Chapter 84: The Princess and the Pact

Snow blanketed the high cliffs of the Moonlit Dynasty's capital, Azur Vale, softening the jagged edges of the ancestral palace that had stood against the breath of time. Here, under a sky heavy with silence and stars, Princess Lianhua stood in her royal chamber, draped in a robe of midnight silk. Her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, where the flames of the eastern front still flickered like dying embers.

She had received word of Zhao Lianxu's victory two days ago. Against overwhelming odds, he had turned the tide. Yet in her heart, the news did not bring relief. It brought a sharp ache—a cut deeper than any wound a blade could inflict. For it meant he had survived... despite her betrayal.

"He lives," she murmured to the chilled air. Her voice was soft, trembling with emotions that no longer had a place in court.

Her hand moved to her side, brushing the intricate carving of a jade pendant hanging from her waist. It was a gift from Zhao, once upon a time when their alliance had been forged not with ink and blood, but with laughter and moonlit dreams. She had worn it to remind herself that her betrayal had a purpose. A higher cause. A future carved out of necessity.

And yet, as the frost kissed the windowpane and the wind whispered through the ancient pines, she felt the weight of her crown heavier than ever.

A knock.

She turned. A servant bowed low, announcing the arrival of Grand Chancellor Yin Zemin. The man entered with his usual solemnity, robes of crimson and frost-gray dragging behind him like the history of their people.

"Your Highness," he began, hands folded. "The central governors have received your command to tighten control of the lower provinces. But murmurs grow. Zhao Lianxu's actions at the eastern front have inspired defiance."

Lianhua walked slowly to her desk, her steps graceful but guarded. "Let them murmur. Murmurs are wind. I control the walls."

"Walls can crumble, Your Highness," Yin said carefully. "But a well-placed word can seed a revolution. We must tread lightly."

She sat, her eyes cold and measured. "No. We must strike fast. If Zhao Lianxu unites the border provinces, the Balance Council will back him. And then, all of this..." she gestured to the intricate map laid across her desk, dotted with crimson markers, "will be ash."

Yin hesitated. "You still wear the pendant."

Her eyes flashed. "That is none of your concern."

A silence stretched between them.

Then, softly, Yin said, "You love him still."

Lianhua stood abruptly. Her voice, when it came, was steel beneath silk. "I killed him for the empire. Or did you forget whose blade struck the final blow?"

Yin bowed his head. "A blade that struck a body, but not a spirit. He rose again. And he will come."

She knew.

That night, Lianhua stood alone in the imperial gardens, beneath a silver tree whose roots curled like ancient dragons. She remembered the last time Zhao had stood here. His words still echoed, wrapped in laughter.

"One day," he had said, "this tree will blossom in firelight instead of moonlight. And I will still love you."

The fire had come. And she had become a storm.

Zhao Lianxu stood atop a hill overlooking the Bloodmist Valley, where the ashes of battle were still warm. His armor was scuffed, his body bruised, but his eyes burned with purpose. Ji Ruyin approached him, blood spattered on her robes, her gaze sharp.

"Reinforcements from the Azure Clans arrived late. The western hills were taken, but we held the core."

He nodded. "Losses?"

"Hundreds. The civilians... they hid in the caves. Some didn't make it."

A cold wind brushed his face. He looked at the dark horizon. "This cannot go on."

She frowned. "You think to sue for peace with Lianhua? After everything?"

Zhao turned to her, his voice soft but resolute. "I think she acts under duress. And if not—if she has truly become what they made her into—then I will face her."

Ji's voice was sharp. "You still love her."

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "But love does not blind me. It guides me."

By dusk, a raven arrived from the central mountains, bearing a sealed message.

A summit had been called.

Location: Hollow Summit Temple.

Participants: Zhao Lianxu. Princess Lianhua. No entourage. No armies.

Purpose: A pact, or a war to end all wars.

Three nights later, beneath the fractured light of twin moons, Zhao Lianxu entered the Hollow Summit Temple. Time had not touched this place—the air carried the same scent of sandalwood and snowfall, the silence was complete, as if even the stars dared not intrude.

He stepped inside.

And there she stood.

Princess Lianhua.

Clad in white and violet, hair woven with silver cords, she looked every bit the queen fate demanded she be. But her eyes—those eyes still held the ghost of the girl who once sang to mountain birds.

Neither spoke at first. The wind stirred the torches. The fire cracked.

Then, Zhao said, "Why here?"

"Because here," she said quietly, "we can still pretend we are only people, and not thrones."

He stepped closer. "You tried to kill me."

She met his gaze. "I did."

"Why?"

"Because I was told the empire could only survive if one of us died. And I chose survival."

Silence again.

Zhao looked at her as if he could see through all the masks, all the royal commands, all the pain. "And now?"

Her voice broke. "Now I realize the empire survives only if we live. Together."

She reached into her robes and withdrew a scroll—a new pact.

Not of division. Not of control.

But of unity.

Equal rule. Equal sacrifice.

Zhao took it. Read it. Then looked at her.

"And the others? Yin Zemin? The generals?"

"They will not accept it. But if we unite, truly, they will have no choice."

Zhao stepped forward, took her hand.

The fire crackled louder, as if the temple itself approved.

"Then let us end what we began. Together."

And in that moment, two destinies bent toward one flame.

For the empire. For love. For a future neither had yet dared to dream.