Bushi'an Takkan [Six crimson cranes]

The cicadas sang relentlessly beyond the towering walls of the Emperor’s palace, their shrill cries echoing through the courtyards and ancient gardens as though they alone possessed the audacity to celebrate the arrival of summer. Their song was almost cheerful, though nothing else within the imperial temple seemed to share their enthusiasm.

The air inside was thick and oppressive. Incense curled lazily toward the painted rafters, mingling with the heavy scent of blooming lotus and sandalwood. Beneath the golden lanterns and embroidered banners, the heat had become almost unbearable. It was, Takkan thought bitterly, perhaps the worst possible day to be dressed in layer upon layer of silk.

Yet today was not an ordinary day.

Today, he was supposed to be married.

Takkan knelt solemnly in the center of the imperial altar, his posture rigid and disciplined despite the beads of perspiration that had begun to gather along his temples and trail down the back of his neck. His ceremonial robes were magnificent—deep crimson silk embroidered with intricate golden dragons, each layer heavier than the last. The elaborate garments were a symbol of his family's standing and the honor bestowed upon him by the imperial household.

They were also suffocating.

He had long since stopped counting the layers.

Still, he dared not move.

Not when half the imperial court was watching him.

Not when the Emperor himself sat upon the elevated throne only a short distance away.

And certainly not when this marriage was meant to bind his family even closer to the imperial bloodline.

The only problem was that the bride had yet to arrive.

Takkan's jaw tightened.

She should have been here long ago.

At first, he had dismissed her absence with patience. Perhaps her attendants had encountered some difficulty with her robes. Perhaps one of the countless ceremonial rituals required before a royal wedding had taken longer than expected. Perhaps the elaborate headdress had proven troublesome.

There were countless reasonable explanations.

But as the minutes stretched into an hour, and the murmurs among the assembled nobles grew louder, Takkan found his patience wearing dangerously thin.

It was not the delay itself that irritated him.

It was the humiliation.

His family had spent weeks preparing for this union. Every detail had been meticulously arranged—the guests, the musicians, the banquet, the ceremonial offerings. His parents had endured endless discussions with the imperial court to ensure that nothing could possibly go wrong.

And now he was kneeling before an altar like an abandoned fool while the bride remained nowhere to be seen.

Takkan lowered his gaze, forcing himself to remain composed.

Be patient.

Perhaps she was merely having trouble with her dress.

He desperately hoped that was all it was.

Then the doors of the temple suddenly flew open.

A young servant stumbled inside, breathing heavily, his face drained of color. His frantic footsteps echoed across the marble floor, immediately silencing the whispers that had begun spreading among the guests.

The servant hurried toward the Emperor and dropped to his knees.

He whispered something into the Emperor's ear.

Takkan watched closely.

He saw the Emperor's expression change.

The man's usually composed features hardened, his brows drawing together as anger and disappointment flickered unmistakably across his face. For several long moments, he said nothing.

Then he rose.

Every conversation in the temple ceased.

"Forgive me, my citizens."

The Emperor's voice was calm, but the restraint beneath it was unmistakable.

"It seems that something has befallen the Princess, and regrettably, the ceremony will have to be postponed."

A collective murmur swept through the temple.

Takkan felt his stomach sink.

Something had happened to her.

The Emperor offered the gathered guests a practiced smile, though his eyes remained cold.

"Please, enjoy the banquet prepared in your honor. There is no reason for today's preparations to go to waste."

And with that, he descended from his throne and swept from the temple, his robes trailing behind him.

The doors closed.

Silence followed.

Takkan slowly rose from his knees.

For the first time that day, he felt less angry than foolish.

Everyone was staring.

Some nobles whispered behind their sleeves. Others exchanged knowing looks, already weaving their own theories about the mysterious disappearance of the imperial princess.

Takkan clenched his hands beneath his sleeves.

He hated being the subject of gossip.

But more than that, he hated not knowing what had happened.

Hours passed.

The grand banquet eventually came to an end, and the palace slowly descended into the quiet stillness of evening. The blazing summer sun began sinking beyond the palace walls, staining the sky in hues of amber and crimson.

It was only then that Takkan finally received the truth. The princess had tried to drown herself. She had attempted to escape the wedding entirely. The news struck him harder than he expected. For several moments, Takkan could do nothing but stare at the messenger. His chest tightened painfully.

He had expected resentment. Perhaps even anger. He had expected the spoiled daughter of the Emperor to object to a political marriage, as countless royals had done before her.

But he had never imagined she would rather die than become his wife. The thought lingered in his mind like a blade.

He had barely spoken to her. He had seen her from a distance at court, had occasionally caught glimpses of her beneath elaborate veils and jeweled hair ornaments. He knew the rumors surrounding her, of course. Everyone did.

But he had never given himself permission to wonder what she was truly like.

Perhaps he should have.

By sunset, Takkan found himself wandering through the palace gardens.

The gardens were almost unnaturally peaceful compared to the chaos of the day. Lotus blossoms floated upon the still ponds, their pale petals illuminated by the fading sunlight. Willow branches swayed gently in the evening breeze, their shadows rippling across the water.

Takkan stopped upon an old wooden bridge overlooking a pond.

Below him, brilliantly colored koi glided through the water, occasionally rising toward the surface to nip curiously at the wooden beams.

He rested both hands against the railing.

For once, there were no servants attending him.

No nobles watching.

No musicians.

No expectations.

Only silence.

Takkan exhaled slowly.

"Do you despise me so much, Princess?" he murmured.

The words escaped him before he could stop them. His expression darkened as he stared down at the koi. He had spent the entire day trying to convince himself that he did not care. Yet somehow, her attempted suicide had left a strange ache within his chest—one he could neither name nor understand.

He was supposed to be offended. He was supposed to be furious. Instead, he was worried. And perhaps that frightened him more than anything. A faint sound suddenly broke through his thoughts. Crunch. Takkan froze.

Dry leaves shifted somewhere behind him. His fingers tightened around the railing, he turned sharply and then his breath caught.

Standing several paces away was the very person he had spent the entire day trying not to think about. The fading sunlight framed her figure, casting her in a warm golden glow. For a moment, Takkan simply stared. His blood seemed to turn cold, only for his heart to betray him by beating painfully fast against his ribs.

"{{user}}," he breathed.

The name escaped him with an unfamiliar softness. He immediately straightened, as though suddenly remembering himself, and bowed deeply. She was not merely another noble woman. Her rank stood far above his own. He could not afford to forget that.