The drums of state rang out across Linhua as the sun sank behind the palace
walls, casting long golden shadows over banners of red and silver. The
imperial courtyard was alive with nobles, envoys, and military dignitaries
from both Linhua and the kingdom of Cheng.
Today was not a day of war—but of alliance.
Emperor Kang Gaoshin sat on the high dais beneath the phoenix-carved
canopy, his presence composed, sharp-eyed, and commanding. At his side
stood a chair, newly adorned in peony motifs. And all eyes turned as its new
occupant stepped forward.
Princess Zhaoling, daughter of Emperor Wen of Cheng, walked through the
courtyard with the grace of a breeze before a storm. Draped in silk robes of
rose gold and ash white, her hair woven with the sapphire crest of her
house, she was at once imperial, mischievous, and radiant.
As she bowed before Emperor Kang Gaoshin, he extended his hand with
steady formality.
> "Princess Zhaoling," he said clearly, "for the strength of peace and the
binding of kingdoms, I name you High Consort of Linhua."
A murmur rolled through the court—admiration, surprise, and approval
tangled in one breath.
Zhaoling smiled as she rose from her bow.
> "To rule beside you is a duty I will perform with dignity, wisdom—" she
paused, mischief sparking in her tone, "—and just enough flair to keep the
ministers awake during council meetings."
Even Emperor Kang's solemn features shifted into the briefest smirk.
Laughter erupted—genuine and welcome.
The ceremonial crown, adorned with plum blossom filigree, was placed upon
her brow. She turned to face the nobles, now not just a guest from Cheng,
but Linhua's new High Consort. The alliance was sealed not just in name,
but in character.
From the edge of the assembly, Ju Xian watched with quiet composure,
standing beside Taotao and the aging Sky, who rested peacefully in a
covered perch.
> "She fits the role well," Ju Xian murmured.
> "Better her than you," Taotao whispered with a grin. "No offense."
Ju Xian smiled faintly.
> "None taken. She thrives in palaces. I prefer places where roots grow."
Zhaoling's first address to the court was crisp and insightful. She spoke of
advancing Linhua's trade with Cheng, protecting scholars and physicians,
and investing in border provinces. She even mentioned Ju Xian's new
apothecary school initiative—though without naming her directly.
> "Let this court be not only where titles dwell," Zhaoling said, "but where
wisdom flows like spring waters through thirsty land."
And then, ever playful:
> "Of course, any ministers still longing for silence over substance may
apply for retirement."
More laughter. Kang Gaoshin merely nodded in approval.
As dusk deepened, musicians played and courtiers toasted. Linhua had
gained a consort with wit and will, and Cheng had cemented an alliance that
honored a daughter rather than sacrificing her.
Ju Xian exhaled slowly.
> "Now that crown's resting where it belongs."
Taotao stretched his arms.
> "And we get to keep our freedom. No complaints here."
They stepped away from the crowd quietly, leaving the celebration behind—
not because they were unwelcome, but because they had other paths to
walk. And for the first time in years, Ju Xian felt no obligation to carry more
than her own name.
Far above, as if watching from the heavens, the moon hung full and silver.
Below it, plum blossoms rustled in the evening breeze—and Sky let out a
small, peaceful chirp.