Night had settled over the palace, painting the corridors in silver and shadow. The day's chaos had passed—or so I thought—until a soft, deliberate summons arrived: Prince Lei requested wine in his chambers. The message was polite, almost casual, yet carrying an edge I couldn't ignore.
The messenger, a young page who looked far too nervous to be handling such delicate instructions, bowed and gestured for me to follow. I trailed behind, careful to keep my expression calm. Follow the rules, blend in, survive, I reminded myself, silently reviewing the potential pitfalls of visiting Prince Lei alone.
The corridor leading to his chambers smelled faintly of incense and polished wood, the air carrying that subtle tension palace halls always had at night. Every echo of our footsteps seemed unnaturally loud, and I forced myself to keep breathing evenly. My chest was tight, and my fingers itched to clench. I had no idea what this "wine call" was about, but instinct told me: it was either a trap or a test. Or both.
We arrived at the chamber, a door of dark polished mahogany glinting faintly in candlelight. The page knocked lightly before opening it, and I stepped inside, trying to seem natural.
Prince Lei was seated comfortably on a low divan, a cup of wine in hand. He had apparently been drinking for some time, though his composure was untouched, his expression calm as if nothing in the world could shake him. The room smelled faintly of plum wine and something older—books, dust, and the faint trace of leather bindings.
"Ah, Yuan Wei," he said, voice smooth, almost teasing. "Come in. Sit."
I bowed lightly, suppressing the urge to scan the room for traps. "Your Highness," I replied, trying to mask my racing heart. I sat across from him, careful to keep my posture casual. The wine cup sat between us like a neutral battleground.
"Wine is good for thinking," he said, lifting the cup to his lips. He sipped slowly, deliberately, and I couldn't tell if he was relaxed or if every movement was calculated to unsettle me. Probably both.
I followed suit, lifting my cup in a polite nod, though I had no idea what wine tasted like in this world. Bitter? Sweet? Poisoned? Survival instinct was screaming: don't drink too much, don't spill anything, don't laugh too loudly, don't—
He set the cup down, leaning back and resting his head against the divan. "You noticed the missing papers today," he said casually, voice light, almost teasing. "Interesting observation. Very clever of you to avoid making it sound like an accusation against yourself."
I blinked. "Your Highness, I… I only spoke as I observed." Smooth, neutral, plausible. Keep the charm layer thick. "It was not meant to offend anyone."
He smirked faintly, and I felt the subtle tension twist tighter. "Of course not. You handled it well. Very well. Even if the palace whispers otherwise." His eyes flicked to me, playful and unreadable. "You know why I covered for you, don't you?"
I froze for a half-second too long, careful not to show it. Why cover for me? My mind raced through possibilities. Did he want something? Did he enjoy having me in suspense? Was it simply… friendship? My modern brain wanted to laugh, but the palace rules didn't allow jokes at that cost.
"Why, Your Highness?" I asked cautiously, masking curiosity as politeness.
He gave me a faint smile, eyes softening, and leaned slightly closer. "Because… we are friends. Childhood friends. Always have been."
I nearly choked. Childhood friends? Memories of Yuan Wei in the novel had nothing like this. But he spoke with such certainty, so natural, that denial was impossible without making me look like a liar—or worse, a fool. So I nodded politely, letting my face wear the appropriate look of fond remembrance.
"Of course," I murmured. "Childhood friends." My voice was light, casual. Pretend. Improvise. Survive.
His eyes softened further. "Do you remember flying kites along the palace gardens?"
I blinked. Kites? No memory. But my smile was easy, smooth. "Yes, I… remember. The wind that day was strong. One nearly pulled my sleeve off."
He chuckled softly, clearly pleased by my answer. "And when one of us got too excited and tangled the string around the other's foot? That was your idea, wasn't it?"
I nodded slowly, tilting my head in mock reflection. "Ah, yes. That does sound like me. Always a practical joke in mind."
