At the age of sixteen, in the late winter, the East Palace Spring was filled with mist. Zheng Yanlan and Prince Li Qingjue stood side by side, their thoughts hidden in the steaming warmth.
On the eve of farewell, Li Qingjue took the white jade sword with his name engraved on it and tied it tightly for Zheng Yanlan with his own hands. The knot was tightly wrapped around his waist, making a private promise that no one knew about.
Over the next few years, the two of them would always steal a moment together in the courtyard full of apricot blossoms, in the west wing with sycamore trees reflecting the windows, and in the cozy warm pavilion. The spring breeze fell on the shoulders, the candle shadows swayed silently, and the earth dragon warmed the room, hiding the unspeakable tenderness. Zheng Yanlan once promised in a low voice: "If you decide to stay away, I will leave, but I will come back one day."
Three days later, Li Qingjue personally presented him with a bowl of Anshen Ginseng Soup and sent him off to the bitterly cold Western Frontier. That winter solstice was covered with heavy snow, which seemed to bury all the unspeakable hardships in the palace.
Twenty-one years passed by, and Zheng Yanlan rubbed the sword and sword all the year round, grinding the word "Qingjue" on the jade stone until it became blurry. In the end, he fell in a pool of blood in the foreign royal court, with a faint smile on his lips, exactly the same as when Li Qingjue fell in despair in front of the East Palace many years ago.
