Yuecheng walked through the small garden, his steps slow and thoughtful. His gaze lingered on the statue of a woman standing in the center of the courtyard, wondering what it really meant. He'd asked his mother once, but she hadn't known. His father would always shrug it off, saying he was too busy.
Yuecheng had inherited his mother's golden hair, his father's sharp black eyes, and his noble, masculine features. Combined with his calm, reflective nature, people of the court often called him "The Golden Angel."
He didn't mind the title – but sometimes it felt too flattering, maybe even a little overpraising.
He liked quiet walks like this. The silence brought him peace.
Unfortunately, his mind was never quiet. Since birth, he'd heard a voice in his head – a presence he called the voice from the stars.
Ughhh. The sound of frustrated sighing echoed in his thoughts.
