As they approached the Tree of Fortune, the air seemed to grow thicker with anticipation, the evening sky glowing in the soft, golden light of the lanterns. The tree itself was enormous, a magnificent sight with its branches spreading wide like welcoming arms. Its bark was gnarled, ancient-looking as if the tree had seen countless wishes come and go over the years, and from every branch hung delicate slips of parchment, each one tied by a thin red string, fluttering gently in the evening breeze. Every leaf bore a citizen's wish, written with hopeful ink, each one an earnest plea for happiness, health, wealth, or love.
Feng Qingqing and Tian Weilong stood for a moment, their eyes fixed on the tree's towering presence, the soft rustling of the leaves almost like whispers. Without warning, Feng Qingqing quickly realized they were still holding hands. A flush of heat crept up her neck, and with a swift, almost jerky motion, she pulled her hand away from his, her expression suddenly serious. She turned her gaze toward the Tree of Fortune, her heart tightening with the weight of the words she was about to say.
"Your Highness," she began, her voice cool and steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I want to remind you that I won't marry you." She took a deep breath, willing herself to remain composed. "I can't believe you would cancel your engagement with my sister like that... without even a word of explanation." She looked at him, her eyes now full of disbelief. "I don't even know you. So why would you want to marry me?"
Tian Weilong stood in stunned silence for a moment, his heart sinking. He had hoped for a softer reaction, but Qingqing's words were sharp and unyielding. He opened his mouth to explain, but before he could find the right words, Feng Qingqing had already walked briskly toward the writing stall, her back turned to him.
As she walked away, he whispered softly, almost to himself, "I do know you." His words, barely audible over the crowd, were lost in the wind, and Qingqing, focused on the stall ahead, couldn't hear the quiet confession.
Feng Qingqing reached the stall, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked up a piece of parchment and a small ink brush. She hadn't practiced calligraphy since middle school, and even back then, her strokes had been shaky and uncertain. Now, the delicate brush felt foreign in her hand, its slender handle slipping awkwardly between her fingers.
She thought carefully before setting the tip of the brush to the paper, her mind drifting to her family back in the modern world. Memories of their laughter at the dinner table, the sound of her mother calling her down for breakfast, and her father's gentle smile came flooding back, filling her with a bittersweet ache.
As she carefully etched out the characters, Feng Qingqing's thoughts drifted to the people waiting for her back in the prime minister's manor. In the past few months, the initial strangeness of her "new" family had softened into something familiar, even comforting. Feng Wangshu's stern but caring demeanor reminded her, in an odd way, of her father's quiet guidance. And then there was Feng Ruyi—warm, mischievous, and fiercely loyal. Ruyi had become more than just a sister in title; she was someone who shared her laughter, her burdens, and her secrets.
Slowly, a new sense of belonging had settled in her heart. These memories and bonds felt real, not just a temporary part of the life she had stumbled into.
With careful, unsteady strokes, she began to write her wish: Happiness and health for my family. As she looked down at her words, a soft sadness settled in her eyes. This wish wasn't just for the family she had left behind in another world but for the family she had come to know here, as well—a wish that spanned two lives and two homes.
"Happiness and health for my family," a deep voice said hovering over her, startling Feng Qingqing. Tian Weilong leaned over, glancing at her parchment. His eyes traced the uneven, slightly shaky strokes of her characters, and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips.
Feng Qingqing's cheeks flushed. She hadn't practiced calligraphy since middle school, and the brush felt clumsy in her hand. But the sight of his amused expression made her bristle.
"What's so funny?" she demanded, yanking the parchment from his view, clutching it protectively.
Tian Weilong raised a brow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Nothing, really. I just thought the Prime Minister's daughter would have better handwriting."
Feng Qingqing's face reddened, and she pressed the parchment close to her chest, glaring at him. "I don't need calligraphy skills to make a sincere wish," she shot back.
His smirk softened as he watched her, noticing the way she guarded the paper with surprising fierceness. "You're right," he said, his voice gentler. "Sincerity matters more than perfection."
Feng Qingqing's face remained flushed as she looked away, still clutching the parchment tightly. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, she glanced up at Tian Weilong, curiosity getting the better of her. "Well, what about you?" she asked, lifting her chin slightly. "What are you going to write?"
Tian Weilong tilted his head thoughtfully, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose I'll think of something," he replied, his tone unreadable. "Maybe a wish for peace… or perhaps something a bit more personal."
They walked together toward the tree where people were hanging their wishes. As Feng Qingqing approached, she realized that the lower branches were already filled, leaving only the higher branches available. She stretched on her toes, parchment held high, but it was no use; she still couldn't reach. Tian Weilong chuckled softly behind her and stepped forward, taking the parchment gently from her hand.
"Allow me," he said, his voice soft yet steady. Reaching up, he tied her wish onto a higher branch with ease, his fingers lingering for a moment as he secured it in place.
After securing her wish to the tree, Tian Weilong picked up a new piece of parchment and dipped a brush into the ink, pausing thoughtfully as he held the brush above the blank sheet. At first, his brush strokes were bold and elegant, each character drawn with a practiced ease that spoke of years of calligraphy training. Feng Qingqing, curiosity sparking in her eyes, tilted her head ever so slightly to sneak a glance at what he was writing.
Just as her gaze lingered, Tian Weilong's eyes flicked up, catching her in the act. He raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "Curious?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "It's not as noble as yours, I'm afraid." He raised the parchment slightly, tilting it toward the tree, clearly aware she'd been watching.
Feng Qingqing, feeling her cheeks heat up, quickly looked away. "I wasn't... I wasn't looking," she stammered.
The soft laughter that escaped him felt as if it lingered in the air between them, brushing against Feng Qingqing's carefully built defenses. She forced herself to focus on the Tree of Fortune, watching as the lantern light danced over its swaying branches. Yet, her heart betrayed her, thundering in her chest as if it sought to defy her resolve.
Tian Weilong's voice broke the silence, warm and steady like a secret shared in the quiet of the night. "You may try to keep your distance, Feng Qingqing," he said, his gaze unwavering. "But you'll find that I am not so easily deterred."
She turned to him, her expression a careful mask of indifference, though her fingers trembled at her sides. "Your Highness," she replied, her tone clipped, "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I am not some prize to be won."
His eyes softened, the teasing glint in them giving way to something deeper, something resolute. "You're right," he said simply. "You are not a prize. But you are someone worth pursuing, even if it takes me a lifetime."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Feng Qingqing opened her mouth to respond but found that no words came. Instead, she turned her back on him and took a step toward the glowing tree, her breath shaky.
The rustling of the Tree of Fortune brought back a memory Tian Weilong had carried in his heart for years. He thought of the day, long ago, when he was just a broken boy standing before a similar tree, crushed by the weight of losing his mother. He had stood alone, silent and numb, until a little girl with kind, earnest eyes placed a wish into his trembling hands.
"Even when it feels like the world has forgotten you, the heavens always listen," she had said, her voice like sunlight breaking through the storm.
Tian Weilong stood still, watching her retreating figure. As the wind rustled through the wishes above them, he made his own silent promise, one that didn't need to be written. If her heart was a fortress, he would find a way to its gates—not through force, but with time, patience, and unwavering determination.