A/N: All rights to the original content are reserved by the respective copyright owner.

DOUBLE UPLOAD! Read "Ch. Two: Blossoming Bonds" first, before reading this chapter just to avoid confusion.

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The golden hues of evening light faded to the cooler shades of twilight as Jingliu's silent silhouette passed through the ornate corridors of her family's mansion. She paused by a grand window, her reflection staring back at her—a caged bird with wings unfurled but nowhere to fly.

"Why must it all be so... suffocating?" Jingliu murmured, tracing the intricate patterns on the window pane.

Her chamber door creaked open, and she stepped into the expansive room that felt more like a display than a personal sanctuary. She flopped onto her bed, a small cloud of dust rising and catching in the dimming light.

"This isn't me," she protested to the empty room, her voice a blend of defiance and sorrow.

She grabbed a decorative cushion, holding it before her as if it were an audience to her innermost thoughts. "Look at you, so plump and golden. Do you not tire of just being... pretty?" Jingliu spoke to the cushion, then tossed it aside, her gaze hardening.

The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of the leaves outside her window. It was in this quietude that her thoughts unspooled, unraveling the day's encounters.

"Y/N..." she whispered into the stillness. The name felt foreign yet familiar on her lips.

A cascade of memories rushed forth—the tension in the forest, the ease of conversation, the shared meal, and the simple kindness that was so unlike the calculated gestures she knew from her world.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the canopy above her. "I suppose you weren't entirely boring today," she admitted to the imagined specter of Y/N in her room.

The moonlight cast shadows across her face, creating a mosaic of light and dark. "But why did it have to be a boy?" She groaned softly, the complication of her feelings tangling like the vines on the forest floor.

"Why does it matter?" She challenged the question as if it were an adversary.

Silence answered her, the moonlight unwavering, the shadows unflinching.

Jingliu pulled her pillow closer, her voice softening to a whisper, "A friend who sees me, not the gold or the silks or the... expectations."

Her eyelids fluttered, the first tendrils of sleep drawing near. "Just me... as Jingliu," she sighed, her last thought before succumbing to dreams—a world where friendship was simple, and her heart's whispers didn't echo quite so loudly.

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As the first tendrils of morning light crept through the heavy drapes, Jingliu's eyelids fluttered open. A rare, unguarded smile graced her lips, the remnants of a dreamless peace still lingering. Her pale hair lay in a tousled halo around her head, a testament to the night's stillness.

With a soft sigh, the tranquility of her waking moment faded, giving way to the reality of her gilded cage. Resigned, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and began the meticulous process of preparing for the day. The ritual was silent and solitary, without the fuss of maids or the chatter of servants—a noble's morning distilled to its most personal essence.

She donned garments of grey and blue, the fabric rich yet understated, a silent rebellion against the ostentatiousness expected of her station. With a last glance in the mirror to ensure every fold and crease was in place, she braced herself to face the day.

Descending the staircase, Jingliu's steps were light, her ears tuned to the sounds of the household. The coast was clear—until the dining room came into view. Her mother, an austere figure mirroring Jingliu's unique features, sat at the table. A familiar dread settled in Jingliu's stomach, but necessity demanded she engage.

"Good morning, Mother," Jingliu intoned, the words careful, measured.

"Jingliu," her mother returned, voice sharp as the cut of her gaze.

Sitting across from the matriarch, Jingliu picked at her meal, the silence a tangible weight between them. Then, breaking like the first crack in a frozen lake, her mother's voice sliced through the quiet.

"Where were you yesterday?" she inquired, the question wrapped in casual curiosity but edged with scrutiny.

Caught mid-bite, Jingliu hesitated. "I was... with a friend," she replied, her voice betraying a flicker of defiance at her own slip.

A friend? The concept seemed to hang in the air, foreign and unexpected. Her mother had once tried to force social connections, attempts that withered under Jingliu's cold indifference.

Avoiding her mother's probing eyes, Jingliu braced for the inevitable inquisition. And as expected, her mother leaned in, "And who is this friend?"

The question was like a starter's pistol. Jingliu bolted from her chair, her flight an abrupt end to the interrogation. Her swift departure was at odds with the composed daughter her mother knew, leaving the elder woman alone, her surprise melting into something like satisfaction.

Left in the wake of her daughter's uncharacteristic outburst, the mother's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. She took another bite of her meal, a newfound delight flavoring her morning tea. Her daughter, always a mystery, had just become a little bit more intriguing.