Prince Lei's lips curved into a grin. "And the little games with toys—sharing them when no one was looking, hiding them from the servants, then racing to trade them back?"
"Of course," I replied, leaning back in the divan and acting thoughtful. "We had such cunning plans as children." Smooth. Casual. Memory manufactured. None of this actually happened, but the palace couldn't know that.
He laughed quietly, a soft, amused sound that sent a shiver through me. "You were always clever, even then. I could tell the two of us were meant to understand one another, even if the world didn't approve."
I nodded, smiling faintly. "Yes, Your Highness. I suppose we were…" I trailed off, letting the sentence hang ambiguously. Friends, if he wanted it to be true. Convenient for survival. Convenient for now.
He took another slow sip of wine, eyes on me, still playful, still calculating. "Funny, isn't it? How small details from childhood can last in memory, shaping understanding even before one knows the rules?"
I sipped as well, careful not to swallow too quickly. Understanding the rules… or testing me? Probably both. His casual reminiscences were unsettling, layered with subtle power—an unspoken message that he controlled the narrative. And I had to play along.
We lingered in this odd rhythm, sipping wine, smiling, laughing quietly at tales of kites, toys, and minor childhood tricks that I had no memory of but was performing convincingly. He recounted chasing me around the gardens, laughing until he fell, sharing the smallest treasures we had pilfered from the servants' stores, even blaming me for a minor accident with a lantern. I nodded, chuckled, and responded appropriately, all the while feeling the tension of knowing I was improvising a life that wasn't mine.
"You always knew how to charm," he said softly, voice carrying an edge that suggested more than mere observation. "Even then, even before… everything."
I blinked. Charm. My modern brain screamed: Don't overdo it, don't screw up, don't let him see hesitation. I gave a modest shrug, smiling faintly. "Some things never change, I suppose."
Prince Lei laughed quietly, the sound soft but warm, and set his cup down. "You've learned fast, Yuan Wei. But the lessons of childhood aren't enough for palace life. You must be careful, always."
I nodded seriously, letting the casual smile linger. "Of course, Your Highness. I will tread carefully."
He leaned back again, watching me, eyes glinting in the candlelight. "You've grown, yet some things are familiar. I enjoy that… familiarity. It makes it easier to watch, to understand, to… tolerate certain accidents."
My stomach twisted. Tolerate certain accidents? That could mean anything—favor, warning, or veiled threat. I smiled faintly, letting the ambiguity hang between us. Survival first, always.
He gestured toward the wine. "Drink more. Tell me about the day. Your observations. The missing documents, the palace whispers. Your insight is valuable."
I raised my cup, pretending to sip thoughtfully. Observations. Insight. Answers. Lies. Survival. Every movement had to be precise. One misstep, one glance misinterpreted, and I could become the villain they were ready to accuse.
We spoke in this odd rhythm, about nothing and everything, stories half-true, memories half-invented, laughter light but tinged with suspense. I found myself sweating beneath the calm exterior. Every word, every nod, every laugh was a dance with Prince Lei's quiet observation.
Eventually, the wine diminished, the laughter faded, and the candlelight flickered shadows across the room. I exhaled silently. I had survived this private audience without revealing ignorance, guilt, or panic. And yet… the sense of unease lingered.
He gave me a final, faint smirk. "Good night, Yuan Wei. Sleep well. Tomorrow brings more… lessons."
I bowed, careful to mask the tension. "Of course, Your Highness. Sleep well, as well."
As I left his chambers, the hallway silent and cool around me, I realized just how dangerous charm could be. Childhood memories invented, wine shared, smiles exchanged—every step was a test. And Prince Lei had just reminded me that friendship, in this palace, was as sharp as any sword.
I couldn't shake the feeling that tonight's conversation was a warning, a puzzle, and an invitation all at once. And I had to figure out how to survive each layer without losing myself—or revealing the gaps in my memory that could cost me everything.