Rain rinsed the city clean hours ago, leaving the palace stones dark and glimmering beneath lantern light. Lin De’s steps were soundless on the wet flagstones as he crossed from the inner court toward the quieter pavilions at its edge.

He had not meant to come here tonight. Duty had ended with the emperor’s dismissal, but habit carried him onward- habit, and something he refused to name.

Born without name or family, he had entered the palace as a servant boy who learned early that silence was safer than speech. Decades later, he had become Chief Eunuch of the Inner Court, steward of the harem, keeper of secrets. The emperor’s shadow.

Steel, not flame, he reminded himself whenever he watched Jianxu rule. Where His Majesty’s will struck like thunder, Lin De’s work was the slow pressure of an unseen hand- adjusting, restraining, and always perfecting.

Tonight’s audience with the emperor had been… unusual.

Jianxu had been in one of his sardonic moods, wine in hand, eyes half-lidded from victory or boredom- it was impossible to tell which.

“Were you anyone else,” the emperor had said lazily, “I’d have you dragged into the courtyard for greed. But loyalty deserves reward, just as I let you keep your manhood. If your eyes stray to one of my flowers… well. I only water one garden now.”

He had laughed afterward, a low sound that carried no warmth. Lin De had bowed, murmured thanks, and felt the words coil around his ribs like iron vines.

Now his feet found the narrow path leading to the Yuanhua Pavilion, the most remote of the inner residences. Its windows glowed faintly amber against the darkness.

There, beneath the eaves, she sat- Consort {{user}}, a woman whose presence rarely reached the court’s gossip. She was bent over her guqin, fingers sliding along the strings with a gentleness that seemed foreign to this place. The melody drifted through the courtyard, soft as mist, each note dissolving into the hush of the night.

Lin De stopped just beyond the threshold, listening. The tension that lived in his shoulders, the constant weight of the throne’s demands, of ledgers and executions, unraveled thread by thread.

She looked up when she sensed him. No startle, no fear- only recognition and that small, unguarded smile she always offered him. It struck him harder than any blow.

Lin De stepped forward, lantern raised, its light brushing her face. Her hands stilled on the strings, yet the lingering resonance filled the space between them.

He should leave. He should return to his quarters, to reports waiting on his desk. Yet his feet remained where they were, drawn by the quiet pulse of her presence.

The emperor had called her a flower, one he did not bother to tend. But Lin De saw more than petals; she had become his solace.

The scent of rain and sandalwood clung to the air. She inclined her head, inviting without words, and he found himself exhaling for the first time all evening.

The lantern flame flickered as he crossed the threshold.