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The slamming of the door echoed in Jingliu's ears as she darted away from her home. Her chest heaved with a wild cocktail of embarrassment and fear—had she really just admitted to her mother the existence of Y/N? Panic clawed at her as she imagined the machinations that could unfold, her mother's influence a spider's web that could entangle even the freest of spirits.

"How could I have been so careless?" Jingliu chided herself, her breath coming in quick puffs that fogged in the cool air.

The familiar path to the woods was a blur underfoot, her flight instinct guiding her more than sight. Jingliu didn't mind the flecks of mud splattering her hem or the twigs grasping at her hair. The woods were her refuge, the chaotic neutrality of nature a stark contrast to the suffocating order of her household.

Upon reaching her secluded training ground, the absence of Y/N loomed larger than she expected. A quiet sigh escaped her—a lament for the tranquility she feared was slipping away. But duty and discipline, ingrained since childhood, left no room for wallowing. She drew her sword, its edge gleaming with deadly promise, and she began her solitary dance with the blade.

Her muscles sang with the exertion, sweat carving clean lines down her dirt-streaked face. Each swing, each pivot, was an attempt to purge the turmoil from her mind. But then, amidst her focused reverie, the unexpected shout broke through.

"Hey, Jingliu!"

She froze, the name hanging in the air. Slowly, she lowered her sword and turned. Y/N stood at the edge of the clearing, a figure of vibrant energy against the muted backdrop of the forest.

He approached, a basket in hand, and with his every step, the knot in Jingliu's chest loosened slightly. "I've brought some food. Aunty sent them along for us," he said, his voice tinged with the pride of a child presenting a hard-won gift.

Jingliu's gaze flickered to the basket, her practiced stoicism faltering. "Your aunt is too generous. I'll have to thank her," she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.

"Aunty says we're welcome anytime. Don't sweat it!" Y/N's easy assurance was like a balm, his carefree nature challenging the rigidity of her own upbringing.

The notion was alien to Jingliu, hospitality without strings attached. She tentatively accepted the bottle he offered, its coolness a balm to her parched throat. The water was simple and pure, a contrast to the perfumed teas of her home. She couldn't help the pleased sound that slipped from her, nor the small smile that followed.

They settled under an ancient tree, its boughs a cathedral arching high above. Jingliu sat with her back straight, the poise of nobility never quite leaving her, even in repose. Y/N's cheer was a colorful counter to her quietude, his every movement full of life and unburdened ease.

As he took a bite of his meal, Y/N spoke with an earnest, if full-mouthed, mumble. "Mmf—Any idea how to—mmf—get better with swords?"

She couldn't suppress the quirk of her lips. "Swallow, then speak," she chastised lightly.

With an obedient gulp, Y/N repeated, clearer this time, "Okay, okay. So, got any brilliant strategies for my horrible swordsmanship?"

The question hung in the air. "I don't have an answer... yet," she admitted, a twinge of regret in her voice.

But Y/N simply shrugged, the light of optimism never dimming in his eyes. "No worries! We have time. We'll work it out together," he said with a brightness that seemed to wash away the shadows of the forest, making the day itself appear more luminescent.

Her reply caught in the web of her throat, trapped between the beat of her heart and the breath of new perspectives. Y/N's words, so carefree on the surface, carried a resonance that vibrated through her—a chord of wisdom she had not anticipated. "Yes, that's... true," she found herself saying, the layers of his meaning peeling back in her mind like the petals of a morning bloom. To not rush, to embrace the journey of growth step by step—it wasn't just about swordplay, but about life itself.

His head tilted, curiosity painting his features. "What is?"

The smile that touched her lips then was more than just an expression; it was a revelation, a sunrise after a long and restless night. "For reminding me that we're still learning, still growing," she said, her voice a quiet murmur carrying the weight of her newfound realization. "And... for being here, for being the friend who understands that there is more to me than the roles I'm given to play."

Confusion first played across Y/N's features, a silent question in the furrow of his brow. But as the sincerity of Jingliu's gratitude washed over him, his expression softened. A smile slowly spread across his face, warm and genuine, as if the simple act of her thanks had brightened the very air around them.

They settled into a companionable silence, save for the rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of their meal. Around them, the woods stood as silent guardians, a haven from the pressures and expectations that lay beyond its borders.

For Jingliu, each bite, each shared glance with Y/N, wove a tapestry of tranquility, a stark contrast to the ornate yet restrictive life she knew. In these moments, she felt the weight of her gilded cage lift, her spirit taking flight on the simple yet profound joys of companionship and the whisper of untold possibilities that lay ahead.

