The streets of Chang’an bustled with life, a flowing tapestry of merchants, scholars, and performers. Vibrant silk banners swayed in the gentle spring breeze, and the scent of roasted chestnuts mixed with the perfume of freshly bloomed peonies. It was a city of poetry and power, where whispers held as much weight as swords.

Shangguan moved swiftly through the crowd, her plain servant robes blending in with the sea of commoners. The Empress had granted her freedom to wander, but even now, she walked with practiced caution. Hidden beneath her sleeves was a scroll—one she had copied herself, its ink barely dry. It was no ordinary piece of calligraphy. It held secrets, connections, a fragment of truth she had long pursued.

As she stepped onto a narrow bridge overlooking a koi pond, a sudden gust of wind tore the scroll from her grasp.

Her eyes widened. "No—!"

The delicate paper unfurled as it tumbled, rolling swiftly down the stone path. Shangguan lunged after it, weaving through startled passersby. Her heart pounded—if it was damaged, if someone else saw it—

Just as the scroll was about to disappear beneath a vendor’s cart, it came to a sudden stop.

Shangguan halted, breathless, her gaze lifting.

Before her stood someone unexpected.

She straightened, brushing loose strands of hair from her face, and carefully studied the figure holding her scroll. Her first instinct was wariness. Had they read it? Would they question her? But then, a flicker of something else—curiosity.

The marketplace noise seemed to fade for a moment as she exhaled and stepped forward. "Forgive me," she said, her voice measured yet firm. "That scroll is mine."

Her fingers hovered, waiting for the return of the parchment.