“Lunch is ready~”

Yaya watched the two little ones with their chins propped up, their smiles curled like crescent moons over a quiet lake.

She waited till their bowls were mostly empty, then lifted her chopsticks, calm as a breeze over reeds.

After lunch, Dreamsound drifted off to her room for a nap, her breathing slow as a tide at dusk.

Yaya felt no drowsiness after a morning’s extra sleep, light as a feather on spring water.

She took the little one out to look around and handle some paperwork, their steps like ripples following a current.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘little one’ forever… Sweetie, do you really not know your name?”

“…Name~?” Her eyes widened, bright as a fish flashing under sunlight.

Seeing that pure curiosity, Yaya gave up the chase, her sigh a tiny cloud dispersing.

She laced fingers with the child and headed out, their hands warm as sunlit stones in a shallow stream.

“Good noon, Your Highness!” The guard’s salute rose like a flag in a steady wind.

“Mm~ hello!” Yaya waved, her smile soft as a peach blossom in spring rain.

Who was that again? The thought fluttered past like a moth to lantern light and then away.

Forget it, she told herself, letting it sink like a pebble into clear water.

Hugging the little one, Yaya swam through the city by the map, the streets flowing like silver channels under a bright sky.

The Civic Registry sat ahead, still as a lake with ink-dark eaves.

“Your Highness, welcome~ What brings you here today?” The clerk’s smile opened like morning glories on a fence.

They knew Yaya well; she’d come often, her presence familiar as rain on old tiles.

“I want to register this child’s identity,” Yaya said, voice steady as a lantern’s flame in a quiet room.

“I found her, and we can’t locate her parents or even her name, so she may live with me for a while like a bird under a borrowed eave.

I’d like a temporary identity, so daily life flows easier, like a boat with an oar.”

“I see…” The clerk nodded, the motion neat as a folded fan.

She drew out a thick ledger, its spine heavy as a brick of tea, and flipped to a fresh page, pale as winter frost.

“Will this be recorded under Your Highness’s household?” Her tone was clear as a bell across a temple yard.

“Mm…” Yaya’s answer came quiet, like dew sliding from bamboo leaves.

“Then, the name?” The pause hung in the air like thin mist over fields.

“Name… the name…” Yaya rubbed her temple, the headache budding like a thorn on a rose.

Even Dreamsound’s name had been her mother’s gift, bright as a star tied to a child’s sleeve.

“Let’s call her Qingsheng Tangxue~” The voice chimed in, light as windbells on a balcony.

“Hm? That does sound nice… It’s— hey!? Mom, why are you here!”

A blue-haired woman shorter than Yaya leaned at her side, smiling like dawn spilling over a calm sea.

“Why do you think I’m here? Mm~?” Her gaze tapped Yaya’s shoulder, playful as a cat’s paw.

“Don’t run so far next time,” she said, gentle as shade under tea trees, “everyone worries.”

“I know, Mom…” Yaya’s head drooped like a cattail after rain, then lifted again, crisp as a snapped twig.

“To the clerk: We’ll go with Qingsheng Tangxue!”

“Eh… r-right!” The clerk scribbled the name, her brush dancing like swallows under the eaves.

Princess and Consort in one room—this was a solar eclipse moment, rare as cranes over snow.

After the paperwork, Yaya trailed her mother like a scolded cub, fingers clutching Tangxue’s sleeve like ivy to a post.

They went shopping, which her mother loved, a stroll that gathered news like a net gathers silver fish.

Her mother was rarely home; today felt lucky, like catching the first plum blossom before frost.

“Yaya… you sure this child isn’t one you had on the sly?” her mother murmured, voice soft as rain behind a paper screen.

“How could that be! Why would you think that!” Yaya puffed up, a sparrow bristling on a wet branch.

“Having Dreamsound once was enough pain to haunt me for years; you think I’d go for a second?” Her words rattled like chopsticks in a bamboo cup.

Her mother gave her a look layered as mountain fog, then fell silent like dusk over fields.

Misunderstood, Yaya felt a tightness in her chest, a knot like a reed snagged on a rock.

“Alright… I believe you,” her mother said at last, warm as coals under ash.

“But if you never find her mother, what then? And how will you explain to your partner?” Her tone flowed calm as a deep river.