---

The tranquil hum of the forest was the only sound as midday approached. Jingliu, with her eyes closed, was the very image of serenity, her mind adrift on the silent whispers of nature. Y/N, by contrast, was a livewire of energy, his tune light and humming through the air, disrupting the stillness with a carefree vibrancy.

In a moment of impishness, Y/N snapped his fingers sharply before Jingliu's face, a grin on his lips as he waited for her reaction. The abrupt intrusion into her peace drew a swift, sharp glance from Jingliu. The flicker of annoyance, however, quickly gave way to amusement upon seeing his puckered face, clearly teeming with unspoken plans.

"Hmm? Dreaming up mischief?" Jingliu teased, her voice lilting with a touch of laughter.

Scratching his head, Y/N's eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and earnest curiosity. "Well, if we're not swinging swords today, could you... teach me something else?" he asked, his tone tiptoeing between jest and genuine interest.

Jingliu opened her eyes, her gaze meeting him with an unreadable expression. She hummed thoughtfully, a soft sound that seemed to mirror the gentle sway of the leaves above.

The lack of an immediate answer sent Y/N into a flutter of nerves, his foot tapping a rapid beat on the forest floor. Jingliu, sensing his tension, finally broke the silence with a question that was both a probe and an offering, "What do you feel you're struggling with?"

Flooded with a sense of relief, Y/N's words stumbled over one another, rapid-fire ideas and confessions bursting forth. "I mean, there's lots I don't know. My mother's hardly ever around, and my aunt... she's got her hands full with the restaurant. I can read a bit, sure, but writing? That's a whole other story."

Jingliu's brow arched in surprise, the image of the ever-cheerful and seemingly resourceful boy juxtaposed with this new admission of his vulnerabilities. "You don't know how to write?" she echoed, a softness touching her voice that wasn't there before.

Y/N's sheepish nod was met with a resigned sigh from Jingliu. "I suppose I can teach you that much," she conceded, the gravity of the skill not lost on her.

His response was immediate, a burst of cheer that could clear clouds. "Really? That's fantastic!"

Jingliu raised a hand, halting the impending celebration. "But not at my home," she insisted, her voice hardening at the edges with the fear of her parents' intervention. "They would never allow it."

"Then come to my place!" Y/N exclaimed, his solution simple and straightforward, a light in his eyes that seemed to banish her worries. "My mother is away for a couple of months, and you won't have to worry about prying eyes."

The relief that washed over Jingliu's features was like the breaking of dawn. "That could work," she murmured, already envisioning their clandestine lessons.

Not one to let the day go to waste, Y/N bounded to his feet with an enthusiastic proposal. "Until then, why don't we give the sword training another shot? You might actually make a decent swordsman out of me."

The challenge rekindled the competitive spark in Jingliu, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Prepare to be bested again, then. I do enjoy a good victory."

With their plan set and the challenge accepted, they rose from the shade of the ancient tree, stepping into the dappled sunlight of the forest clearing. The rest of the day lay before them, filled with the promise of growth and the thrill of friendly competition, a secret alliance strengthening with each passing moment.

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As the sun dipped low, bathing the training ground in hues of amber and rose, Y/N lay sprawled on the earth, each breath a ragged triumph over exhaustion. Beside him, Jingliu stood bent, hands resting on her knees, her chest rising and falling with the day's exertion. Yet, her eyes danced with an intrigued spark as she observed Y/N.

She couldn't help but marvel at his progress. "Quick to learn, aren't you?" she mused aloud, a slight nod betraying her approval. His form with the sword might have been lacking, but she had to admit, his defensive maneuvers were a testament to his determination. They had transformed him from an eager novice into something resembling a steadfast barrier. "Not quite the unshakable wall," she quipped, a wry smile gracing her lips, "but perhaps a gate that's stubborn to open."

Y/N, hearing her, tried to rise, his body complaining with a symphony of aches from new and old places alike. "So," he huffed, standing with effort, steadying himself on shaky legs, "where do we meet tomorrow?"

Jingliu tilted her head, her hair catching the last of the sun's rays as she considered their options. "Why not here again?" she suggested. "It's quiet, and there's no chance of unwelcome eyes."

He nodded, and then, as if struck by a sudden thought, added, "We could also meet at my aunt's restaurant sometimes. It's another place to hide in plain sight, and we can snag some food for the day."

