Chapter 15- Whisper Beneath the Mask
The Lunar Bloom celebrations stretched on for days, but Ming Yue couldn't stop thinking about the masked stranger from the ball.
His voice still lingered—low, coarsely musical.
"Because some stories begin before names…"
Every night since, she replayed the moment: the warmth of his breath at her ear, the steadiness of his grip, the way his gaze seemed to see something she didn't know about herself yet.
Who was he?
A week later, Qi Longwei arranged for her to attend a royal rite in the neighboring province. It was a diplomatic gathering of awakened heirs—part ritual, part showcase. Ming Yue, newly initiated, was required to walk among the future protectors of the realm.
She wore deep indigo silk threaded with gold feathers. Her hair was braided in loops that shimmered like flame and starlight. Her mask, once ornamental, now symbolized status.
The ceremony grounds were shaped like a crescent moon. Nobles milled about in layered robes and painted sigils.
Qi Shen Fei leaned toward her, whispering, "If one more old lady tries to pair me with a Tiger Clan princess, I might feign spiritual seizure."
She laughed—lightly, but still searching. That aura… that fragrance…
And then, she felt it.
Near the periphery of the grove stood a masked figure.
Silver fox mask. Jet-black hair, loosely tied. He leaned against a stone column, arms crossed with theatrical casualness.
"You," she breathed.
As if summoned, he turned.
Their eyes met.
He walked toward her—slow, deliberate. The world seemed to fall silent around him.
"Looks like the moon followed me," he said.
She squared her shoulders. "Do you always greet people with riddles?"
"Only those destined to understand them."
"And do you always disappear before giving your name?"
He paused, then smiled beneath the mask.
"Names are delicate things, Ming Yue. They carry weight. Power. Prophecy."
She frowned. "How do you know mine?"
"The wind told me."
He stepped closer, gaze settling again on her features—the lips, the eyes behind filigree, the expression half-defiant, half-curious.
"You've changed. Something's growing."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see."
Before she could ask more, he pulled something from his sleeve—a folded plum blossom, perfectly preserved.
"For your pocket. Not your heart—yet."
He winked.
And vanished.
She was left standing with petals in her hand and questions in her bones.
That evening, Ming Yue paced beneath moonlight. Qi Shen Fei found her by the garden fountain.
"Did you see him again?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I think he's testing me."
"Do you feel stronger?"
She closed her hand over the plum blossom.
"I feel… watched."
Far off, behind the ceremonial gates, Shi Feng walked along the stone edge, mask hidden once more. His rose-gold eyes glinted.
"She's not ready yet," he said to no one. "But she's learning."
Not all sparks come from fire.
Some walk in plum scent and riddles.
And some… arrive before they're named.
Just beyond the ridge, Young Master Yan, heir of the Dragon Clan—stood overlooking the festival grounds, having just concluded a diplomatic briefing.
The breeze shifted.
A plum fragrance brushed past him, subtle but unmistakable.
He froze.
A quiet chill rolled up his spine.
His silver dragon ring flared—faintly, briefly.
Something unnatural… familiar…
He didn't know who.
He didn't know why.
But somewhere below, someone was walking too close to something that was his.
He turned his head slowly, gaze sharpening, but the path was empty.
Only petals danced across stone.
Some awakenings ignite flame.
Others stir the sky.
And in the air between them… fate begins to tremble.