The aroma of steaming tea curled around the red pavilion, warm and fragrant in the early morning light. Yuan lowered himself carefully to the floor beside Princess Ming, the delicate porcelain cup balanced in his hands. Across from him, the princess settled gracefully, a gentle smile lighting her face as she poured her own tea, the liquid trembling slightly with the motion of her hands.
"Yuan Wei," she said softly, almost in awe, "I've heard that you are remarkably skilled. Quick with a blade, steady with a bow, clever in thought… even in situations most would find impossible."
Yuan blinked. His fingers froze around the cup. He knew where this praise was meant to go—Jian, of course—but it was landing squarely on him.
"I—I only do what I must," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "Nothing special."
Ming shook her head lightly, the dark strands of hair falling over her shoulders. "No, it is special. A person so disciplined and capable—someone who keeps his wits under pressure, who can protect others, and who does so without fanfare—is rare. Even in my kingdom, I've never met anyone quite like you."
Yuan froze. He had survived countless scrapes and schemes, but this—her admiration—was uncharted territory. He could almost hear Prince Jian behind him, silently noting every word, his composed face unreadable. And Third Prince Lei… well, Lei's expression was far too casual, leaning back as if he had seen this happen a thousand times and found it endlessly amusing.
"I am honored, Princess Ming," Yuan said carefully, keeping his voice low. "But I fear you may be overestimating my abilities."
Ming laughed softly, a sound that felt like a spring breeze, light but warm. "Perhaps. But I admire those who exceed expectations. That is why I am pleased to meet you." Her eyes softened, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and something he could not quite name.
The first sip of tea warmed Yuan's throat, and he let himself relax a fraction, though the weight of this meeting pressed down on him. In the novel, Ming's first interactions with anyone—especially with Prince Jian—were marked by hesitation, shy smiles, and careful politeness. Here, she was confident, precise, and yet strangely intimate in her attention, speaking to him as if she knew him, or perhaps as if she wanted to.
Yuan kept his gaze on his tea cup, careful not to show the slight tightening in his chest.
"Tell me," Ming said gently, leaning slightly forward, "is it true that you once trained for years to master the bow? That you can strike a target even at great distance, without a shadow of doubt?"
Yuan's heart skipped. He forced himself to meet her gaze, his calm demeanor intact. "It is true. But there are many better than I. I do what I can to survive."
Ming's lips curved in a knowing smile. "Survival is one thing, Yuan Wei. But skill and precision… that is admirable. And bravery is another. Not everyone dares to act decisively when faced with danger, yet you—" She paused, as if weighing her words carefully, "—you seem naturally composed. That is rare in someone so young."
Yuan's fingers tightened around the cup. Her words carried weight. They were praise, true and unmeasured. And yet, she had no knowledge of the hidden door, the stolen documents, or the real Yuan Wei's schemes. Her admiration was for the man in front of her, not for the villainous shadow the novel had painted him to be.
Prince Jian shifted slightly beside him, his dark eyes watching quietly, unreadable. Yuan couldn't tell whether the Crown Prince felt pride, irritation, or something more subtle entirely.
Lei, predictably, let out a soft hum of approval. "Careful, Yuan," he said lightly. "The princess seems to like you more than you realize. That could get… complicated."
Yuan swallowed. "I don't think she likes me at all," he said firmly, though even he knew the statement was half a lie.
Ming tilted her head, considering him thoughtfully. "It is not a matter of liking or disliking, Yuan Wei. It is a matter of acknowledging excellence where it exists. And I would be foolish not to recognize it."
The tea warmed him, both literally and figuratively. He had expected this meeting to be political, superficial, a test of etiquette. Instead, it was personal. Ming's praise felt like a gentle nudge, a recognition of skills and qualities she valued, and yet it carried no threat. Unlike the novel, she didn't harbor disdain, fear, or hatred toward him.
For a moment, Yuan allowed himself to relax. He set his cup down and met her gaze directly. "Thank you, Princess Ming. I will strive not to disappoint."
She smiled, genuinely pleased, and picked up her cup again. "I do not expect perfection. Only effort, honesty, and courage. Those alone are enough to earn respect."
The sound of the tea being poured into the cups filled the brief silence that followed, mingling with the morning air, soft and warm. Yuan glanced at the Crown Prince, who had not said a word, and felt a flash of unease. Jian's composure was infuriating, unreadable, but the quiet scrutiny made Yuan feel like a performer under a silent spotlight.
Lei, naturally, had already leaned back, a lazy grin on his face. "Enjoying your compliments, are you, Yuan?"
Yuan rolled his eyes discreetly, trying not to spill the tea. "Hardly. I'm just listening to history rewrite itself."
Ming tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "History? What do you mean?"
Yuan stiffened, aware that any answer here could lead to disaster. "Just… observing the palace and learning its ways," he said carefully. "It is my first time in a place like this."
Ming laughed softly, shaking her head. "I see. Well, that is understandable. But even newcomers can show remarkable talent."
Another sip of tea, and Yuan tried to focus on the warmth and flavor, letting it anchor him to the moment. He had survived debts, bars, and loan sharks in his previous life—surely he could handle a princess who praised him unintentionally and a palace full of unpredictable royals.
"You have remarkable composure, Yuan Wei," Ming continued after a pause. "Not many could remain calm and collected in a palace that is constantly moving, full of servants, guards, and responsibilities. It is a skill few master even after years."
Yuan let out a silent groan internally. Why is she telling me all of Jian's lines? He smiled politely, though his teeth gritted. "Your words are kind, Princess Ming."
Ming leaned slightly closer. "Kindness is not necessary, Yuan Wei. Recognition is. And I recognize what I see."
Prince Jian finally spoke, voice low and smooth, cutting through the soft morning hum. "She has a keen eye."
Yuan stiffened. Jian's tone was calm, yet not without weight. As if noting that Yuan had indeed caught her attention—but with a subtle warning embedded in the words.
Yuan bowed his head slightly. "I will keep that in mind, Your Highness."
Lei snickered. "Watch out, Yuan. History is being rewritten around you, and it seems the heroine is now admiring you instead of the Crown Prince."
Yuan resisted the urge to snap. Instead, he carefully stirred his tea, focusing on the warmth and the quiet crackle of the morning light falling across the polished floor.
Princess Ming's eyes softened as she observed him, and for the first time, Yuan realized something new. She did not fear him, she did not distrust him, she did not even regard him as the villain the book claimed he would be.
She admired what she could see: skill, bravery, intelligence—and composure under pressure.
And Yuan, the street-smart survivor of a life filled with debts and danger, realized something else:
This world had shifted, unpredictably. The novel's path was no longer fixed.
And perhaps, just perhaps, he could use that to his advantage.
The tea grew cold between them as conversation drifted to neutral topics: the morning sun, the wind in the palace gardens, the subtle architecture of the red pavilion. Ming laughed softly at Yuan's occasional dry wit, while Jian's composed presence remained a steady anchor nearby. Lei, predictably, kept a playful but watchful eye.
Yuan felt the odd, unfamiliar weight of their combined scrutiny pressing on him. Ming's praise, though flattering, made him more visible. His instincts told him that attention, no matter how kindly meant, could bring danger in this palace where secrets hid in every shadow.
Yet, as he lifted the delicate cup once more, he couldn't help but think—perhaps a single moment of genuine recognition, even in this strange, shifting story, could be more powerful than any strategy he had ever planned.
Even as the tension lingered, the tea continued to flow. And in that small moment, the world seemed to pause around them—Yuan, the princess, and the two princes—an unexpected harmony in a story that was no longer following the script.