Meng'er had been only eight then, but she already understood many things. She raised her head blankly and saw dry strands of hair hanging across that face in profile-gaunt, pale, kindly, powerless. That was the last image of Consort Mei left in her memory.
Only much later did Meng'er gradually come to understand that plea.
Daming Palace was not beautiful at all. It was suffocatingly cold, and the mistress and servant who had grown up together were like abandoned beasts huddling for warmth in a world of ice and snow.
Perhaps they could have adapted to this place, just like the Ninth Highness, finding a place within its rigid hierarchies and rules large enough to shelter them both. But Meng'er knew how close Her Highness had come to breaking down that night when Meng'er had been pushed back to Clear Thought Hall with her leg broken, drenched in blood.
After that, it had become impossible.
Her Highness had always told her they would leave this place together, that the day would come, and Meng'er loved hearing it. Usually, it happened while Her Highness was massaging her lower limbs. Then the two would lie together, talking about all the things they would do once they got out. Often, those were the happiest moments of the day.
So when Meng'er saw that flower, she truly felt as though she were dreaming, as though an immortal had shone moonlight upon her.
She had heard that it was the Qilin Sacred God's decree: without His permission, no Qilin Son could leave the Divine Capital.
She had heard that this was forbidden ground for the Five Surnames. True blood must never be spread among other surnames; it was a matter that affected all of Great Tang.
Heir Yong Ji could not take Her Highness away...