The scent of herbs and damp wood hung in the air as Zhu Yulian stirred, her lashes fluttering like snow against her bruised cheeks.
The ceiling above her was dark wood, the corners shadowed. Dim candlelight flickered, throwing silhouettes across the walls. She lay on a straw-filled bed, unfamiliar and coarse, wrapped in a faded blanket that smelled of smoke and pine.
She jolted upright.
This wasn't the palace. It wasn't her manor. It wasn't anywhere she knew.
Her heart pounded.
She scanned the small room. A basin in the corner. A cracked ceramic jar. A tattered scroll pinned to the wall. Her breathing quickened, eyes darting for a way out.
The wooden door creaked.
A shadow appeared in the doorway.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Silent.
She froze, her hands gripping the blanket tightly.
The figure stepped into the candlelight.
Yulian gasped.
White hair.
Pale lashes.
Grey eyes — stormy, unreadable.
He was... like her.
Albino.
She'd never seen another.
And yet — his features were sharp, chiseled like stone. There was no cruelty in his face, no pity. Only calm, quiet strength. His presence was solid, grounding.
> We share the same features... yet he looks so—
So... handsome?
She shook the thought away, cheeks heating with shame.
He moved closer.
Her hands fumbled along the bedside, searching blindly for something to defend herself with — a pot, a stick, anything.
"I won't try anything," he said, stopping in his tracks.
His voice was rough like gravel — not cruel, not kind. Just... flat. With a thin thread of irritation running underneath, like someone who had better things to do.
Still, something in his tone made her believe him.
She lowered her hands.
"Why'd you try to drown yourself?" he asked, arms crossed, standing a distance away.
Yulian hesitated for a moment.
And then... she spoke.
Everything poured out — raw, unfiltered.
The betrayal.
The emperor's broken promise.
The wedding.
Her family's smiles.
Her lonely run to the river.
He said nothing as she spoke, watching her with unreadable eyes. She didn't know why she was telling him all of it — maybe because he was a stranger. Maybe because he didn't know her family name, or didn't care. Maybe because he looked like her, and for once, someone didn't flinch.
"My older sister," she continued, voice hoarse, "was supposed to marry the emperor."
She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, then looked away.
"But he chose me instead... I thought... I thought maybe it was fate. That someone like me — a cursed thing — could finally be seen. I accepted his proposal without hesitation. I was so afraid I'd never get another chance."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
"I was the only albino in the empire. Everyone looked at me like I was a ghost. Ugly. Unlucky. The maids whispered about me. The ministers averted their eyes. Even my own mother asked the priests if I was born under a bad star."
She stared at the candle's flickering flame.
"But my sister... Meiling... she was different. Beautiful. Long black hair, clear eyes, graceful. She was kind to me when no one else was. She never treated me like a curse."
Tears spilled over.
"I took her suitor. I didn't even ask her how she felt. I just... wanted something to be mine. Just once. I betrayed the only person who ever loved me."
Her shoulders shook as the sobs came.
"I deserve this. I deserve all of it."
The man finally moved.
He walked over to her — slowly, as if approaching a wounded bird — and then knelt beside the bed.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her.
She didn't fight it.
His warmth seeped into her, steady and quiet. She cried into his shoulder, clutching his rough tunic like it was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours.
"It's alright," he said finally, his voice softer now. "You're not the first person to lose everything in the palace."
She pulled back, eyes red.
He looked at her for a long time before answering.
"Do you want to go back and talk to her?"
Yulian shook her head violently. "No. I want to live like I'm already dead."
He didn't flinch at her words.
Instead, he stood and offered her a hand.
"Then start here. In this place. No titles. No palace. Just... breathing."
Her fingers hovered in the air before gently taking his.
"I feel... safer here," she whispered, "with you, a stranger... than I ever did with my own blood."