The city of Xiányáng was alive with energy on that spring afternoon. The sun was slowly descending, painting the curved ceramic rooftops and scarlet flags fluttering from the shops with golden light. The murmur of the market mixed with the laughter of children, the calls of vendors offering fresh fruit, fine silks, ceramics, and a symphony of scents: candied ginger, roasted meat, fresh lilies, and ink.
Meixin, dressed in a delicate pink silk tunic embroidered with peonies, walked with light, almost dance-like steps on the market's stone slabs. Her hair was styled in two low buns held by cherry-colored ribbons, and from her ears hung small pearls that sparkled like drops of dew in the sunlight. Her eyes, joyful and full of curiosity, wandered from stall to stall with childish delight.
At her side, Liu Zhen, her loyal maid, carried a wicker basket half-filled with candied sweets and sugar-carved figurines. She wore a simple beige linen tunic, cinched with an olive-green sash. Though discreet, she was attentive to every detail that might discomfort her young mistress.
— Zhen! Look at those candies! —exclaimed Meixin, pointing enthusiastically at an elderly man offering crystal-like sweets on his tray.
— They say he makes them with syrup imported from the south, —commented Liu Zhen, smiling.
As Meixin received a candied flower wrapped in delicate translucent rice paper, her fingers barely brushed the sticky texture of the syrup when something—or rather, someone—caught her attention from a distance. Her large, expressive eyes instinctively diverted, drawn to a figure emerging from the crowd, as if walking on the fringes of the hustle and bustle.
About ten steps away, a tall, handsome young man walked with perfect posture, dressed in a navy-blue linen tunic with delicate silver-thread embroidery along the edges. The fabric, moving in the soft afternoon breeze, reflected metallic glimmers that flashed like fish scales in the sun. The straight collar and stiff cuffs accentuated his sober and disciplined presence. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, fingers intertwined naturally, as someone who was never in a hurry.
He was accompanied by an older man, his teacher, with a stern face and lines etched by age. While the older man spoke, the young man listened attentively, his deep, intense black gaze moving intelligently and cautiously through the crowd. His face, with elegant features, carried the serenity of nobility.
Meixin stood still, the candied flower halfway to her mouth, suspended between her held breath and a sudden internal silence. Her eyes could not blink, as if time had broken in that instant. The market's bustle faded into a distant murmur, and the sweet scent of the candy was replaced by a warm, unusually electric sensation that traveled through her chest.
She could hear the beats of her own heart mixing with the sound of tiny bells tinkling at a nearby herbalist's stall. Her whole being, though unsure why, gravitated toward the unknown man with such intensity that she forgot the sweet in her hands and Liu Zhen's words beside her.
The young man slightly turned his face, as though he had sensed someone watching him. For a moment, their gazes almost met, though not quite. Meixin quickly lowered her eyes, overwhelmed by a sudden shyness, as her cheeks flushed a soft pink, matching her tunic.
The rice paper crinkled between her fingers, reminding her she still held the candy. But she no longer cared about the taste.
— Who is… he? —she asked in a lowered voice, leaning toward Liu Zhen, still unable to tear her gaze away.
Liu Zhen followed her line of sight and, upon seeing the young man, raised her eyebrows.
— That is Zhang Yun, son of the counselor Zhang Tao. They say he has passed the imperial exams with honors and has even attended meetings with the Emperor. Also, he comes from a lineage of martial arts experts. He's very intelligent… though somewhat reserved.
Meixin didn't respond immediately. She watched as the young man passed by an ancient bookseller's stall, picked up a book, flipped through it calmly, and then returned it with a polite gesture. His movements were smooth, his manners exquisite.
From that day on, something changed for Meixin. Every time she returned to the market, she no longer did so with the carefree lightness she once had. Now, after every fabric stall, after every awning filled with fruit baskets or perfumes, her eyes searched—almost involuntarily—for a figure in the crowd. Zhang Yun became a silent presence that inhabited her thoughts even before her feet touched the cobblestone streets.
At times, she would see him from afar, walking with the same elegance that had so impressed her. He walked purposefully, unhurried, but with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going. Sometimes, he was accompanied by a man with a stern face, whom Meixin imagined was his father; other times, he was escorted by a young servant who carried a small leather pouch at his belt.
