Until We Meet

50| Intersection

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The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the bustling marketplace of Ming State, its wares a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors and exotic scents. Amidst the throngs of people, Zhou Qiubai, the junior preceptor of Ming, stands out in his robes of shimmering blue and white, his smile as serene as the jade pendant at his waist.

He gestures towards a nearby carriage, its lacquered wood gleaming in the sun. Intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes dance across its surface, each stroke imbues with the grace of a master artisan. Crimson silk curtains hang from the sides, offering a glimpse of comfortable cushions within.

"My esteemed guests," Zhou Qiubai addresses Zhao Yun and me. Flanking them were Su Zhen Lan and Jing Yi, their expressions stoic and watchful. "Please, honor us by accepting this humble transport."

Zhou Qiubai himself mounts a white horse, its coat as pristine as freshly fallen snow.

With a bow and a murmur of thanks, Zhao Yun and I climb into the first carriage. Su Zhen Lan and Jing Yi follow suit in the second, their silence a stark.

As he guides the horses forward, the carriage wheels roll smoothly over the cobbled streets, the rhythmic clip-clop a steady counterpoint to the city's symphony of sounds.

Inside the first carriage, a sense of awkwardness hangs heavy. Zhao Yun, accustomed to the clamor of battlefields, feels oddly out of place in this opulent conveyance.

The carriage rolls on, passing ornate teahouses bustling with customers, silk merchants displaying their wares, and street vendors hawking their goods. I continue stealing glances at Zhao Yun, my admiration growing with each passing moment. He, however, remains focused on the sights and sounds of the city, his mind preoccupied with the task at hand: establishing peace between the two warring states.

The sun begins its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold as the carriages reached the outskirts of the capital. The bustling marketplace gives way to serene gardens and elegant pavilions, their tiled roofs gleaming like scattered jewels. The air grows quiet, filled only with the chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

As the carriages draws to a halt outside a magnificent palace, Zhou Qiubai dismounts and extendeds his hand towards Zhao Yun. "Welcome to the Imperial Residence, esteemed guest," he says, his smile unwavering. "May your stay here be filled with peace and understanding."

Zhao Yun steps out of the his heart heavy with the weight of his mission.

Alighting from the carriage with Zhao Yun's steady hand guiding me down, I land on the cobblestones with a nervous flutter in my stomach. Jing Yi and Zhen Lan follow suit, their expressions unreadable beneath their stoic facades. I bite my lip, unsure how to navigate this unfamiliar setting.

Zhou Qiubai, the junior preceptor, stands before us, his smile too wide, too perfect, sending shivers down my spine. "This is—" Qiubai begins, but Zhao Yun blurted out before he could finish, "She's my disciple." His voice comes out smaller than he intends, lost amidst the bustling courtyard.

Zhou Qiubai only inclines his head with a slight smile that never reaches his eyes. He turns to the other two visitors, his demeanor shifting into practiced diplomacy. "They are my esteemed friends," Zhao Yun introduces, his voice firm.

Both Su Zhen Lan and Jing Yi, their names echoing in my unfamiliar ears, bow respectfully with folded arms, their hands clasp in front of them. They await further instructions with an air of stoic patience.

"His Majesty is overwhelmed with preparations for tomorrow's banquet," Zhou Qiubai announces, his voice smooth like polished jade. "He regrets that he cannot meet with you today. However, you are honored guests, and we have prepared comfortable quarters for your rest. He shall grant you an audience later."