Destined Hearts of Mu and Yu (GL) - Chapter 7

When Wei Hanyu returned to the palace and pushed open the grand doors, a pair of arms immediately wrapped tightly around her from behind. She laughed softly, caught the hands, and pulled their owner forward.

It was a young girl dressed in violet, her large eyes blinking like stars, her lips pouting as she gazed up at Hanyu. In a delicate, spoiled tone she said,

“Elder Sister, you’re finally back! Yue’er has missed you so terribly.”

At the sight of Yue’er, much of the heaviness in Hanyu’s heart lifted. Though not born of the same mother, Yue’er was the sister she treasured most. Yet, now that they met again in the palace, Hanyu feigned her usual coolness.

“Yue’er, dressed like this… did you slip out of the palace again while Father was occupied with state affairs?”

At once Yue’er clung to her hand, swinging it playfully.

“Why is it that when you leave the palace it is called duty, but when I leave it is called sneaking out? I won’t accept that!”

Hanyu chuckled and stepped into her chamber. Yue’er followed at her side, curiosity brimming.

“Elder Sister, I heard you were captured by the bandits of Huangming Mountain. Did you see the legendary chief himself?”

At the mention of the mountain lord, Hanyu’s heart tightened, her face shifting ever so slightly. Yue’er leaned closer, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him too! They say he is peerless in both pen and sword—a hero without equal.”

Hanyu frowned faintly, her silence deepening.

“Then at least tell me—what does he look like?” Yue’er pressed eagerly. She was but sixteen, lively and bright, with little love for palace life. She preferred to wander outside, most of all to teahouses where storytellers recounted tales of Huangming Mountain. To her, the chief was the greatest of heroes. When she heard Hanyu had been taken there, she had been more thrilled than afraid, convinced the bandits—men of honor—would never harm the innocent.

“Fat-faced, pockmarked, coarse as they come,” Hanyu said evenly, raising a brow as she caught the girlish shyness flickering in Yue’er’s eyes.

“Impossible!” Yue’er’s voice rose an octave, her head shaking furiously like a drum. Her hero could never look like that.

“You’ve never seen him. How do you know otherwise?” Hanyu asked, her tone cool.

“You’re lying! One day I’ll see him for myself,” Yue’er huffed, nose wrinkled, chin lifted in defiance.

Hanyu hid her laugh behind her hand, her eyes glimmering as she teased,

“When that day comes, don’t come crying into my arms.”

“Humph!” Yue’er gave a little snort, then flitted away like a bird, leaving Hanyu alone in the vast palace chamber, her smile fading back into indifference.

***

The wooden gong echoed through the temple hall. Wei Hanyu knelt before the towering Buddha, her raven hair swept into a high knot that bared her smooth brow. Her eyes were closed in prayer, long lashes trembling like butterfly wings. Sunlight spilled through the latticed windows, gilding her form in a halo of gold. Her beauty was tranquil, serene.

Footsteps disturbed the silence. Hanyu’s brows knit as she paused her chant.

Master Qizhong stood before her, his kindly face serene, prayer beads in hand.

“Princess, you have chanted here for a full month, yet your heart remains restless.”

Had her heart truly been calm, she would not have noticed his approach. With this, his words struck true.

“I have recited the Lotus Sutra, the Diamond Sutra, the Prajna Sutra—each of them. Still, my heart will not quiet,” she said, a trace of helplessness in her gaze.

“A stone cast into still waters will always stir the surface,” Qizhong murmured, palms pressed together.

“But the ripples will fade, won’t they?” Hanyu asked, lifting her eyes.

“The ripples fade,” he replied with a faint smile, “but the stone remains.”

Her heart stilled at that, understanding his meaning. Qin Mu was that stone—forever lodged within, no matter how calm the waters above.

“Princess, the eighth day of the eighth month is near. I must trouble you to deliver these scrolls to my wayward junior, Qi Yan, at Wanguo Temple.” Qizhong extended the bundle. Hanyu accepted it with both hands, nodded slightly, and departed.

***

While Hanyu’s heart wrestled with unrest, Qin Mu burned with exhilaration. Soon, she would see Hanyu again. After finalizing her plan for the festival with Qin Lao’er, she locked herself away in her study.

She painted—again and again, the face of Wei Hanyu. Smiling, serene, imagined in gowns she had never actually seen her wear. Always, she marked the beauty spot beneath her eye—that single detail she cherished most.

So absorbed was she that she never noticed Qiu Chan standing silently at her side, watching her for a long while. The besotted longing in Qin Mu’s eyes as she painted made Qiu Chan sigh. Indeed, this girl had been hopelessly ensnared by Wei Hanyu.

Qin Mu finally felt that stare and looked up, meeting Qiu Chan’s disdainful gaze. But in her good spirits, she paid it no mind. Instead, she carefully laid out her newest portrait and held it out proudly.

“Sister Qiu, help me choose one. Tomorrow I’ll give it to Hanyu.”

Qiu Chan glanced lazily at the paintings—each one rendering a woman as radiant as a celestial maiden. Was this truly Wei Hanyu, or Qin Mu’s imagination gilding her?

“They’re all the same. Why make me choose?” she scoffed, then turned and left.

Qin Mu only smiled, long used to Qiu Chan’s disdain whenever Hanyu was mentioned. Humming softly, she bent again to her work, choosing a painting herself.

***

The eighth day of the eighth month dawned bright, and the capital swelled with life. Crowds thronged the streets around Wanguo Temple, hoping for a glimpse of the First Princess. For it was said that at her birth, the kingdom had suffered drought and famine. But when she came into the world, rains fell for a full month, reviving the land. And so her father named her Hanyu—“bearing rain, bearing jade”—a treasure bestowed upon the world.

Seated within her grand sedan borne by eight men, she wore flowing white silk, her figure graceful, her noble aura commanding reverence. She was like a lotus blooming upon cold waters—distant, untouchable.

When the sedan halted before the temple gates, she prepared to descend. Yet her handmaiden, Xiaolian, was nowhere to be seen. A guard stepped forward instead. Hanyu frowned. For a man to support her was unseemly. She intended to refuse.

But the guard raised his head and winked.

Her heart lurched, her composure faltering. This was no guard. It was Qin Mu, in disguise.

“Princess, do not miss the auspicious hour,” Qin Mu whispered.

Hanyu’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, she nearly lost control. But her iron will held fast. She placed her hand upon his, their fingers brushing as she stepped down.

The instant her feet touched the ground, she withdrew quickly, face composed once more. Yet within, her heart was a storm of crashing waves.