The palace courtyard was alive with fire and color.
Lanterns of every shape glowed above, casting delicate patterns onto the
stone path. Aromas of roasted duck, sweet lotus buns, honey-glazed walnuts,
and spiced plum wine drifted through the air, mingling with the soft music.
Tables under silk canopies were stacked with golden fried dumplings,
skewers of grilled quail, sticky rice shaped into butterflies, and jade-colored
sweets with powdered sugar snowing over them. Some were shaped like
cranes, others like peach blossoms or constellations, and some hovered in
the air with tiny golden charms tied beneath them. Music floated from the
pipa and flute ensemble near the koi fountain, and laughter rose from silk-
draped pavilions where nobles sipped wine and nibbled on sesame cakes.
Ju Xian and Taotao stepped into the light as if they didn't belong — yet no
one questioned them. Fate had gifted them more than entry; it gave them
the silence of masks.
Then came the moment they had expected — but not prepared for.
The princess.
She was radiant in a golden robe embroidered with plum blossoms and
firebirds. Her hair was pinned high with blue jade combs, and she wore a
necklace of moonstone beads that shimmered like morning dew.
Beside her stood a young man, sharp and regal, with a phoenix crest across
his shoulder and the same brown eyes, though colder.
> "My brother," she said, approaching Taotao with a polite smile, "the
Crown Prince of the East Wing."
Taotao gave a lopsided bow. "Your Highness."
The prince nodded once, but his gaze lingered — a calculating weight
behind those eyes.
> "You have an odd face for a guest," he said. "Not noble. Not quite
peasant."
> "Thieves tend to look like that," Taotao muttered, just loud enough for Ju Xian to nudge him sharply.
The princess chuckled. "He's amusing."
> "He's also borrowed," Ju Xian replied with a smile. "We were just about to
explore the lantern maze."
> "Then allow us to walk you there," the princess offered.
As they moved, the crowd thinned around the central plaza where acrobats
twirled ribbons of fire. Taotao whispered to Ju Xian, "It's time."
> "We split here," she said, quietly. "You blend in, keep attention. I'll find
Sky."
He nodded, then added, "If anyone asks, we got into an argument about
dumpling fillings."
She rolled her eyes but smiled.
They parted — Taotao turning toward the noble booths where the prince had
gone, charming his way into conversations about the West Wing's patrol and
swordplay and dried meats. Ju Xian slipped into the shadowed pathway near
the western pavilion.
She barely noticed the sharp gaze that followed her from a nearby corridor
— a man in a dark general's robe, scar across his cheek, eyes widening in
recognition.
General Lian.
He didn't call her name. Not yet. But he moved.
And Ju Xian moved faster, toward the garden.
The festival's sound faded behind her as Ju Xian weaved through the
lantern-lit paths, her heart pounding not from fear — but something else.
Something heavier. She turned the final corner into the west garden, breath
catching in her throat.
There, beneath the blossoming plum tree, stood the cage.
Old but polished, still strong, and inside it — perched in silence — was Sky.
His feathers had lost some of their luster, and his movements were slower
now, but his eyes... those golden eyes stared through her like they had seen
time itself.
Ju Xian stopped. Her feet refused to move.
The bird tilted its head.And then, as if recognizing her soul before her name, let out a quiet call.
A sound not heard in years.
Ju Xian crumpled to her knees.
Tears fell without warning — hot, aching, senseless tears. Her chest hurt,
but she didn't know why. Her hands trembled.
> "Why does this hurt so much..." she whispered.
Sky moved toward her in the cage, feathers fluffed slightly, as if reaching for
her memory.
In that moment, she didn't need an explanation. She didn't need logic.
Only the ache in her bones that told her she had come home.
Toward the cage.