A Love Written In The Stars

——— Wenyuan Hall

Mei's Pov

I ran my fingers over the old scrolls on the shelves, looking for Tiān Jìng Shū Lù—the Celestial Codex about gods and their attributes. The smell of old parchment filled the air as I moved past the rows of scrolls in the palace library. But my thoughts were not here; they were tangled up with Xiao.

Her impulsive actions, drugging a royal— a prince and crossing boundaries in such a brazen manner? it was reckless, perilous.

The emperor's silence on the matter was more suffocating; He rarely delayed responses in matters so severe, and that absence of clarity was a thundercloud over my thoughts. I whispered a plea to the gods for leniency, for resolution that would not end in ruin. For Xiao. For myself. For all of us.

As I ventured down another aisle, something shifted at the corner of my eye. My head snapped up, eyes scanning the dim aisle, but the space around me remained undisturbed. No sound. No movement. Yet, the prickle along my spine refused to settle. Someone—or something—was watching.

I shook off the thought and continued my search. The scroll wouldn't find itself, and indulging my nerves would only waste more time. Still, the image clung to the edges of my mind stubbornly. My frown deepened as the unsettling feeling crawled under my skin.

To calm my restless mind, I continued on slowly, adopting a deliberate pace as if still engrossed in my search. My fingers brushed across the counter's smooth surface, my eyes casting about without raising suspicion. Then, from behind a column, I caught sight of long dark hair.

I moved around the counter slowly, close enough to get a proper view, then I finally caught sight of them: a tall figure, their back to me, fingers gliding across the battered edges of scrolls. Their movements were unhurried like they sought something too.

Cheng.

He sat tucked into a secluded nook, head bowed over an open scroll resting on his lap. His brows were drawn in deep concentration, the faintest crease marring his otherwise composed expression. Yet it wasn't the sight of him reading that stopped me—it was the soft strains of a melody drifting through the air.

His long fingers danced across the strings of a pipa, coaxing out notes so tender they seemed to weave themselves into the stillness of the library. The music was hauntingly beautiful, each pluck of the strings revealing a depth of emotion seldom seen beneath his measured exterior.

I stood there, unwilling to disturb the fragile beauty of the moment, a smile appeared at my lips.

Rather than intrude, I retreated quietly to where I had stood before. My fingers grazed the worn spines until I selected a collection of poetry, the letters on it dulled with time.

I sat in a nearby chair and unrolled the scroll. The verses told of lost love and lives remembered, each word carrying a bittersweet sadness. Sitting up straight, I took a deep breath, like I was gathering courage from the air itself, and started to recite aloud.

Not wanting to interrupt, Mei shuffled back to her original spot and grabbed a random poetry scroll from the shelf. Dropping into a chair, she scanned through the verses filled with sappy love and dramatic tales of old. Taking a deep breath, she sat up straight, ready to sound impressive.

The moment she started reading aloud, the words fought back. Complicated phrases tripped her tongue, turning her recital into a clumsy battle. It felt less like reading poetry and more like wrestling invisible ghosts who refused to let her win.

Cheng paused, his fingers still on the strings as the sound of the recital reached his ears. It was off-key, jarring even, and he couldn't help but glance around to figure out where it was coming from. Moving toward the source, he found Mei, boldly giving the worst recital he had ever heard. Just as she threw her hand out with dramatic flair, she accidentally smacked a shelf, sending a cascade of scrolls crashing to the floor. Unable to hold back any longer, Cheng stepped forward and gently tapped her on the head with the scroll in his hand.

"I think the muses just left the building after witnessing that butchery of verse."

Mei shot him a glare, though her lips twitched upward despite herself. "You could've just ignored it and kept walking," she huffed, making a dramatic show of rubbing the spot where the book had hit her.

"Quite impossible, considering what I just witnessed," Cheng replied with a smirk. "Poetry is better enjoyed than performed, at least in your case."

Stepping closer, Cheng raised the scroll in his hands with a teasing smile. "Obviously," he said. "You should stick to blades instead of bards, mighty poet."

