The frost came early that evening.
It clung to the petals of the palace gardens like a veil of silver, weaving quietly over the stones, the hedges, the embroidered slippers of noble daughters standing in nervous lines.
Tonight was the Midnight Lantern Viewing, a tradition said to reveal "fortune by moonlight and favor by flame." The noble daughters had been told the envoy himself—Lord Shen Jingyuan—would be present for the walk beneath the firefly lanterns. Only a few would speak with him. Some might be chosen for escort. Others would simply be noticed.
And to be noticed was everything.
The girls were arranged in groups of five, dressed in muted silks the color of twilight, with only hairpins to mark their status. The higher the rank, the more elaborate the accessory.
Xue Lian wore no pin at all.
A silent protest. A delicate rebellion. Her hair flowed down her back, caught in a simple braid.
When her name was called, she was placed last.
Not the youngest. Not the least ranked. Simply—deliberately—last.
The first group walked the path, skirts trailing frost, giggles stifled behind sleeves. Lord Shen stood at the far end beneath a glowing pavilion of red and gold lanterns, face unreadable. He nodded politely, acknowledged the greetings, and said little. Each girl tried to linger, to offer a glimpse of grace or wit. But he did not extend his hand.
He didn't offer his arm to anyone.
Not until the last name was called.
"Xue Lian."
The girls who had already finished turned, curious. Even a few matrons leaned in. Xue Yan narrowed her eyes, jaw stiff.
Xue Lian walked forward slowly, as if the frost didn't dare cling to her shoes. Her gown tonight was pale plum, trimmed with silver leaf embroidery, and cinched with a sash of dusky jade. There was no sound but the rustle of her silk.
She passed through the arches of hanging lanterns—yellow, green, pink—and emerged into the clearing where Shen Jingyuan waited.
His gaze met hers.
Sharp. Still. Contained like a blade in a velvet sheath.
And then—he stepped forward.
With all eyes watching, he lifted his hand, palm open.
And offered her his arm.
A silent offer. No words spoken. No smile feigned.
Just him, a pillar of imperial power, extending a gesture of distinction to the woman whose name had nearly vanished from the household registry just a year prior.
Xue Lian paused only for a breath.
Then she placed her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow, and they began to walk.
The silence was devastating.
It was louder than applause, heavier than any gossip.
Xue Yan looked as though she'd swallowed ice.
---
As they walked, the lanterns above them flickered in soft hues, casting glows across their profiles. The other girls could only watch from behind the hedges and pillars, their necks craning, their breaths held.
Still, not a word passed between them.
Xue Lian did not ask why he had chosen her.
Shen Jingyuan did not explain.
But every movement was deliberate: the way his pace matched hers, the way their silhouettes fell in tandem over the stone path, the way she didn't flinch when his sleeve brushed hers.
There was something unspoken—a question hanging in the quiet frost.
Who was she, to receive such favor?
Who was he, to bestow it without ceremony?
---
As they reached the final bend of the path, Shen Jingyuan came to a halt beneath a cluster of butterfly-shaped lanterns.
The frost glinted on the railing beside them like powdered stars.
He turned his head slightly toward her.
"Your hands are cold," he said softly, the first words he had spoken all evening.
Xue Lian's lips curled, the barest shadow of amusement. "Frost touches everyone, my lord."
"But it clings differently," he murmured. "Some melt beneath it. Others… seem to carry it."
A pause.
"You carry it well."
---
She looked up at him, her eyes sharp beneath the lantern light.
"I was raised with it."
Shen Jingyuan didn't respond. But his gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Then, gently, he released her arm.
"Go," he said, tone clipped again. "Before the others begin to speak too loudly."
"They already are," she replied.
And with a whisper of silk, she turned and walked away.
---
As she passed the matron checkpoint, even the palace officials didn't know where to look.
No daughter had been escorted. Not until now. Not like that.
By the time she reached her quarters, the whispers had already begun to spiral through the courtyard like wildfire.
> "He chose her—without a word."
"She didn't bow. Did you see? She didn't even bow."
"He spoke to her. Alone."
Xue Yan smashed a hairpin into the floor of her chamber.
---
Later that night, as frost coiled over the window lattices, Xue Lian sat beneath her flickering oil lamp and reread the flame-sealed letter.
> "Be wary of hands that once held yours."
Shen Jingyuan's hand had been warm.
But warmth could burn, too.
She folded the letter back into her sleeve.
Let them talk. Let them wonder.
Because the frost had settled—and she was still walking.