While she lay still beneath the blooming plum tree, the palace around her
stirred in anxious confusion.
The princess immediately knelt beside her, calling for a physician. Taotao
held Ju Xian's hand, visibly shaken despite his attempts to hide it behind
jokes.
Guards arrived, alerted by the commotion, but General Lian raised a hand to
hold them back.
> "She's no threat. Send for the healer quietly," he commanded. "We don't
need rumors spreading."
The younger prince, guilt written across his small face, clutched his ball
tightly and stood silently nearby.
A servant rushed in with a woven mat, and Ju Xian was gently laid down
under the garden canopy. Her breathing was light but steady.
The princess brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, whispering,
"Who are you really?"
And as Ju Xian slept, her heart waged its quiet war with memory.In her
unconscious mind, the world unraveled. Images flickered like candlelight in
storm winds.
She saw herself — not as Ju Xian, but as Li Xian.
Wearing battlefield robes stained with dust and blood. Rushing through
tents with bundles of herbs clutched in trembling hands. Binding wounds.
Whispering reassurances. Watching friends and soldiers die.
She saw Ren Xu — fierce and protective — standing beside her in firelight.
She saw Sky, perched high in his cage, calling out each morning, mimicking
her laughter, her commands, even her lullabies.
She saw her hands trembling as she prepared the last tincture for Ren's
wound.
She saw the enemy's blade slash down.
She saw herself fall.
But worst of all — she saw time running out.
The war had ended.
But she never made it back to her childhood home.
She had promised to visit her parents' grave — just once. Just one prayer.
One flower.
But time had stolen it from her.
And now, even in death, she had left Sky behind — watching, waiting,
remembering.
Tears streamed silently from her closed eyes.
Ju Xian stirred.
A soft breath escaped her lips as her lashes fluttered. When she opened her
eyes, lantern light shimmered above her, and voices called her name in
panic.
But she didn't hear them at first.
She looked up at the garden canopy, heart racing.
> "Sky..." she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Taotao leaned over her, relief plain on his face. "You're awake! Hey—hey, are
you okay?"
She blinked slowly. Her hands trembled.
> "I remember... everything."
Tears filled her eyes again — this time not from pain, but from the weight of
memory, and love, and loss.
She was no longer just Ju Xian.
She was Li Xian — reborn.