He never approached. Never. She only watched him from a distance, hiding behind the folds of her fan or pretending to be interested in a comb or sweet stall, while in reality, her eyes followed him in silent devotion. Her heart would race at the mere sight of him from afar, and though no words or glances were exchanged, she felt that every distant encounter left a new imprint within her.
There were days when his figure was nowhere to be found, and Meixin would return home with her spirit a little dimmer, as though the color of the sky were missing. But when by chance she found him, even if it was just a fleeting glimpse in the crowd, a spark of joy would light up her face. Liu Zhen soon noticed the sparkle in her young mistress's eyes, the way her steps would falter without reason, or the way she smiled silently, lips closed and cheeks flushed.
— Have you seen him again, Miss? —Liu Zhen would whisper with a teasing tone, pretending to adjust Meixin's fan ribbon.
She wouldn't respond immediately. She would simply lower her gaze, pretending to distract herself with the dried flowers in a vase or the jade beads on a necklace. But in her chest, the name Zhang Yun echoed with a force impossible to contain. It was a sweet, intimate secret that accompanied her on every walk like an invisible perfume.
And so, among candied sweets, fleeting laughter, and warm afternoons, Meixin's heart began to weave itself into the threads of an illusion.
Weeks later, the sky was covered in a light morning mist that filtered the light into soft beams, and inside the Wei residence, the air smelled of freshly lit sandalwood incense. The spacious family room, decorated with elegant simplicity, was lined with dark oak panels carved with bamboo and crane motifs. On the walls hung ink paintings on silk, depicting scenes of nature and ancient proverbs. At the back, a black lacquered screen separated the main hall from a small tea room, where the clink of a spoon against porcelain broke the silence of the house.
Meixin, dressed in a yellow silk tunic embroidered with plum blossoms, walked with soft steps on the polished wood floor. Her sleeves fluttered like petals in the wind, and her hair, tied in a high braid adorned with an ivory comb, swayed slightly with each step. When she reached the room, she saw her father waiting for her, alongside her mother.
Wei Jin was a man with a kind yet austere face, thick eyebrows, and a carefully trimmed beard. His attire, a dark linen changpao, lacked ostentatious embellishments, but the quality of the fabric and the precision of the stitching betrayed the taste of someone who could afford the best without need for show. Though he had a few gray hairs, his posture remained firm.
Behind that sober presence, he was one of the wealthiest merchants in the city. Owner of caravans that traveled from the western mountains to the southern ports, Wei Jin had built his fortune with patience, intelligence, and a code of honor that earned him respect even among his rivals.
When he heard his daughter's footsteps, he turned slowly. His gaze was firm, but there was a hint of tenderness in it. He gestured to the seat in front of him, next to a low sandalwood table where jasmine tea steamed.
— Sit down, Meixin. We need to talk, —he said in a deep but not harsh voice.
She obeyed silently, lowering her gaze as she took a seat. Her heart beat with a certain unease, as her father rarely called her without a serious reason.
Wei Jin observed her for a moment, as though assessing how to begin.
— You've reached the age when every noble young woman must think of her future, —he said, pausing, interlacing his fingers on the table. — I have received proposals. Good matches. Sons of officials, generals… even a family with influence at the southern court. Educated men, with ambitions and positions that would secure your future. But before making decisions, —he continued— I want to know if there is someone who interests you. You know I respect your judgment, within the limits of duty.
Meixin, sitting at the other end of the table, raised her gaze with some anxiety, her lips barely parted.
— Father… I already have someone in mind.
Wei Jin frowned.
— Oh, really? And who might that lucky man be?
— Zhang Yun, —Meixin replied, her voice soft but determined.
A cold silence fell over the room. Wei Jin slammed the scroll onto the table with a sharp noise.
— No way! —he exclaimed, his voice resonating against the wooden walls. — The son of Zhang Tao?! That man is ambitious to the core.
Meixin straightened, her hands clenched in her lap.
— But Zhang Yun is not like his father. He's different… I've seen him, I've watched him. I won't marry anyone else.
— Don't talk nonsense! —Wei Jin snapped, his face flushed with anger. — He is not fit to marry you. You will marry who I choose.
Meixin remained still, her heart pounding, knowing her life was about to change in ways she couldn't predict.