She entered the palace as a consort by imperial decree. Her childhood sweetheart, a general, knelt outside the palace for days; her kindred spirit, as serene as the breeze and moonlight, suffered in silence. Yet the emperor who placed her at the center of the storm promised her the widest sky of all.
He was a man whose youthful spirit had been stripped away too soon. As a child, he was caught in the struggle for the throne; after ascending it, he bore the weight of the realm. He had to remain composed, clear-minded, and restrained at all times. But when they were alone, he coaxed her, “Qingci, call me ‘Qiheng’ just once. Let me hear it.”
Lu Qingci: “That would be improper...”
Xiao Qiheng: “All right. Then when it’s just the two of us, I’ll have to keep calling you ‘My beloved consort.’ It sounds so distant.”
Lu Qingci: “...Qiheng.”
Xiao Qiheng: “Mm, I’m here.”
