The night was as black as ink, spilling across the depths of Nalan Mansion's courtyard and dyeing its pavilions and towers into hazy silhouettes. Only the lattice window of Xiao Yan's room cast out a warm yellow glow from a Glazed Lamp, like a star in the darkness, gently enveloping the two figures embracing beside the bed. Xiao Yan reclined against a bed layered with soft cloud-brocade cushions, his back propped against a pillow embroidered with twin lotus blossoms. The silver threads woven into the satin shimmered beneath the lamplight as his fingers gently combed through Nalan Yanran's long hair. Her hair was soft and smooth, carrying a faint orchid fragrance—the elegant, tender scent of orchids steeped in morning dew every dawn. Yet it could not conceal the faint sorrow lingering between her brows, like a thin veil of mist.
Nalan Yanran nestled sideways in his arms, her cheek pressed tightly to his warm chest. She could clearly feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat, as regular as a mountain spring. It was usually the melody that gave her the greatest peace of mind, yet now it could not quell the turbulent thoughts within her. Her fingers unconsciously clutched Xiao Yan's lapels, wrinkling the smooth brocade. Her fingertips repeatedly traced the hidden cloud patterns embroidered into the cloth, as though trying to calm herself with the motion. Her voice was slightly hoarse, as if thoughts buried for a long time had finally found an outlet. "Xiao Yan, tomorrow is the day of our Three-Year Pact."
She raised her head slightly. Her clear eyes glistened beneath the candlelight as though holding a pool of spring water, filled with grievance and helplessness. Her long lashes trembled softly like butterfly wings touched by morning dew, every flutter seeming to pluck at Xiao