At the mention of the restaurant, Jingliu's initial impulse to object was quickly swallowed by the memory of delicious aromas and the warm bustle of the eatery. "That... actually sounds good," she conceded, the practicality of the idea—and the promise of delectable food—winning her over. "Let's do that."

Their plan set, Y/N could almost forget the soreness that seemed to pulse through him with his every heartbeat. They parted ways with the sunset painting a serene backdrop, each step towards home a reminder of the day's trials and the fledgling partnership that had been forged amidst the dance of steel.

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Jingliu's steps slowed as she neared the door to her family's residence. The sky, painted with strokes of pink and orange, offered a serene backdrop to the turmoil brewing within her. With each step, her attire—once a symbol of beauty—now felt like a tapestry of tales she wasn't ready to tell. She pushed open the door, the creak of its hinges a familiar sound in the quiet of impending dusk.

As she stepped over the threshold, her mother's voice, ever sharp and commanding, sliced through the stillness of the house.

"Jingliu!" her mother called, the name hanging in the air like an unsheathed sword.

The girl stifled a groan, pressing a hand to the dirt-streaked fabric of her dress. "Yes, Mother?" she called back, her voice a mix of weariness and caution.

"You're late," her mother said, emerging from the living room with a frown that creased her brow. "And look at the state of you! What would the neighbors think if they saw a daughter of this house in such disarray?"

The urge to turn and escape to her room was almost overwhelming, but Jingliu knew the choice was not hers to make. "I apologize. I was..." She paused, the truth too dangerous, the lie too bitter. "I lost track of time."

Her mother's gaze was unrelenting. "This is not the behavior expected from you. Clean yourself up. We will discuss this—properly."

With a nod, an acknowledgment of the battle yet to come, Jingliu took the stairs two at a time, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Each step away from her mother was a small reprieve, a moment's grace before she must armor herself once more in lies and half-truths. She slipped into her room, quickly shedding the evidence of her escapades and redressing in the simple garb of a young lady of her standing.

When she descended, Jingliu steeled herself, prepared to parry the questions that would inevitably come. She stopped at the doorway to the living room, taking in a deep breath to steady her resolve. As she entered, the room felt like a court where her fate would be decided.

Her father's presence, an unexpected figure in the domestic tableau, gave her pause. "Father," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

He looked up from his seat beside her mother, his smile warm, yet somehow out of place in the cold formality of the moment. "Jingliu, my child. I am sorry I wasn't here to see you off this morning. The council demanded my attention."

"I understand, Father," Jingliu replied, crossing the room to take her seat, the chair feeling like a dock at trial. She folded her hands in her lap, a portrait of serenity that her racing heart betrayed.

"Now, tell us," Her father began, his tone shifting like the tide, "where have you been all day?"

The question hung heavy in the air, and Jingliu's throat tightened. "I was... with a friend," she said, the half-truth a feeble shield against their scrutiny.

Her father leaned forward, the politician in him never quite at rest. "I know that much. But who is this friend?" he inquired.

Jingliu's heart sank. Apologies whispered through her thoughts to Y/N as she uttered his name with a reluctance that tasted like ash. "A boy named Y/N," she confessed, each word strained.

Surprise flitted across her parents' faces. "Is he the one whose mother pilots a starskiff?" her mother ventured; curiosity piqued.

Confusion swirled through Jingliu, her mind scrambling. "I... I don't know much about him. We only met yesterday," she responded, hoping her admittance of ignorance would quell their suspicions.

Her father's eyes narrowed slightly, a testament to his acute observational skills. "If you only befriended this boy yesterday, where have you been all the other days?"

Jingliu's internal curses were a silent storm. She faced her father, her reply cloaked in a disinterest she did not feel. "Sightseeing around the city, where the Cloud Knights patrol."

A tense silence fell, her father's stare seemingly piercing through her facade, but after a moment that stretched into eternity, he relented. "Alright, you may go."

The girl didn't need to be told twice. She sprung from the chair, feet carrying her swiftly upstairs to the refuge of her room.

Below, her parents exchanged a look, their conversation turning to the boy whose name had inadvertently become intertwined with their daughter's. "If he is the child of that person from the Elite squad, he might be a suitable match," her father mused, the gears of politics and lineage ever-turning.

Her mother's agreement was a soft murmur, her thoughts already dancing with possibilities, blind to the rebellious spirit igniting in her daughter's heart.

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End of Chapter