The moonlight spilled over the grand corridors of the Tang Dynasty's imperial palace, illuminating the intricate carvings on the gilded walls. The faint hum of a guqin echoed through the air, carried by the soft breeze that whispered through the open windows. Li Ming, a young servant with a quiet demeanor, hurried across the courtyard, clutching a scroll tightly to his chest. His simple robes, though clean, marked his lowly status amidst the grandeur of the palace.
Ming's task was straightforward—deliver the scroll to the crown prince's quarters and leave without drawing attention. However, as he approached the lavish chambers, he felt a strange unease. The guards nodded curtly, their expressions stern, but there was no sound beyond the heavy wooden doors. Gathering his courage, Ming knocked softly, the sound almost swallowed by the vastness of the palace.
"Enter," a deep voice called from within.
Pushing the doors open, Ming stepped into a room bathed in golden candlelight. The prince, Xu Zhen, sat near a low table, his elegant features cast in sharp relief by the flickering flames. Dressed in robes of deep crimson embroidered with dragons, Zhen exuded an aura of authority and quiet melancholy. His gaze was fixed on a parchment before him, yet when he looked up, his dark eyes locked onto Ming's with an intensity that made the young servant's breath catch.
"You are late," Zhen said, his tone sharp but not unkind.
"My apologies, Your Highness," Ming replied, bowing deeply and extending the scroll. His hands trembled slightly as he held it out, and he prayed Zhen wouldn't notice.
Zhen rose gracefully, his movements precise and deliberate, as if every action carried the weight of royal duty. Taking the scroll, he studied it briefly before setting it aside.
"You're new here," Zhen observed, his voice softening.
"Yes, Your Highness," Ming replied, keeping his gaze lowered. He didn't dare to meet the prince's eyes again.
"What is your name?"
"Li Ming, Your Highness."
Zhen repeated the name quietly, as if testing its sound. "Li Ming... The brightness in darkness."
Ming looked up in surprise, meeting Zhen's gaze once more. There was a faint smile on the prince's lips, but it was fleeting, like a shadow crossing the moon. Ming's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly looked away, chastising himself for the inappropriate reaction.
"You may leave," Zhen said, his tone suddenly distant, as though retreating behind the walls of formality.
"Yes, Your Highness." Ming bowed deeply and turned to go, but as he reached the door, Zhen's voice stopped him.
"Ming."
He froze, gripping the doorframe tightly. "Yes, Your Highness?"
"Do you often deliver scrolls late at night?"
Ming hesitated, unsure of the intent behind the question. "Only when instructed, Your Highness."
Zhen nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Be careful. The palace at night is not as quiet as it seems."
Ming bowed again, his heart racing, and slipped out of the room.
The encounter lingered in Ming's mind as he returned to his quarters. His heart, so used to the steady rhythm of duty, now beat erratically with a mixture of fear and fascination. Xu Zhen was unlike anyone he had ever met—his presence commanded respect, but there was an undercurrent of loneliness in his gaze that resonated deeply with Ming.
Unbeknownst to Ming, Zhen too found himself unsettled. The young servant's quiet demeanor and the spark of defiance in his eyes had stirred something within the prince—a flicker of warmth in a life dominated by cold obligation.
Days turned into weeks, and their paths crossed again. Ming often found himself in Zhen's chambers, delivering messages or arranging documents. Each encounter was brief, but an unspoken connection began to form. They spoke little, yet the air between them seemed charged with an energy neither could fully understand.
One evening, Zhen called for Ming to bring tea to the gardens. The request was unusual, but Ming complied, carrying the tray carefully as he made his way through the palace grounds. The gardens were bathed in moonlight, the stillness broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.
Zhen stood beneath a blossoming magnolia tree, his hands clasped behind his back. When Ming approached, the prince turned, his expression softening.
"Leave the tray here," Zhen said, gesturing to a stone bench.
Ming obeyed, but before he could leave, Zhen spoke again.
"Stay."
Ming froze, unsure if he had heard correctly. "Your Highness?"
"Sit with me," Zhen said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Ming hesitated, torn between his duty and the strange pull of the prince's request. Finally, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bench, keeping a respectful distance.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Zhen gazed up at the sky, his features softened by the moonlight. "Do you ever feel trapped, Ming?"
The question caught Ming off guard. "Trapped, Your Highness?"
"In a life that isn't your own. In expectations you cannot escape."
Ming thought for a moment, then nodded. "I do, Your Highness. But... I try to find moments of peace in the small things."
Zhen turned to him, his expression unreadable. "And what brings you peace?"
Ming looked down, embarrassed by the simplicity of his answer. "The sound of the wind. The sight of flowers blooming. The knowledge that even in the darkest moments, there is beauty."
Zhen studied him, his gaze intense. "You speak as though you have lived a hundred lifetimes."
Ming smiled faintly. "Perhaps I have, Your Highness."
Zhen's lips curved into a rare smile, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of his title seemed to lift.
As the night deepened, they sat in silence, the distance between them slowly shrinking. Neither spoke of what was growing between them, but both felt it—the quiet beginnings of a forbidden love that would defy the rules of their world.
Above them, the magnolia blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, as if bearing witness to the start of something both beautiful and doomed.