The capital buzzed with anticipation, alive once more with color and sound! Every street was draped in crimson and gold. Lanterns bobbed in the breeze. Children laughed as they chased petals through the air.

Tradesmen stacked bundles of silk and fragrant flowers in front of freshly painted shops. Imperial carpenters worked deep into the night resetting marble tiles and replacing cracked pillars.

In the palace, gardeners placed jasmine and peonies in tall vases, their scent drifting on soft evening breezes. Inside the grand throne hall, artisans laid out new footstools embroidered with phoenixes—silent omens of rebirth.

A soft chorus of strings emerged in the courtyard as musicians tuned their instruments. A gentle drumbeat began, testing the resonance of the space. Torchlight flickered against polished armor where palace guards practiced their salutes.

"We’ll hear this across the city tomorrow!" one attendant exclaimed, pride lifting his voice above the hum of preparations.

High atop scaffolding, craftsmen adjusted banners and lanterns. In the corridors below, officials whispered plans for the coronation ceremony, notebooks in hand, ready for proclamation.

Outside, market stalls sprang up with treats—sweet rice cakes, spiced teas, exotic fruits. The mingled aromas of incense and freshly baked bread wove through the evening air.

On the palace dais, a newly carved jade platform sat ready beneath towering crystal chandeliers. The final wax dripped down the last candles placed along the gallery steps.

Despite whispered doubts about Zhao Lingxu—Pei Rong’s son—the memory of his loyalty during the siege quelled unrest. Murmurs in tea houses turned hopeful: he had protected Zhao Yan when it mattered most.

Councilmen—Lord Fang, Liang Cheng, Sun Wei—passed through shadowed corridors, nodding at last-minute checks. Their faces were grave but hopeful, guarded yet earnest.

Chief advisor Wei Ling stood on the palace wall, surveying the glowing streets, while Commander Deng Mi ensured the parade route was secured. Their eyes met briefly: precision smiled back.

At dusk, the great gates opened. Palace servants lit torch sconces along the walls. Guests and nobles stepped through, greeted by gleaming columns and the promise of ceremony.

Hua Jing stood in her private gallery window, gazing down at the transformation. A single tear of hope slipped from her cheek—but her smile was quietly triumphant.

Tomorrow, Zhao Lingxu would be crowned emperor.

She had no doubt he was going to do an exceptional job.

...

A few hours later, Hua Jing stood at the open window, the breeze playing with the loose strands of her hair.

Beyond the frame, the courtyard shimmered with life—petals dancing in the sunlight, birds hopping from branch to branch. The colors of spring were returning with quiet insistence.

She turned her gaze back inside the room... and smiled.

Zhao Yan lay peacefully in his bed, chest rising and falling in a rhythm so gentle it could lull the heart into believing everything was fine. His features, pale but beautiful, looked untouched by time.

She walked over to him and crouched low, taking his hand.

"Ling Xu is going to take the throne," she whispered, her voice barely louder than a sigh. "You’d be proud of him."

She pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand and let her forehead rest against it for a moment.

"If you want to sleep a little more," she murmured with a sad chuckle, "then sleep. The empire’s going to be in good hands. Don’t worry—I’ll help him if he ever needs me."

Her eyes shimmered. But for the first time in many weeks, the sorrow didn’t pull her under. Her features were no longer weighed down by grief.

She was glowing—just a little.

A trace of life had returned to her cheeks, her lips, her step.

Even so... her smile trembled at the edges.

She sniffed and looked away, biting back the tears that stung behind her eyes.

Then, she climbed into the bed beside him and gently laid her head against his chest.

The steady beat of his heart welcomed her like a song. That soft thud... it was everything.

Proof that he was still here with her. Still fighting.

"I came here full of vengeance," she whispered to him, "and all I wanted was to become Empress. To climb the throne and burn it down behind me."

She let out a breathless laugh.

"Funny, isn’t it? They offered me that very seat, the very thing I wanted, and I turned it down... just so I could stay here with you."

Her fingers gently traced the edge of his robe.

"Don’t you see my effort? Hm? I gave up the one thing I came here for."

She looked up at his sleeping face.

"Would it kill you to open those pretty eyes and congratulate me?" she teased, voice cracking under the weight of unshed tears.

But he didn’t move.

"You’re not waking up today either, huh?" she asked, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.

Then she sighed and closed her eyes beside him, letting the silence stretch.

Hours passed like water slipping through her fingers.

Later, she wandered into the courtyard with a basket on her hip. She picked fresh flowers, trimmed weeds, swept the walkway—all the things that had become routine.

This courtyard, the one Zhao Yan had built for her, was bursting with color. Tulips, camellias, orchids—all blooming like they knew their Empress lived here.

It would be spring soon.

When she first arrived, snow had blanketed the earth. The frost had bitten at her sleeves. Now, the gloom had retreated, and life was beginning again.

And yet...

A shadow passed over her face.

Xia Lin.

Her most loyal maid. Her sister in all but blood. The girl who had been taken by Pei Rong’s men... and never returned.

She had not spoken of her to anyone. Not even to Zhao Ling Xu. It hurt too much.

As she turned to place a flower on the small altar in the corner of the garden, she heard it.

Footsteps.

Soft. Hesitant. Drawing closer.

Her body tensed.

The gate was still open behind her. The wind was still.

Then—

"My lady..."

The voice cracked. It was barely above a whisper. But Hua Jing froze in place.

Her eyes widened. That voice—no. It couldn’t be!

"My lady..."

It came again, watery and full of emotion.

She turned sharply, heart slamming in her chest.

And there, standing at the gate...

Was Xia Lin.

Dressed in simple clothes, her face thinner than Hua Jing remembered, but those eyes—those bright, loyal eyes were the same.

Tears burst from Hua Jing’s eyes before she could even stop them.

"Xia Lin!"