The night had grown darker. Mò Lián sat on a low brick beneath the fig tree, her gaze fixed on the snowfall drifting gently from the sky. Each flake seemed to mirror her loneliness. Then, as if by some unseen will, the snowfall ceased.
Her heart sank further. She sat there in silence, regretting ever letting her heart fall for a foreigner — and now, the cruel truth: the man she loved was not just any man, but the Crown Prince himself.
Huā Yuán had been with her earlier, but she had gone to fetch a wish lantern. Mò Lián, lost in the heaviness of her thoughts, did not even notice her return.
When she finally looked up, she saw Huā Yuán standing there, holding two lanterns. A small, fragile smile tugged at her lips as tears slid down her cheeks.
Huā Yuán dropped the lanterns without a second thought and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her.
"It's okay," she whispered, patting Mò Lián's hair. "It's okay..."
Mò Lián clung to her, unable to hold back her trembling. Then she pulled away, straightening herself.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
Together, they lit the lanterns. Closing their eyes, they made their wishes. Huā Yuán's gaze lingered on Mò Lián, watching every detail of her sorrow-shadowed face. I wish you didn't have to suffer anymore; she thought silently.
When Mò Lián opened her eyes, she saw the night sky dotted with rising lanterns — stars of human hope glowing against the dark. A gentle smile touched her lips. Huā Yuán's heart warmed just watching her.
They sat side by side again, watching children run and play in the snow. For a fleeting moment, it felt almost like peace.
But Mò Lián's mind wandered back. Memories of her childhood pressed against her heart. She remembered the bruise that once marked her wrist, the laughter of children mocking her, the whispered curses of adults.
"She's a demon."
"She killed her mother and dragged her father into poverty. What good can come from her?"
The cruel voices echoed in her ears until her chest tightened and tears welled again.
"Huā Yuán..." she murmured suddenly, glancing at her. "How did you leave the maids' quarters?"
Huā Yuán froze, then looked away, her voice calm. "I always have my way when I want to be alone."
Mò Lián stood. "I'm leaving."
Huā Yuán's eyes widened. She leapt to her feet and grabbed Mò Lián's wrist. "Why?" Her voice cracked as tears spilled. "Don't leave! You don't have to run to solve everything."
"I have to," Mò Lián whispered, tears streaming.
"What about me?" Huā Yuán fell to her knees, clutching at Mò Lián's thigh. "You can't leave me behind!"
Mò Lián bent down and held her shoulders.
"I'll come back when I can, for now... I have to go."
She cupped Huā Yuán's cheek tenderly.
Huā Yuán broke, sobbing against her, but at last, Mò Lián pulled away. She left the palace grounds quietly and made her way back to her father's rented apartment. The door was locked when she arrived, so she sat beside the door, weeping under the cold night sky.
The cruel voices from her past clawed at her mind.
"She's cursed. She should never have been born."
Her tears fell harder as she hugged her knees.
Meanwhile, the grand event at the palace still roared with music, laughter, and fireworks. But the Crown Prince was nowhere to be seen. He had fled the moment he saw Mò Lián, his chest tight with regret. He searched for her but could not find her.
Returning reluctantly, he bumped into a young woman. She stumbled, about to fall, but he caught her in his arms.
The girl lifted her face, her eyes flashing with arrogance and surprise. She was Princess Xǔ Bìyáo of Fujian.
He helped her straighten, but her foot caught on her long dress again, forcing him to steady her. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Where are you heading?" he asked.
"To my father," she replied, though her gaze did not leave his face. She pointed toward a hall, and he carried her there without hesitation.
"Enjoy your night," he said with a faint smile as he set her down.
Xǔ Bìyáo turned, meeting her father's watchful gaze. A strange spark lingered in her chest, though she quickly masked it.
The celebration only grew livelier as fireworks burst above the capital. Yet behind the grandeur, alliances were quietly forming. The King of Fujian had already set his heart on one thing — his daughter would marry the Crown Prince of this land.
