familiar voice rang out. Both women turned swiftly.
Haoyu stood there, waving warmly, with Yíchén a few paces behind in the shadows.
"You weren't in your courtyard, so I came looking," Haoyu said with a smile.
"Oh, I see," Bǎihé answered, stepping forward with Hépíng by her side.
"We planned to dine together today, remember? Also..." Haoyu hesitated, his tone softening, "I heard the news of Duyi's passing. Please send my condolences to Huan."
Bǎihé shook her head.
"She does not wish to see anyone. Best to give her space. Let us simply go to the Plum House—I want to watch a performance today."
Haoyu studied her closely. "Are you alright? Your eyes look puffy... as though you've been crying." His hand lifted gently to her cheek.
Bǎihé froze, realizing Hépíng had not mentioned the tears she had shed the entire night after Chún dù's words.
"Oh... it's nothing," she whispered.
Haoyu gave a small nod. "Then let us go." He let his hand fall, but kept hold of hers as they walked on.
⸻
At the Plum House, the performance had already begun. Gentle strings and flute music filled the air, soft as mist over water. Male dancers moved in fluid unison, their robes unfurling like cranes taking flight.
"I didn't know you frequented the Plum House," Haoyu remarked.
"Recently, yes. At first, I only entered because I heard a zither playing from outside."
"The performance is excellent. General Kōng has been explaining each piece to me," Bǎihé said lightly, her eyes shifting toward Yíchén.
"Since when?" Haoyu frowned.
"Oh... never mind. I thought he had eventually told you."
"No, he did not," Haoyu replied, a trace of firmness in his voice.
"It matters little," Bǎihé said softly. "I can see why you value his company—he is knowledgeable."
Haoyu only busied himself with the dried beef he had ordered, uncertain of how to respond.
"Can you play the zither for me?" Bǎihé asked suddenly, her eyes lighting with childlike excitement.
"Ah... sure," Haoyu said, though hesitation lingered.
⸻
They moved into a private chamber followed by Yí chén and Hépíng where a lacquered zither awaited. Haoyu sat across from them, beads of sweat forming at his brow. He had only ever learned one song—A Solemn Heart—back when his father urged him to please the princess. For years he had followed that duty, not realizing that his own heart had changed.
He plucked the strings. The notes rang harsh and broken. He winced, struggling to recall the melody.
Bǎihé watched, noticing the way his hands faltered. Quietly, she rose and sat beside him.
"I think I have forgotten how to play as well. Let us relearn... together," she said, placing her hand gently over his.
Haoyu's lips curved in a small, grateful smile.
Together, they pressed the strings, trying to summon the rhythm. The notes stumbled, messy and unsteady. Yíchén stood apart, arms folded, his face shadowed with irritation. That song... how can she still...
A jarring, out-of-tune note cut through the chamber, ringing painfully.
Bǎihé burst into laughter. Haoyu flushed crimson, but her smile eased his shame.
"Forgive me. I know how much you cherish this piece."
"It is fine," Bǎihé replied softly, still holding his hand. "Perhaps it is best to let the song rest. It has never sounded the same since..." She paused, her eyes dimming. "...since I lost the one who first made me love it."
"Oh..." Haoyu said quietly, finally understanding.
"Shall we return?" Bǎihé asked with a smile, releasing his hand.
"I will have Kōng escort you back. There is someone I must meet here," Haoyu replied.
"Very well," Bǎihé said, rising.
"I will visit the palace tomorrow," he added.
She smiled faintly. "I'll see you then."
⸻
The walk through the lantern-lit streets was calm, yet Bǎihé's heart felt restless. She had no desire to return to the palace just yet.
"Hépíng," she said.
"Yes, Gōngzhǔ?"
"Go on ahead. I'll catch up later."
"I cannot leave you alone," Hépíng protested.
"General Kōng is with me," Bǎihé assured her, glancing at Yíchén. "He will keep me safe."
Reluctantly, Hépíng bowed and left.
Bǎihé turned to Yíchén with a faint smile.
"Will you drink with me?"
"I know a place with excellent jasmine tea," he offered.
"No—not tea. A real drink," she replied, already stepping toward a nearby tavern.
⸻
They sat at a low wooden table, cups quickly filled before them.
"I did not know you drank, my princess," Yíchén said, pouring for her.
"Only on occasion. I am a light drinker."
"And tonight is such an occasion?"
"Loss," Bǎihé murmured, raising her cup. "I grieve for my sister... and Duyi was like a younger brother to me." She downed the drink quickly, her eyes clouded.
Yíchén nodded, offering silent understanding.
"I didn't want to speak of it... but sadness has its way," she sighed, pouring another cup.
"Grief is natural," Yíchén said gently. "About the song, The solemn heart...you mentioned losing someone who made you love the song."
Bǎihé's hand paused on the cup. Her brows furrowed.
"Oh..." she said quietly when realization struck.
Silence lingered.
"My childhood friend," she whispered. "He didn't die... but I lost him nonetheless."
"How did you lose him?" Yíchén asked softly.
Bǎihé traced the rim of the ceramic cup, eyes distant.
"A long story," she said, before finishing her drink.
She reached to pour another, but Yíchén caught her hand.
"My princess, that is enough. It grows late. Allow me to escort you back."
Bǎihé, unsteady, shook her head.
"No... let us walk." She rose clumsily, swaying.
"Princess!" Yíchén exclaimed, catching her before she fell.
She tried to push him away. "I am not drunk!"
He steadied her gently. "You'll draw unwanted attention. Please, come with me." He extended his hand.
Bǎihé hesitated, then finally placed her hand in his. With quiet patience, Yíchén led her out into the night.