Autumn crept quietly into Jiangnan.
The rice fields turned gold beneath a pale sky, and the scent of osmanthus blossoms clung to the air like memory. Evenings came sooner, wrapped in a softness that made Wenyan slow his steps and linger beneath the trees, hoping the hush of dusk would steady his heart.
Each letter now felt like a heartbeat, and each reply a thread binding them tighter. Wenyan had long given up on wondering how this all began. The better question now was how long it could last.
One morning, Meixiang arrived unusually early. She knocked at the side door, her cheeks flushed and her breath visible in the cooling air.
"She's asking for another meeting," the girl said, clutching a silk-wrapped scroll. "But this time… she's changed the rules."
Wenyan frowned and opened the letter.
"The Mid-Autumn Festival draws near,and with it, my family hosts a lantern procession in the inner garden.I will be there, dressed in white.Meet me beneath the koi bridge when the final lantern is lit.No masks. No distance.If we are to fall, let it be in full light."
His breath caught.
She wanted to speak to him.
Not in poetry. Not across couriers and metaphors—but in person, face to face, voice to voice.
"I shouldn't go," he said aloud, half to himself.
Meixiang raised a brow. "Then why is your hand trembling?"
Wenyan didn't answer.
Because she was right.
The night of the festival arrived with silver mist and a thousand floating flames. Lanterns in the shapes of lotus flowers and rabbits drifted across the palace ponds, their reflections shimmering like stars fallen to earth.
Wenyan moved silently through the garden shadows, dressed plainly in scholar's robes, his hair tied back with a simple cord. The pendant she had given him was hidden beneath his sash.
He followed the procession from a distance, careful not to draw attention. Musicians played from behind silk screens. Laughter and wine moved freely among the elite guests, but Wenyan saw none of them.
He saw only her.
Lianfang moved like moonlight — robed in white silk, her hair pinned with delicate pearl blossoms. She smiled as expected, bowed when spoken to, played the obedient daughter of the Xu household. But her eyes… her eyes were elsewhere. Searching.
Wenyan stepped beneath the koi bridge just as the final lantern rose into the air, a great golden orb bearing the emperor's seal.
He waited in shadow, heart pounding like festival drums in his ears.
Then, soft footsteps approached.
She came.
No servants. No mask. No veil.
She stopped only a few paces away, close enough that he could smell the faint sweetness of osmanthus oil in her hair.
"You came," she said quietly.
Her voice was lower than he had imagined. Warm. Steady.
"So did you," he whispered, trying not to look too long, trying not to fall all over again.
For a long moment, they just stood there.
She took a deep breath, then laughed softly. "Is it strange, that after all our words, I don't know what to say?"
He smiled. "Maybe that means we've said enough."
A silence passed between them—not awkward, but full. Like the pause between breaths. She stepped forward, and so did he.
"May I?" she asked, lifting her hand toward his chest.
He nodded.
Her fingers brushed the pendant through his robes. "You kept it."
"I couldn't let go of something that once belonged to your heart."
Lianfang looked up at him, eyes wide and wet with something unspoken. "You're not what I expected," she whispered.
"And you," he said, "are exactly what I feared—and hoped."
Another pause.
Then, she whispered, "My father is arranging my marriage. A man from Hangzhou. He is older, but useful."
Wenyan swallowed hard. "When?"
"Spring."
The word hit like frost.
"I don't want it," she said, voice breaking now. "But what I want has never mattered."
Wenyan reached for her hand. "It matters to me."
The world held its breath around them.
"I can't stop this alone," she said. "But maybe—if we plan carefully, if we're bold…"
"You want to run," he said.
She didn't answer. But her eyes held the answer.
The rest of the night passed in a blur.
They parted quickly, before eyes found them. Before the spell broke.
Wenyan returned home beneath a clouded moon, her touch still warm on his hand.
In the quiet of his study, he sat at his desk and stared at a blank scroll.
Then, finally, he wrote:
"If we run, I will not run from fear.I will run because I am choosing you.Not in secret. Not in silence.But fully. Boldly.Because the heart, once awakened, cannot be buried again."
He signed it not as "Liang Wenyan," but simply:—Yours. Always.