Mei swung a hand at Cheng, but he smoothly dodged, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry, your skills with steel far outshine any art. Leave the performing to us literary souls."

Mei rolled her eyes. "Just for that, you'll have to suffer another one of my recitals, smart mouth."

Cheng chuckled softly at Mei's clear displeasure.

"Worry not," he said with a grin. "I shall summon the muses back with a proper recital to soothe their tortured souls."

Mei inclined her head curiously. "Oh really? Very well, esteemed scholar. Let's see if you can do better. Show me how it's done, O silver-tongued one."

Cheng smiled and stood smoothly from the chair. "Follow, and learn from the master." He extended a hand to Mei in invitation.

They walked down between the bookshelves, Cheng's long fingers tracing against the spines until he found his selection. "Ah, the classics never disappoint," he said, pulling a well-worn tome from the shelf.

Mei glanced at the title—Songs of the Six Dynasties—and raised a skeptical brow at Cheng. "Really? Such lofty verses for our lesson?"

Cheng simply smiled, guiding them back to their seats before unfolding the scroll.

He cleared his throat dramatically, then began to recite the poem from the pages. But as he tried to add graceful gestures and a romantic cadence, his performance quickly fell apart—his tune completely off.

Mei bit her lip to hold back her laughter. "Truly, you've transported me to loftier realms of beauty and meaning," she teased. "Though I suspect the Muses are still absent."

"That was a rough start, I confess," Cheng admitted with a sheepishly, then tried again.

Mei pressed her lips together, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

By the time the poem ended, Cheng stood, breathing heavily, waiting for her judgment. Mei began slow clapping, her painted mask of astonishment cracking with each exaggerated slap of her palms. "Bravo, great bard!" she cried out. "Truly, I am slain by such brilliance, such mastery!"

Cheng harrumphed. "Must you wound this humble bard's ego so?"

Mei rose to her feet. "Come now, mighty poet, whatever will the masses think if even your most esteemed patron doubts your talents?"

"But do not fear, great scholar," she continued, "I think the issue lies with that book. Recite another!"

Cheng straightened, undeterred by her jeering. Mei picked up a slim anthology, flipping through the pages thoughtfully until one caught her eye.

"This poem explores duty with subtle grace. Perhaps it will suit your raw talent better," she suggested with a smirk.

Cheng paused to savor the unfamiliar verses, then began again—this time more mindful of the cadence, focusing less on theatrics and more on the flow of the words, enunciating each word with dramatic gestures.

Mei watched with a carefully controlled expression, her lips twitching as she struggled to maintain feigned rapture, she clasped a hand over her mouth.

But as Cheng read a particular phrase and then suddenly tossed the book onto the table, Mei couldn't hold it in anymore. Laughter burst from her, echoing off the tall shelves.

Cheng sighed in dismay, his shoulders slumping as his poetic aspirations crumbled. "Truly, I thought poetry was my hidden talent, but it seems I am hopeless at it."

Tears streamed down Mei's face as laughter continued to ripple through her frame.

"Oh, do not stop now! Regale me with another verse—I haven't laughed so in ages!"

Cheng chuckled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He glanced up to find Mei nearly bent over with laughter, clutching her sides as more tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

Between gasps of laughter, Mei leaned back in her chair, losing her balance and falling unexpectedly. "Ah!" she cried out, but Cheng was quick to react, catching her hand and pulling her securely against him.

Mei blinked, dazed, and found herself held closely in Cheng's arms. Their gazes met, and for a long moment, neither spoke. Cheng's voice finally broke the silence. "Be careful."

She settled back into the chair, still a bit breathless. "Forgive me," she said with a broad smile, "but that was perhaps the finest comedy I've ever known. You possess a gift, just not the one you intended."

A scowl tried to form on Cheng's face, but a smile still peeked through. "Admit it—you secretly admired my recitals!"

"Your passion was certainly impressive."

Cheng gave a rueful smile. "Looks like my talents are wasted on poetry. But at least I could give you a good laugh, even if it was at my expense."