“We’ll… figure it out then, ahaha…” Yaya’s laugh fluttered, a paper kite tugged by fickle wind.

She wasn’t good at explaining, turning clear water muddy with one step.

Her mother sighed, a pine bowing to snow, and planned to speak herself when the family reunited, steady as an oxcart on a long road.

They were royals; feeding one more child was easy as adding a bowl to a big pot.

“By the way, Mom, how’d you think of the name Qingsheng Tangxue so fast?” The question floated up like a bubble from deep water.

“Why’re you asking so much.” Her mother’s glare flashed like lightning behind silk, and Yaya shrank back like a leaf in wind.

Time flew; a month slid by like a swift stream over smooth stones.

Yaya’s partner had to represent the Empire at an important meeting because of unrest on the great road, heavy as storm clouds over the plains.

It was supposed to be Yaya, but when folks heard, they shook their heads like willows in a gale.

They feared she’d get lost alone in strange streets, a lone firefly in a foreign night.

Tangxue learned fast, quick as bamboo after rain, and now she chatted smoothly and helped in the kitchen.

She seemed fascinated by cooking, eyes bright as twin stars over an iron pot.

Yaya let Tangxue handle a few tools, the ladle turning like a small oar in a calm bay.

Watching that curiosity, Yaya suddenly felt something off, a chill like a fish brushing her ankle.

“Wait, is Tangxue growing too fast!?” The question burst out, a spark on dry thatch.

Her mouth fell open, and water dripped from her cup onto her skirt like summer rain she didn’t feel.

Looking closer, the change was clear, sharp as a mountain ridge at dawn.

She remembered Tangxue being shorter than Dreamsound; now she seemed taller, a young willow stretching past its neighbor.

“Mom, how much salt for this dish?” Tangxue asked, voice steady as a thread pulled through cloth.

“Ah… a small spoon is fine, but let taste lead, like steering by the North Star.”

“Mm.” She nodded and turned back to the pot, intent as a heron over a pond.

Dreamsound called Yaya “Mom” all day, her voice soft as moss, so Tangxue followed suit.

At first, Yaya resisted being “Mom” to anyone but Dreamsound, a gate half-closed in morning fog.

But Tangxue was so sweet that her heart softened, melting like frost on sun-warmed tiles.

When lunch was ready, Dreamsound followed the smell to her spot, drifting like a sleepy carp toward familiar reeds.

Still half-asleep, she never missed her chair, as if home’s map was inked in her bones like rings in wood.

Sometimes Yaya doubted she was really her daughter, the thought a mischievous bubble rising and popping.

“Smells so good… huh— Mom, did you already carry me to the chair?” Her confusion bobbed like a cork on a small wave.

“Nope, you swam over yourself.” Yaya’s reply was clear as spring water from a bamboo spout.

“Uh…” Dreamsound scratched her head, cheeks pink as peach petals, embarrassed.

“Today’s lunch is Tangxue’s,” Yaya said, pride warm as sunlight through paper windows.

“It’s really good~” The praise floated like incense.

“Eh?! Tangxue made it?” Dreamsound lifted a piece of crab leg meat, red as coral and shining with steam.

It tasted good— not quite Mom’s, but better than most snack stalls, like mountain tea compared to street brew.

“So awesome… doesn’t that make me look dumb… No! I’m learning too!” She slapped the table, a clap of thunder that almost tipped the soup.

Yaya shot her a look, cool as moonlight on a stone, and Dreamsound shrank like a turtle tucking its head.

“If you want to learn, just say so,” Yaya said, voice smooth as a polished bead.

“Table-slapping’s rude and upsets people, like splashing mud on clean shoes.”

“I know. Sorry, Mom…” Dreamsound’s apology was soft as falling snow.

“Sigh… Apologize to Tangxue too,” Yaya added, calm as a bell after the strike.

“Lunch is her work, and care deserves care, like echoes answering across a valley.”

“Sorry, Tangxue…” The words dipped, a leaf touching a stream.

“It’s okay, sis~” Tangxue giggled, bright as wind through chimes.

She reached over and patted Dreamsound’s head, gentle as a feather, and Dreamsound didn’t resist, obedient as a kitten warming to a lap.

Yaya rubbed her eyes, certain she’d seen wrong, her doubt a passing cloud.

But the scene stayed, clear as a mirror’s surface, no trick of light at all.