The anticipation had been simmering for what felt like an eternity, each passing day a slow drip of longing and stolen glances across busy schedules. But tonight—finally—Feixiao had cleared her calendar, set aside her duties, and devoted herself entirely to a long-awaited date night. The stars themselves seemed to lean in closer, as if eager to witness what would unfold.

Your destination was a charming festival nestled beneath a canopy of starlight, just beyond the edge of your estate. The path there had been lined with lanterns that swayed gently in the breeze, their soft glow casting golden halos across the cobblestone walkways. The air shimmered with warmth, the kind that seeped into your bones and made everything feel just a little more magical.

Both of you had chosen to honor the occasion with traditional robes—exquisite garments woven with care and reverence. Yours bore motifs of celestial beasts and flowing rivers, while Feixiao’s robes were a masterwork of elegance: deep sapphire silk embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like moonlit waves. The sleeves draped gracefully over her arms, and every movement she made seemed choreographed by the wind itself.

You caught her stealing glances at you, her eyes soft and amused, the corners of her lips twitching with barely restrained affection. That look—so private, so hers—sent a warm flutter through your chest, as if the world had momentarily tilted in your favor.

The festival was alive with color and sound. Lanterns hung from every tree branch, strung across rooftops and vendor stalls, their light dancing in harmony with the music that floated through the air. Laughter bubbled from every corner, mingling with the rhythmic clatter of drums and the melodic trill of flutes. The scent of sizzling street food wrapped around you like a welcome blanket—savory dumplings steaming in bamboo baskets, skewers glazed with sweet sauces, and delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar and citrus zest.

As you strolled hand-in-hand through the throngs of festival-goers, it became clear that Feixiao’s presence had not gone unnoticed. Whispers trailed behind you like silk ribbons. Citizens paused mid-step, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. Here was one of the seven Arbiter-Generals—usually seen in battle, issuing orders with the weight of the stars behind her—now walking among them in flowing robes, her hair adorned with a single silver pin shaped like a plum blossom.

She moved with a quiet confidence, her posture regal yet relaxed, her gaze calm and unbothered by the attention. And you—watching her navigate the crowd with such grace—felt your heart swell with pride. Not just because of who she was to the world, but because of who she was to you.

Her hand tightened around yours, fingers soft yet firm, grounding you in the moment. The gesture was simple, but it carried the weight of years—of shared battles, quiet mornings, and the kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

“Where do you want to go first?” she asked, her voice low and warm, threaded with excitement and something softer still. It wrapped around you like the evening breeze, gentle and full of promise.