All Yue wanted was to slip back unnoticed before the palace stirred awake but she followed a broken melody and offered comfort to a forgotten consort. As their tunes form, how much more would her past be unraveled?
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Yue carefully entered the hidden garden through a secret gate, her steps softly landing on moss-covered stones. The morning sun was up, painting the sky with pink and gold hues.
Soon, palace servants would fill the courtyards, and Yue couldn't afford to be seen looking like this.
She paused behind a pillar, scanning for any watchful eyes, then swiftly crossed an open courtyard.
Her muscles ached from the morning's activities. Her mind wandered back to being close to Wan, their faces just inches apart—
Yue quickly brushed away the thought. Such thinking could only cause trouble.
She heard a beautiful, haunting melody in the morning air near her quarters.
The guzheng music was lovely, yet it seemed wounded, like a bird with an injured wing trying to fly. Yue hesitated.
She should return to her room to avoid being seen, but the music tugged at her emotions.
Following the sound, she found herself at a small pavilion overlooking the western lotus pond. The water mirrored the morning light with ripples of gold.
Consort Lan sat alone in the pavilion's center, her slender fingers dancing across the guzheng strings. Her eyes were closed, her face calm yet touched with a sadness softening her reserved look.
Yue stood still, not wanting to interrupt.
Consort Lan rarely attended court events, preferring the quieter corners of the palace. Although the Emperor hadn't visited her in years, she held herself with dignity and grace.
Suddenly, the music stumbled. Consort Lan's fingers shook, but she continued to play, focused on overcoming whatever had briefly overwhelmed her.
Consort Lan's fingers slipped again, the harsh notes breaking the morning peace. She winced, tensed her shoulders, and took a deep, shaky breath.
In the dawn light, her face looked pale and tired, with shadows under her eyes. She cleared her throat and began to sing, but her voice was not the clear, lovely sound everyone knew.
Instead, it came out as a hoarse whisper, breaking on the higher notes.
Lan stopped suddenly, putting her hand to her neck, coughing into her sleeve.
"Not now," she muttered, her voice shaky. "Not with the feast so close."
Yue felt a wave of sympathy. The Qarakhai diplomats would arrive soon, and each consort had duties to impress them.
Consort Lan's musical talent was her main link to court life; the Emperor once praised her voice as heavenly.
Lan tried the melody again, her fingers shaking as they plucked the strings. When she tried to sing along, her voice cracked painfully, and she lowered her head in defeat.
Yue stepped from the shadows deliberately, making her footsteps heard.
"Sorry for intruding, Consort Lan."
Consort Lan's head snapped up, her eyes widening with embarrassment before regaining her usual calm.
"Noble Lady Yue. I didn't realize anyone was around this early," she said, folding her hands in her lap.
"Your music was beautiful," Yue said gently, bowing respectfully as she approached.
"But you don't sound well."
Lan's composed appearance slipped a bit.
"It's just a minor illness. Nothing to worry about."
"Will you be performing for the upcoming feast?" asked Yue.
"I must," Lan answered, showing a hint of vulnerability.
"The Emperor personally requested it."
Yue moved closer, kneeling by the guzheng. "Maybe I can help?"
Consort Lan's shoulders dropped slightly. She sighed and pointed to the tea set on the table beside her.
"Would you have morning tea with me, Noble Lady Yue? I could use some company."
Yue settled across from her and noticed Lan's hands trembling as she poured tea into the porcelain cups.
Even though she was clearly tired, Lan's movements were still graceful.
"The royal physicians have checked me," Lan whispered after a pause. Her voice was faint as if speaking hurt.
"They can't tell why my voice fails me. It comes and goes like a tricky ghost." She placed her cup down carefully.
"The Empress knows. She suggested I ask to take a break, but..."
Lan's eyes widened momentarily before she regained her composure.
"You understand. Without my music, what purpose do I serve? A broken instrument is discarded, not kept."
She traced the rim of her teacup.
Yue thought about the woman before her,
"Have you tried a tonic of dried chrysanthemum, jujube, and licorice root?"
"I've tried many remedies," Lan said, showing a touch of interest.
"It's important how you make it," Yue explained.
"Steep the chrysanthemum separately, then mix it with the jujube and licorice that have been simmering for exactly one hour."
"I'll have my servants send some to your quarters later," said Yue.
Lan nodded thoughtfully. "I appreciate your help."
"May I hear the piece you're working on?" Yue asked.
"Maybe I can hum along and guide the tune while your voice heals."
Lan looked surprised. "You know music?"