Lord Chen and his sister left the event when it turned into an exchange of fists over money. They left the palace grounds, but curiosity clung to them like a shadow. Lord Chen hissed under his breath as they walked, restless, until his sister could no longer endure it.
"I know something is going on with my daughter and Jùn—"
He didn't finish. His sister slapped her palm against his mouth. He froze, staring at her, but her eyes darted sharply around the street. When she was sure no one lingered too close, she let go.
"Do you not know where you are?" she whispered harshly. "This is the capital. The king just revealed the prince to the public, and here you are—spilling his name as though he were your servant." She glared, her hands folding neatly behind her back, one palm gripping the other.
"Hmph." She shook her head. "Who knows what he wants? He is a noble, after all."
Lord Chen's jaw tightened. His chest swelled with grief and rage.
"My child grew up only to meet problems she knew nothing about. Why... why!" he shouted, throwing his face to the sky.
Passersby slowed, curious at the sight. His sister's heart raced—her brother was drawing too much attention.
"Why does this not have a solution?" His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground. His voice broke as old dreams clawed at him—dreams that had haunted him since before his wife's death. "She has suffered so much..."
"Brother, stand up!" his sister begged, trying to lift him. "People are watching. They will think you're mad."
But he only trembled harder. His eyes burned as he lifted his face to the heavens.
"Please, leave my daughter," he cried. "You already took my wife—what more do you want?" His voice shattered, and for a moment, even his sister stood in silence, confused and aching.
—
That night, most servants in the capital enjoyed their holiday for the festival. But a few maids remained at work, punished for sneaking away during the ceremonial preparations. Yù Xuān was among them.
At the palace, Yù Xuān was assigned to the temple to assist a priest. She went reluctantly, her heart heavy, but when she stepped into the dimly lit hall, the flickering lanterns revealed a familiar figure.
It was not just any priest.
It was her father.
For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, her breath caught in her chest. Her father turned, the weariness of sleepless nights etched deep into his face—but when his eyes met hers, they softened with a light he had long buried.
"Xuān'er..." His voice cracked, trembling with both disbelief and yearning.
Her mother appeared moments later, carrying a tray of offerings. The sight of her daughter made her drop it, fruit scattering across the floor like startled birds. She rushed forward, tears spilling freely, clutching Yù Xuān as though afraid she might vanish if she let go.
Her parents were overjoyed, but Yù Xuān's heart felt tangled. She could not bear the weight of their embrace, nor the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. She stepped back, bowing her head to hide her eyes.
"I... I cannot stay. Forgive me," she whispered, her voice tight with restraint.
Before either could stop her, she turned and hurried away, leaving behind the echo of their sorrow and the ache of unspoken words.
She excused herself quickly and slipped into the night, her steps carrying her aimlessly through the streets.
Then she heard it—a familiar voice, loud, broken, echoing into the night air. Her heart stopped. She followed the sound until she saw Lord Chen, shouting into the sky, tears running down his cheeks.
Her chest tightened. She ran toward them.
"What else do you want!" he cried again, remembering how his daughter trembled in her sleep—not from sickness, but from nightmares. "Has she not suffered enough?"
As his words cracked, his eyes dropped—and there, standing close, was a figure. His heart skipped.
"My daughter... is that you?" he whispered, stumbling closer.
"Your mother is gone, but you will not go anywhere." But when the lantern's light touched her face, it was not Mò Lián. It was Yù Xuān.
Pain slammed into him like a hammer. His lips quivered as he whispered, "Mò Lián..."
His sister tugged at his sleeve, urging him to leave. But Yù Xuān grabbed her wrist.
"Can I come with you? To your home?" she asked softly, her eyes pleading.
His sister hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."
—
When they reached their rented apartment, gossip swirled in the air. Room-keepers lingered at the doorway, whispering with strange expressions.
"Looks like there's a dead body," one muttered, noticing Lord Chen's approach.
"What nonsense is that?" his sister snapped.
"The road is bright. See for yourself," they sneered, stepping aside.
Fear crawled into their chests. They rushed forward, the lantern light spilling across the doorway—and there, behind the door, a figure sat collapsed.
