Zhao Ming sighed, setting his chopsticks down as he met Lu Qianyi’s gaze. "You’re asking for my help, but you haven’t told me what exactly you want me to do," he said evenly. "Your father is in Luoyang, and we are in Beihai. Even if I wanted to help, the distance alone makes things difficult."

  Lu Qianyi’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I know," she admitted, frustration creeping into her tone. "If I had an answer, I wouldn’t be sitting here asking you."

  Zhao Ming leaned back, studying her carefully. Lu Zhi was a scholar, an upright man whose principles had earned him both respect and enemies. But righteousness didn’t protect anyone in the imperial court—not when power-hungry officials and eunuchs were tearing the empire apart for their own gain.

  "You should send him a letter," Zhao Ming said finally. "Advise him to leave Luoyang and abandon this idea of restoring proper governance."

  Lu Qianyi stiffened. "You expect him to just run away?"

  Zhao Ming arched a brow. "Yes."

  She shook her head. "That’s impossible. My father’s entire life has been dedicated to preserving order and virtue. He won’t turn his back on his duty just because it’s dangerous."

  Zhao Ming let out a short, humorless laugh. "Then he’s already lost."

  Lu Qianyi’s expression darkened. "You don’t understand—"

  "No, you don’t understand," Zhao Ming interrupted, his tone sharper now. "I respect Lu Zhi, but he’s an idealist trying to fight a battle that can’t be won. The court is a den of wolves. Even if He Jin and the eunuchs destroy each other, new ones will take their place. Your father’s dream of restoring good governance is just that—a dream. And what good is a dream when it gets you killed?"

  Lu Qianyi clenched her fists. "He’s not just fighting for himself—"

  "And that’s the problem," Zhao Ming cut in. "You can’t save an empire that doesn’t want to be saved. The Han dynasty is already crumbling. If Lu Zhi stays in Luoyang, he won’t restore anything—he’ll just be another corpse left in the wake of its collapse."

  Silence hung between them. Lu Qianyi’s face was pale, her fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  Zhao Ming sighed, lowering his voice. "I’m not telling you to give up on your father. I’m telling you to help him survive. If he dies, then what? Who will carry on his knowledge? His teachings? His wisdom? None of that matters if he’s buried in an unmarked grave, forgotten by history."

  Lu Qianyi swallowed hard, looking down at the table. Her breath was uneven, and for the first time since she entered the room, she looked truly lost.

  Zhao Ming softened his gaze. "Send him a letter. Tell him to get out of Luoyang while he still can. He’s no use to the world dead."

  For a long moment, Lu Qianyi didn’t speak. Then, slowly, she exhaled and gave a small, reluctant nod. "...I’ll try."

  Zhao Ming nodded. That was the best answer he could get from her tonight.

  The candlelight danced in the quiet room as steam curled gently from the teacups. Zhao Ming leaned back slightly, letting the silence hang for a moment before speaking again.

  “Things must’ve been chaotic when you left Luoyang,” he said casually. “Any rumors worth hearing?”

  Lu Qianyi exhaled, her eyes drifting to the flickering candle. “Plenty. Most of them depressing—eunuchs seizing more power, nobles quietly picking sides, generals sharpening their blades behind closed doors…”

  She paused, then added, “But just before I left, one name kept floating around more than the rest. Lian Rou. They’ve started calling her Queen of the Night now.”

  Zhao Ming’s brow lifted subtly. He kept his tone neutral, masking the flicker of recognition. “Queen of the Night?”

  Lu Qianyi rolled her eyes slightly. “Yes. Queen of Courtesans, they say. She’s become the woman in Luoyang’s pleasure quarters—everyone wants to see her perform, hear her poetry, listen to her zither.”

  Zhao Ming gave a small hum, intrigued but silent. He didn’t confirm what he knew.

  Lu Qianyi narrowed her eyes, catching the faint glimmer of curiosity on his face. She leaned back, arms crossing, her tone suddenly laced with mild annoyance. “Hmph. Of course. Mention a beautiful courtesan, and every man suddenly remembers how to listen.”

  Zhao Ming blinked. “What?”

  She mumbled under her breath, looking to the side. “There’s a perfectly fine woman sitting right in front of you.”

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  He leaned in slightly. “What was that?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly waved her hand. “N-nothing. Just… it’s warm in here.”

  He smirked, but said nothing.

  Trying to regain her composure, Lu Qianyi straightened and changed the subject. “Lian Rou started as just another performer—music, poetry, dance. But she was different. She didn’t just entertain; she captivated. She’d play a sad melody and stare out into the night, as if waiting for someone who’d never return. It made all those self-important young lords think she was pining for them.”

  Zhao Ming chuckled, finally unable to hold it back.

  Lu Qianyi turned to him, pouting slightly. “What’s so funny?”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “Just imagining those noble heirs scrambling to write poems and send gifts, thinking they were the one she longed for.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Lu Qianyi said, trying not to laugh herself. “One of them even challenged a rival to a duel in her honor. She didn’t even remember his name.”