"Not formally, but I've always been able to pick up melodies," Yue admitted.
Lan paused, then placed her fingers on the guzheng strings.
"Alright then. Listen carefully."
Lan's fingers moved over the strings, creating a gentle melody that ebbed and flowed like distant hills.
The music spoke of longing and quiet grace, just like Lan herself.
Yue closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. When the last note faded, Yue began to hum gently, following Lan's tune.
Her first try at the melody didn't go well. The notes she sang were wrong and clashed with the beautiful music that Lan had composed.
Embarrassed, Yue stopped suddenly, and her face turned red.
"This is a really difficult piece. Even the best musicians at the palace struggle with it." comforted Consort Lan.
"I want to try again," Yue said, determined. But her second attempt wasn't much better.
She found the difficult parts and the subtle changes in the music to be very challenging.
Lan stopped playing the guzheng and looked at the lotus pond in defeat.
"Maybe we should take this as a sign. The Empress was right—I should probably ask not to perform."
"Play it again, please," Yue requested.
Lan began to play once more, her fingers moving skillfully over the strings.
This time, Yue didn't focus on hitting each note perfectly. Instead, she closed her eyes and imagined the flow of the melody.
When she hummed, her voice blended beautifully with Lan's music. Rather than just mirroring the notes.
Consort Lan's eyes widened in surprise. Her fingers moved with newfound energy.
Her humming smoothly shifted into something new—a tune that seemed to arise from within.
The melody was haunting, with a touch of sadness about mountains hidden in mist and flowers blooming in the moonlight.
Yue's voice carried the tune naturally, the words just out of reach in her memory.
The guzheng's notes complemented Yue's humming, creating something new—a blend of two worlds.
As they continued, Lan grew more confident, adding flourishes that echoed Yue's voice and creating counterpoints that intensified the emotion.
The music filled the pavilion with an ancient and immediate sound. When they finally stopped, the silence felt sacred.
The morning light caught tears shimmering in Lan's eyes.
"That melody," she whispered, her voice suddenly stronger.
"It's beautiful. Where did you learn it?"
Yue blinked, coming back to herself.
"I... don't know. It just came to me."
Lan's fingers hovered over the strings.
"It changed everything. The arrangement we made—it has a soul now." She looked at Yue with curiosity.
Meanwhile, Emperor Li Zhao walked down the garden path near the pavilion.
Morning meetings were postponed, allowing him a rare moment alone. The air smelled of lotus and plum blossoms, offering a nice change from the heavy incense in the throne room.
As he got closer, the soft guzheng melody reached his ears.
The music floated through the morning mist and played expertly.
Li Zhao paused, intending only to appreciate the music briefly before continuing. But then a voice joined the instrument—a gentle humming that grew into something hauntingly familiar.
His body went rigid. The air around him seemed to be still.
That melody.
It wasn't possible.
The Emperor stepped off the path, moving silently toward the sound. At the distant pavilion, he glimpsed two figures—Consort Lan at her instrument and, surprisingly, Yue.
.
It was Yue's voice singing the tune that shocked him. It was a lullaby he hadn't heard in years, not since his days as a hostage in the Yun palace.
Only the royal family sang this song, which was passed down through generations from queens to princesses.
Li Zhao hid behind a pillar, using its shadow to conceal himself. His heart beat loudly as memories flooded in—a young princess singing softly under the moon, holding a jade necklace shaped like a mountain dragon.
He studied Yue closely. Her resemblance to the princess he once knew always unsettled him, but he had dismissed it as grief playing tricks on his mind.
Yet, here she was, singing a song thought lost with the Yun royals.
Li Zhao gripped the stone pillar tightly. He stayed still in the shadows, watching as the two women created beauty from a song of ghosts.
The suspicion, once a small thought, now grew, spreading through his mind like a creeping vine.
Yue noticed the position of the sun and quickly got to her feet. "I'm sorry, Consort Lan. I stayed here longer than I planned."
"There's no need to apologize," Lan replied, sounding stronger. Their time spent making music together invigorated her.
"You've given me something far more valuable than a remedy today."
Yue offered a respectful bow. "I'll ensure the tonic is prepared and delivered to your room before noon."
"Thank you, Noble Lady Yue," Lan said, her face softening with a genuine smile. "Your kindness is very much appreciated."
As Yue left the pavilion, her mind was still focused on the beautiful music they had created.
Coming around a corner, she suddenly bumped into a solid figure.
Strong hands quickly caught her shoulders to prevent her from losing her balance.
"Your Majesty!" Yue exclaimed in surprise, immediately bowing deeply.