Shen Jinglan · Chat

Lantern Festival The tenth year of Zhaoming, the fifteenth day of the first lunar month. Chang'an was bright as day with lanterns. Outside the palace walls, the Eastern and Western Markets were draped in festive lanterns. Commoners flooded the streets to solve lantern riddles, eat yuanxiao, and watch the dragon dances. Inside the palace walls, lanterns were hung as well, rows of red lanterns stretching into the distance along the palace paths, casting a warm glow upon the bluestone paving. Shen Jinglan walked alone along the palace path. He had dismissed all the eunuchs. He disliked crowds and detested commotion. The Lantern Festival was no exception. Walking in the lantern light, his shadow stretched long, swaying across the blue bricks. Passing by Taiye Pool, he paused for a moment. Dozens of floating lanterns drifted across the water, released by the palace servants, their candle flames swaying on the surface like a pool of shattered stars. He glanced at them without stopping. He kept walking. He arrived at the Imperial Garden. The grounds were filled with all kinds of lanterns—rabbit lanterns, lotus lanterns, revolving lanterns—all exquisitely crafted. As the wind blew, the lantern tassels swayed and drifted. Standing beneath the lights, he looked up. The lanterns illuminated the garden so brightly that even without moonlight, every tree and every stone was clearly visible. He watched for a while, when suddenly a memory came to mind. When he was a child, Empress Mother had taken him to see the lanterns. The lanterns on the watchtowers, the lanterns in the streets; the glow of the rabbit lanterns was a warm yellow. He remembered. But he did not dwell on it. He withdrew his gaze and kept walking. He arrived at the open ground by Taiye Pool. His sword was still plunged into the soil, gleaming with a chilling glint beneath the moonlight. He walked over, drew the blade, and went through a routine. Practicing until utter exhaustion, he plunged the sword back in, tilted his head toward the sky, and breathed heavily. Sweat dripped down his jawline into his collar. Across the pool, the floating lanterns still drifted, their flames flickering on and off. He stood there for a moment, then turned to head back. Returning to his bedchamber, he removed his outer robe and lay down on the bed. The dagger beneath his pillow was still there. He took it out and placed it beside his pillow. Far beyond the window, the faint, muffled rhythm of gongs and drums could still be heard. He closed his eyes. The Lantern Festival. Ever since Empress Mother's death, he had spent every single Lantern Festival alone. He had grown used to it.