  Zhao Ming let out a low laugh. “She sounds… dangerous.”

  “She’s clever,” Lu Qianyi admitted. “She plays the game better than any of them. The brothels adore her because she brings them status. The nobles worship her because they think she sees through their masks. Even some of the eunuchs try to win her favor.”

  Zhao Ming’s expression grew thoughtful. “A courtesan with that much influence in Luoyang…”

  Lu Qianyi looked at him carefully. “Don’t get any ideas. She might be powerful in her world, but it’s still a world built on illusion. Smoke and silk.”

  He raised his cup again, swirling the tea. “Illusions have their uses, too.”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “Sometimes I forget you’re supposed to be a scholar.”

  He smiled faintly. “Sometimes I forget I’m supposed to be anything at all.”

  Lu Qianyi looked like she wanted to say something else, but she stopped herself, instead reaching for her own cup.

  The candle between them flickered, casting shifting shadows on the wall, while the scent of spiced fish and tea lingered in the air—along with the unspoken tension neither of them was quite ready to name.

  The lanterns outside the teahouse flickered gently in the spring breeze, casting long shadows across the quiet street. Most of the other patrons had already gone, and the soft clinking of bowls being cleared echoed in the background. Inside their private booth, only two dishes had been touched—the rest had grown cold, forgotten as conversation drifted into silence.

  Zhao Ming set down his cup and watched Lu Qianyi for a moment. She was staring at the empty space in front of her, her brows drawn tight in thought. Her usually sharp eyes were distant now, unfocused.

  The server appeared at the edge of the curtain, hesitant. Zhao Ming raised a hand in quiet dismissal and reached into his sleeve for a pouch of coins.

  “I’ll settle the bill,” he said calmly.

  Lu Qianyi blinked as if waking from a dream. “Ah... I thought I was paying—”

  “You were, but you seemed far away. Figured I’d spare you the trouble,” Zhao Ming replied, flashing a faint smile.

  She looked like she wanted to protest, but the words never made it out. He stood, adjusted his robe, and extended a hand to her.

  “Come on. It’s getting late.”

  She accepted his hand wordlessly, rising to her feet. Outside, the night had grown colder, the earlier warmth of the day replaced by a crisp wind that rustled through the bamboo chimes hanging by the restaurant's eaves.

  Zhao Ming glanced at her thin outer robe, then without a word, shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

  She flinched slightly at the gesture, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

  “You’ll catch a cold like that,” he said. “Don’t argue with a scholar’s advice.”

  Lu Qianyi gave a tired huff that might have been a laugh, then pulled the cloak tighter around herself.

  “Where’s your carriage?” he asked as they walked toward the steps.

  She hesitated for a second too long. “I didn’t bring one.”

  Zhao Ming stopped walking. “...You walked?”

  “I had things on my mind,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze.

  “It’s almost curfew,” he said with a frown. “You can’t be out like this. The guards will start patrolling soon.”

  She didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flicked up to the half-moon hanging low in the sky, as if she was weighing the consequences.

  “Can I stay at the Murong estate?” she asked finally.

  Behind her, the female servant who had accompanied her gasped. “Young Miss! You can’t just—!”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Lu Qianyi said, her voice tight. “Not tonight.”

  Her servant stepped forward. “But what will people—”

  “I don’t care what people say,” she snapped, spinning around with a sudden force. “I don’t want to be surrounded by my father’s books, or the emptiness of that house, or the eyes of those waiting for me to fall apart. Just for one night—I want to be somewhere else.”

  The street fell quiet. Even the wind seemed to pause.

  Zhao Ming watched her. He didn’t speak right away. He saw how her fists trembled at her sides, how she blinked rapidly like she was fighting off tears she refused to let fall.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You do realize what kind of talk this will invite. You’re an unmarried woman, asking to stay with me.”

  She turned back to him, chin raised. “Let them talk. What does propriety mean in a world already crumbling?”

  Zhao Ming’s eyes searched hers, trying to gauge if this was a moment of impulsiveness or something deeper. But she met his gaze without flinching.

  “I understand,” he said softly. “You can stay in the guest wing. I’ll have a room prepared for you.”

  Lu Qianyi let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said with a faint smirk. “The guest rooms at Murong estate aren’t nearly as comfortable as what you’re used to. Our pillows might even be too stiff for a noble lady.”

  She let out a tired chuckle. “I think I’ll manage.”

  Zhao Ming glanced at the sky. The stars were beginning to peek through the haze, the moonlight casting a faint glow over the rooftops of Beihai. The streets were thinning, the last of the vendors packing up their stalls.

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you off the streets before the patrols start asking questions.”

  She nodded and fell in step next him, her servant trailing behind with a worried face but saying nothing more.

  As they made their way down the winding streets, their shadows stretched long and close under the lantern light, side by side—like two people who, even if they couldn’t yet say it, shared the same burden of uncertainty, grief, and the quiet yearning for something different.

  Zhao Ming didn’t look at her again. But in his mind, he kept hearing her words:

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  And somehow, without her needing to say more, he understood.