12 parts Ongoing The moon hung high in the ink-black sky, casting a silvery glow over the imperial city. In the distance, the faint chime of a zither drifted through the air, delicate yet melancholic, as though carrying the silent regrets of those who dared not speak them.
Within the grand halls of the palace, beneath layers of gold and silk, a woman sat motionless before a bronze mirror. A single candle flickered beside her, its dim light dancing upon her face-exquisite beyond words, yet marked by a sorrow too deep to be concealed.
Her fingers traced the carved patterns on the wooden table, absentmindedly following their curves as if seeking answers in their intricate designs. Outside, the cold wind whispered through the corridors, sending the gauzy curtains swaying like ghosts of the past.
Once, she had believed in love. Once, she had dreamed of happiness.
Now, those dreams lay buried beneath the weight of duty, sacrifice, and a love that had never truly belonged to her.
A shadow loomed at the doorway. A figure stood there, silent yet imposing, his presence a storm held at bay.
The candle wavered, and for a brief moment, their eyes met-one filled with sorrow, the other with unreadable emotions.
"Your Majesty," she finally spoke, her voice as gentle as the falling snow.
The man stepped closer, his gaze lingering on her fragile form, his hands clenching at his sides. He had conquered lands, commanded armies, and held the power to dictate life and death.
Yet in front of her, he felt powerless.
"Yan Ruo..." he whispered, her name slipping past his lips like a prayer, a regret, a plea.
She smiled-soft, distant, resigned.
"Your Majesty must not forget the dawn will soon rise."
Her words were light, almost teasing, but the pain behind them was unmistakable.
The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of unspoken words.
Outside, the first light of dawn painted the horizon.
Another day had begun, but for them, it had already ended long ago.
