Second month, thawing season
Ice broke on the palace canals like pottery shards.
The Emperor summoned the annual draft: every household with a son aged sixteen to twenty must register for possible conscription.
Wealth could buy exemption; poverty delivered boys to the frontier.
Rumour said the Wolf King massed cavalry beyond the northern passes; the court needed soldiers faster than rice could sprout.
Cadet Hall – Morning assembly
Commandant Guo posted duty rosters for the coming season.
Lan Yue found her name beside Zhao Shen's—a royal inspection tour of border granaries, departure in ten days.
Zhao Yuan read the same board, discovered his squad assigned to capital garrison—safe, prestigious, far from any charge.
He stared so long the ink seemed to frost.
When Yue approached he folded the parchment away, smile thin.
"Brother rides to hunger country; I mind the gate.
Fortune's dice."
She nudged his arm.
"Garrison keeps the heart beating.
We need you here."
He shrugged, but the set of his shoulders stayed winter.
Palace Garden – Afternoon
Shen walked the peach walk, ledger under arm.
Buds swelled above him like pink lanterns not yet lit.
Yue fell in step; they spoke of supply carts, fodder weights, road bandits.
When talk paused he said quietly,
"My brother's name never appeared on the border list.
Father kept him home."
"Would you rather he rode with us?" she asked.
"I would rather the choice were honest," he answered, gaze on the clouds.
"But courts run on favours, not fairness.
Remember that when we reach the granaries—grain tastes different when laced with politics."
Lower City – Evening
Curfew hadn't fallen, but tension already stalked the alleys.
Families queued at the registry office, clutching bamboo tallies.
Yue passed on her way to the armoury; she saw a mother press coins into a clerk's palm, saw the clerk shake his head—price had risen.
A boy beside the woman—barely sixteen, wrists like kindling—stared at the ground as if digging his own grave.
Yue's step slowed; she felt the swan pennant inside her cuff, the weight of royal favour that had once lifted her from grey cloth to white.
She took one silver leaf from her purse, slipped it to the clerk.
The tally changed hands; the boy's mother wept silently.
Yue walked on before gratitude could cling to her boots.
Night – Rooftop above the barracks
Yuan found her oiling arrowheads by moonlight.
He carried two cups of warm plum spirit.
"To thaw your conscience," he said.
She accepted; the drink burned sweet.
"I bought a boy free today," she admitted.
"One pebble in a landslide."
He stared across the city's dark roofs.
"I tried to buy five.
Clerk quoted a prince's ransom.
Father says prices soar when war drums beat."
He swallowed the rest of his cup, eyes watering from more than spirits.
"Sometimes I hate the palace walls.
They keep us safe, but they also keep us small."
She touched the rim of her cup to his.
"Then we chip the mortar—one pebble, one wall."
Palace Council – Three days later
The Emperor sealed the draft decree: forty thousand names, ink still wet.
Among them, slipped in at the last scroll, appeared Zhao Yuan, written in his father's hand.
The court buzzed—a prince sent to the ranks, unprecedented.
Only three people knew the truth: Shen had asked it, Yuan had agreed, and the Duke had signed to save face all round.
When Yue heard, she ran to the west garden.
She found Yuan packing kit: plain leather, no house crest.
"You volunteered?"
"Brother needs a reliable scout company; I need a reason to breathe," he said, tying spare bowstrings.
"Besides, someone must watch your back on the road."
He tried to smile; it came out crooked.
She punched his shoulder—not gentle.
"Next time ask before rewriting fate."
He caught her wrist, held a heartbeat longer than jest required.
"Would you have stopped me?"
"No," she whispered.
"But I would have brought better bandages."
Departure Eve – Armoury store-room
Shen inventoried helmets by lamplight.
Yue entered, placed a bundle on the table—new linen sewn with hare-and-swan motifs, small enough to fit inside a gauntlet.
"For both brothers," she said.
He unwrapped, fingers brushing the stitching.
"Mother used to sew such charms inside collars.
She claimed they kept arguments from turning into wounds."
He lifted his gaze.
"Thank you.
We will need every charm the road allows."
Outside, snowmelt dripped from eaves like a slow clock.
He spoke into the quiet.
"Whatever the granaries show us—rotted grain, empty bins, maggot-rice sold for gold—remember we serve the people who eat, not the clerks who count.
Hold to that, and we may yet return with honour intact."
She fastened her cloak, feeling the weight of tomorrow's miles settle across her shoulders.
"Honour is lighter than hunger," she answered.
"Let's make sure no one has to choose between them."
Dawn – Palace Gate
Horns sounded.
Two hundred riders formed column: supply wagons, cadet guards, grain auditors, one prince in plain armour.
Families lined the avenue, some waving, some weeping.
Yue took her place behind Shen; Yuan rode rear scout, red scarf now dyed drab brown.
As the gate arch swallowed them, she glanced back once—saw the Duke raise a hand, saw the Empress Dowager turn away, saw snowmelt steam on cobblestones like ghosts reluctant to leave.
Ahead, the northern road opened—mud, wind, and whatever truth the granaries chose to reveal.
She touched the hare-and-swan charm inside her cuff, nudged her horse forward, and entered the long uncertain spring.