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Double Moons on the Same Night: The First Bloom
墨書 Inktalez
The Dayan Dynasty placed great importance on celestial phenomena, especially on the seventh day of the eighth month. Legend has it that during the waxing crescent moon, it is the moment when yin and yang intertwine, making it the most suitable time to glimpse the secrets of heaven.
It has been sixteen years since the Former Emperor passed away, the Empress was murdered, and Consort Duan went missing. The power of the Empress Dowager has grown increasingly formidable. Yet today, she behaved unusually, heading to Water Mirror Pavilion before midnight.
I stood at the corner of the corridor, gazing at her figure before the water mirror. She wore a phoenix robe adorned with peony patterns, her hand resting on a bronze mirror, exuding an indescribable majesty in the evening glow. The ancient bronze mirror was said to have been crafted by the Former Emperor himself, its surface faintly revealing intricate water patterns.
Just like the crescent moon hanging in the sky at this moment, it was missing half of its form.
"Another The Moon Wanes night..." I heard the Empress Dowager murmur softly.
The palace maids said that in her youth, she loved to play chess during The Moon Wanes nights, sharing a famous tale with the Former Emperor about "one move determining the fate of the world." Back then, she was radiant and celebrated as a talented woman praised by all in court. However, ever since Consort Duan entered the palace, she had not touched a chess piece again. Yet every The Moon Wanes night, she would stand alone before this water mirror, waiting for heavenly revelations.
From afar, the clock tower chimed three deep strokes, drenching my sleeves with last night's rain that lingered on the branches. To conceal my feminine form...
I deliberately tied my hair up high with a Silver Crown and donned a Moonlight White Robe, presenting myself as a refined young gentleman. The Tianji Jade Pendant at my waist glimmered subtly in the dim light. In my hand, the Duan Hun sword shimmered with an unusual azure glow amidst the Morning Dew. For eight years, I had appeared in this guise daily, and even the elderly in the palace could not detect a hint of flaw. Only the person in the mirror knew how many unspoken thoughts lay hidden deep within these eyes.
Every night, when silence enveloped the world, I would remove the Silver Crown and, facing the bronze mirror, comb through my long Silken Tresses hair, as if I could catch a glimpse of my mother’s figure reflected back at me.
A sharp "clang" interrupted my reverie. Following the sound, I saw a figure on the Training Ground— Crimson Purple —practicing swordplay in the Morning Dew. The sword light darted like a shuttle, weaving a silver brilliance through the morning mist. It was him, Xiao Yuyang, the Crown Prince and my… enemy. At this moment, he was demonstrating Beihai Swordsmanship in the Morning Dew, wielding the Zhenhun Sword with fierce momentum. Each move mirrored that fateful Blood-Red Night from eight years ago. Yet within those originally sharp techniques, there remained an inexplicable familiarity that I could not articulate.
Especially the posture of sheathing the sword,
was surprisingly similar to my father's from years ago.
Over the years, I often felt that his martial arts concealed the shadow of the Luo Family Swordsmanship,
but I always thought I was mistaken.
Yet today, his swordplay seemed to carry a hint of distraction.
Yesterday, I saw him standing under the Mountain Cherry Tree in the back garden,
staring blankly at the unopened flower buds.
His figure was exactly the same as when we first met eight years ago on the First Night of the Lunar Year.
"Another year of cherry blossoms..."
His soft sigh drifted with the wind, sending a shiver through my heart.
That year on the First Night of the Lunar Year, we also met beneath the Mountain Cherry Tree.
He wiped away the cinnabar from my forehead and said he would take me to see Shan Ying in Luoyang.
At that time, there was none of the inscrutable depth in his eyes that I see today.
Yet his gaze upon me held both the joy of a long-awaited reunion and the pain of unrecognition.
All these years, I felt he was secretly protecting me while deliberately keeping his distance.
Every time I passed by the Training Ground,
I could sense his gaze following me, faint yet persistent.
The moment my father fell in my childhood memory resurfaced in my mind,
the sword wound on his chest was precisely from the Beihai Swordsmanship's "Frost Moon Piercing the Heart."
And today, this move reappeared before my eyes.
Why does his swordplay resemble my father's so closely?
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