A woman, well dressed, her arms wrapped tightly around her folded legs, her head buried in her knees.
Lord Chen's sister bent and nuzzled her. The body tipped sideways, almost lifeless.
It was Mò Lián.
Yù Xuān screamed, her voice tearing through the night. Lord Chen stood frozen, words locked in his throat.
They carried her inside.
Lord Chen sat beside his daughter, clutching her hand as his sister brought a warm towel.
Yù Xuān lingered at the door, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Please, Lord..." Her eyes lifted to the ceiling as if begging heaven itself.
Exhaustion finally overcame them. They fell asleep in the room, keeping watch over Mò Lián.
—
Dream.
"Lián..."
The voice drifted through the darkness like a whisper on the wind. Mò Lián turned sharply, her bare feet echoing on a ground she could not see. Shadows stretched endlessly around her.
"Lián..." The voice called again, deeper, closer—yet inhuman.
Her chest tightened. "Where am I? Who brought me here?" she cried out, her voice trembling.
A laugh echoed, low and cold. "Do you want to know, my little Lián?"
The darkness twisted, thickening into a figure. A shadow with no face, only burning eyes.
"Please... leave me alone!" She fell to her knees, her hands pressed against her ears. But the voice pierced through her.
"You were born of blood and sorrow," the shadow hissed, each word vibrating through the void like thunder under her skin. "Before your first cry, the heavens had already cursed your name. The womb that bore you split in death, and from that death, you opened your eyes."
"No—stop!" she screamed.
"Do you not wonder, cursed child, why the world shuns you? Why their eyes turn cold, why their whispers call you demon?" The voice rose, sharp and merciless. "Every step you take drags grief behind you. Every bond you form festers and breaks. Love, even love, will not spare you—your touch brings ruin."
The shadow crouched, its smoky form curling around her like a serpent. "You cannot escape me. Wherever you go, I am bound to you. The curse flows through your veins. My spirit inside you will rise... but at a price."
Tears streamed down her face. "I don't want this! I don't want to hurt anyone!"
The shadow tilted its faceless head, almost amused. "Then you should had never been born."
"Mò Lián..." The voice sank to a whisper, but it was everywhere, seeping into her bones. "Soon, they will all see."
The shadow's eyes flared red, boring into her soul. "Your life is not yours. You are the blade hidden in the silk, when the blue flame within you awakens... all who cherish you will burn."
A gust of wind howled, swallowing her cry. The ground beneath her feet cracked like ice.
She woke with a gasp, tears spilling from her eyes. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling, panting. Then she looked around.
Her family was there, all sleeping—including Yù Xuān.
A faint smile touched her lips.
The lantern in the room still burns hard.
Quietly, she sat up. Careful not to wake her father, who had fallen asleep beside her, she slipped off the bed. But as she crept toward the door, Yù Xuān opened her eyes.
Mò Lián pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhhh."
Yù Xuān's eyes widened at her strange, almost mischievous movement.
The two slipped out of the room. The air outside was crisp, soft with dawn. Mò Lián's steps were light, almost playful.
"Let's go to the stream," she said, her voice carrying a spark of freedom.
Before following, Yù Xuān paused in the chamber. Her fingers trembled as she set down a letter on a low table, making sure it was impossible to miss.
The ink bled softly into the parchment: We are at the stream. Mò Lián is fine. She pressed her palm against it.
They slipped away, feet barely touching the worn path, until the sound of trickling water reached their ears.
The stream glistened like liquid glass, its current soft yet restless. The air was cool, fragrant with wet earth and distant lotus. Every ripple seemed alive, whispering of freedom; Yù Xuān's steps quickened as though drawn to the water.
Mò Lián knelt at the bank, her reflection broken by the ripples. She dipped her hand into the current, shivering at its chill. For a moment, it felt as though the stream itself was tugging at her soul, urging her to let go, to surrender to something greater than herself.
"This stream..." Yù Xuān whispered. "...It connects the palace to the world outside."
Mò Lián lifted her gaze; the moonlight caught in her eyes.
The water moved on—carrying with it the weight of unspoken truths.