Lian Mei’s twelfth sigh slipped into the lantern-lit stillness, curling like smoke in the quiet air.

At her side, Xiu Rong smiled knowingly. “May I pry, Mistress?”

With a groan, Lian Mei let her arm flop across the low table, her posture unbefitting a daughter of Wēn Zhiming—let alone the Empress of Jinri. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, muffled by silk sleeves. “I just… don’t know what the point of being here is.”

The air grew still. For once, Xiu didn’t tease.

Lian Mei’s thoughts drifted beyond the high palace walls, her face sobering. She wondered how the city fared without her—how the rest of the empire endured. It had been months since she last walked the market roads, smiled at temple bells, or heard the hum of street vendors outside her carriage.

But inside the palace, silence reigned.

The country was starving. The famine, once a rumor, had crept closer—gnawing at the gates like a hungry ghost.

“Xiuxiu,” she asked quietly, “what can I do to help the people?”

The question hung heavy between them. As Empress, Lian Mei shared the burden of the nation’s suffering alongside Zhao, though she rarely saw him now. His absence stretched longer with each passing week.

“I heard some villages are down to their last handfuls of rice,” Xiu whispered. “They’re rationing by the cup now… just a few grains per family.”

Lian Mei’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Xiu nodded, solemn. “The hills have been picked clean. Not even rats can survive out there anymore.”

Lian Mei sat up, drawn in by her maid’s words. Tears rimmed her lashes. If Xiu Rong—who had a sharper nose for gossip than any maid alive—said it, then it must be true.

“How awful…” she breathed. “All this, and I’m sitting in a palace of gold.”

Her voice caught. Guilt rose like a tide.

Zhao… I wonder how Zhao is holding up.

Her thoughts turned to her husband—his distant figure now a hazy memory. She hadn’t seen him in over a fortnight, but she could still recall his gaze: eyes like golden honey, steady and unreadable. Their marriage was arranged, practical, never passionate. But lately…

She missed him. Just a little.

Their meals were scheduled, their conversations scripted. Even their intimate hours followed an imperial routine. And yet Lian Mei had begun to look forward to them—those rare, fragile moments that felt almost real.

“Mistress…?”

No answer.

“Mistress?”

Nothing.

Xiu Rong’s voice pitched high with alarm. “Your Majesty, Her Royal Highness!”

That snapped her back.

“What—what did you just call me?” Lian Mei sputtered. What am I thinking!?

She stared, scandalized. “You know I hate that! Even my parents aren’t allowed to say that!”

Xiu grinned wickedly. “Something had your soul… It’s my duty to save you.”

They both giggled, flopping onto their cushions like girls again.

Lian Mei let out her thirteenth sigh, the weight returning to her chest. What can I do?

— ➿—

Across the palace…

Far away, on the opposite end of the palace, Zhao sat alone before a dying brazier, his thoughts heavy.

Two sighs, breathed in separate chambers, rose into the same moonlit sky.

Emperor and Empress.
Husband and wife.
Bound by duty; separated by stone, silk, and silence.

— ➿—

Back in Lian Mei’s chambers…

Is this my forever?

The thought struck like lightning. Lian Mei sat bolt upright, the haze shattering around her.

“No,” she whispered. “This will not be my forever.”

She leapt to her feet, determination flaring bright. “Come, Xiuxiu. We’re going to see the emperor.”

Xiu blanched, eyes wide. “M-Mistress! You can’t simply barge into His Majesty’s chambers!”

Lian Mei smirked over her shoulder. “You sound just like a Momo.”

She strode into the corridor, her silks trailing like banners in her wake.

To hell with waiting. We’re going to hash this out—tonight.

— ➿ —

Next Episode — Chapter 8: The Corridor

When the Empress of Jinri sets her heart on something, even Heaven itself better make way.