Shen Wei never wanted to be an Emperor, but on the anniversary of the peace deal he discovers that Kunlun might be alive.
Part 1 of the The Leaves Of Autumn Are Memories series
The central courtyard was filled with night flowers and glittering dark energy lanterns, in white and yellow. Incense drifted on the crisp autumn night, swirling to catch the faint breeze.
The night sky glittered above them, the silver light of the moon falling into the golden pools of warm light and the small rivers of fires that burned to ward away some of the chill.
The faint heady scent of the blue spider flowers, that climbed in elegant sweeps over the walls, mingled with the pure white jasmine, the Emperor favored. The natural small glowing light in the center of each flower, brought the white moths to glide over the courtyard in swirling patterns.
It was an enchanting sight and enthralled even the Snake Clan, who had openly derided the Yashou celebration last year.
Chancellor Chu Shuzhi's thundering voice echoed across the ancient stone, announcing the Emperor. The grand, intricately carved doors opened and Shen Wei stepped into the cool night air, his Royal Escort fanning out into the shadows the pillars provided.
Silent steps followed the short path lined with yellow stones to the middle of the courtyard, to the blue dais. The cold breeze danced in the wide space, his pale robes fluttering like the wing of a moth, as the charms on his treasured hairpin twirled with the air.
Shen Wei had never enjoyed gatherings, but tonight he walked into the courtyard with the air of a General.
It had been a long day and there was a knot in his chest that refused to ease. Caught somewhere between the constant hope that lived in is heart and the whisper of despair that never truly left. On the surface though he was polite and impeccable. The very image of what an Emperor should be.
There are many types of masks after all, carefully crafted to hide turmoil.
He had learned to walk through the pain, to live with the constant ache of loss and worry. It was harder to live with the yearning. To see his face once more...
What was this or any challenge compared to the loss of Kunlun?
The chill of the frost that followed him hung in the air and the taste of the storm only added to the effect. The late autumn sky seemed to come to the earth with every step he took, the controlled maelstrom of power that seethed beneath the cold air and a face concealed by a mask.
White was the color of grief, but this was a blend of celebration and mourning, so he had chosen to wear a soft shade of lotus purple to signify rebirth and a long flowing cloak in pale magnolia. The flowers that Kunlun had admired in the North, laughing as he pressed the Ghost General against the heavy branches, obsidian eyes dancing with love.
His pendant nestles against his skin and along his shoulders the cloak has been decorated with silver and white. Kunlun's white fur cloak and the silver of his armor.
Zhao Yunlan is in every part of the gathering, from the lanterns to the choice of a temple beneath the night sky.
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