It was nearing the end of winter's second month when Princess Zhenli declared, quite plainly,
that she would not be returning to the capital anytime soon.
She did so during a quiet afternoon walk with Lianhua beneath the plum trees, now bare-limbed and skeletal, their blossoms months away. A few of the younger maids trailed behind them with handwarmers and parasols, though the sky was pale and still.
"I've decided I like Long Zhi," Zhenli said with a dramatic toss of her thick braid. "And I think you need me."
Lianhua chuckled. "I do?"
"Of course. Who else tells you who not to trust? Malati certainly won't. She stares at everyone like she's already made up her mind."
Lianhua's smile lingered. "And who, pray, should I not trust?" Zhenli looked serious for a moment."Fourth brother. Lujian."
The name dropped like frost into the air between them.
"He is charming," Zhenli added, "But he changes his face too quickly. He never looks anyone in
the eye when he compliments them. He only glances to see if they liked it."
"You observe more than most grown courtiers."
Zhenli puffed her chest. "That's because no one notices children. So I listen. I listen to all the time."
They walked a few more paces.
"Besides," Zhenli said thoughtfully, "I like you. You're quiet. But not because you're weak. It's
because you're waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"I haven't figured that out yet."
Later that evening, in the warm hearth-lit comfort of Lianhua's study, Zhenli continued her gentle unravelling of the royal tapestry.
"I'll tell you everything," she said while nibbling on candied ginger. "But you can't write it down. If you do, I'll say you lied."
"Agreed," Lianhua said, amused. "Tell me, then—who are your brothers, really?"
Zhenli began counting on her fingers, her small voice surprisingly steady.
"First brother, Shen Xianzhang, is the crown prince. He's very strict. Sometimes people say he's arrogant, but I don't think he is. He just believes no one else can be trusted to hold the empire.
He doesn't laugh much. He has a wife from the Liang household—very poised, not very warm."
She shifted her hand.
"Second brother, Huairen, is my favourite. He studies everything. Languages, old scriptures, military texts, foreign maps. But he doesn't want power. He says he'd rather be forgotten and free than remembered and used."
"Third brother," she said more softly, "is Wuying. He's quiet. Very kind to me. But people are always afraid of what he might become. I don't know why. He never gets angry. But his silences feel… heavy."
Lianhua felt a slow chill as the girl's words settled in the room.
"Fourth brother, Lujian, is clever. Too clever. He makes jokes that no one laughs at unless they want something from him. He doesn't like his first brother. I think he likes power more than he should."
"Fifth brother," she smiled now, "is Lord Shen—your husband. I never knew him well before.
But he sent me a brush set once when he heard I was learning to write poetry. It had carvings of clouds and wolves."
"And the sixth?"
"Oh, Sixth brother is still a baby. Not a literal baby, but he's still learning. He's from a northern concubine. Always surrounded by tutors and guards. The Empress doesn't like him."
"And you?" Lianhua asked gently. "Who is your mother?"
Zhenli's tone softened. "The emperor's second wife. She's kind. But not strong like the Empress.
That's why Huairen looks after us both."
She set down her ginger. "The Empress is the mother of the first and third brothers. The third Consort birthed Lujian. And your Lord Shen… no one talks about his mother. Except nanny Mei."
The name hung in the air.
It wasn't the first time Lianhua had heard it whispered in passing—the nameless mother, the Forgotten woman, the silence that birthed a shadow.
And from Zhenli's eyes, she knew that the silence meant pain.
That night, Lianhua stood beneath the eaves of the back courtyard. Snow had begun to fall—fine as powdered glass. Somewhere inside, a stringed instrument was being tuned, its echo haunting and far away.
She felt the cold wind on her hands and the hairpin heavy in her braid.
Liwei had not spoken to her in days.
But his shadow passed across her door each night—slow, steady, present.
And it was enough to make the silence harder to bear.
A man who does not speak but leaves behind warmth— how long before the silence melts?