Epilogue
The Mid-Autumn Festival market blazed with light and laughter. Paper lanterns swayed overhead, painting the crowded streets in warm gold and crimson. Vendors called out their wares while children darted between stalls, clutching sugar figurines and rabbit-shaped lanterns.
Yun-yao adjusted the cloth sling across her chest, where their daughter dozed against her heart. Six months old, and already a beauty with her father’s straight brows and tall nose.
“She’s going to break hearts,” Zhen-ting said, leaning close to peer at their daughter. His son was strapped to his own chest, wide-awake and fascinated by everything. The boy had his mother’s delicate features and observant eyes, currently fixed on a passing lantern seller.
“She'll break noses if they deserve it,” Yun-yao corrected. “I'm teaching her to punch.”
Zhen-ting laughed, the sound drawing smiles from passersby. “She’s six months old.”
“Never too early.” Yun-yao reached over to stroke their son’s soft cheek. He turned toward her touch, making a small satisfied sound. “This one, though, he'll be the romantic. Look at those eyelashes.”
“He gets those from you.” Zhen-ting caught her hand, threading their fingers together as they walked. Natural now, this casual touching. Two years of marriage, and she still felt the warmth of it bloom in her chest.
They stopped at a sky lantern stall, where families gathered to write their wishes, and Zhen-ting paid for the largest one.
The vendor handed Yun-yao a brush. “What should we wish for?”
Zhen-ting shifted their son higher on his chest, his free hand settling on the small of her back. “Peace,” he said simply.
She wrote the character, her brushwork elegant even standing in a crowded market square. “Love,” she added.
“We already have that.” His voice was quiet, meant only for her.
“Then we wish to keep it.” She glanced up at him, catching the softness in his expression—the look he only ever gave her and their children. “Growing old together.”
She finished writing, the ink drying quickly in the autumn air. Their daughter stirred against her chest, making small sleepy sounds. Their son grabbed a fistful of Zhen-ting’s robe, seemingly determined to help.
“Ready?” Zhen-ting asked.
Together, they held the lantern, careful not to jostle the babies. The vendor came over to light the fuel pad, and the lantern bloomed when heat filled it. Slowly and gently, it began to rise.
“Now,” Zhen-ting murmured.
They released it together.
Their sky lantern lifted into the night sky, joining dozens of others drifting upward like earthbound stars returning home. Yun-yao watched it climb, carrying their wishes into the darkness.
Peace. Love. Growing old together.
She leaned against her husband’s shoulder, his arm coming around her waist. Their daughter’s warm weight against her heart. Their son’s soft breathing from Zhen-ting’s chest. The lanterns rising, rising, rising—
A sudden warmth spread across Zhen-ting’s chest.
He looked down. Looked at their son’s cherubic, completely innocent face. Looked at the growing wet patch on his new robes.
“He’s peeing on me.” Zhen-ting’s voice was strangled between laughter and dismay. “Again.”
Yun-yao turned, took in the situation, and smiled—that brilliant, unguarded smile she'd learned to give him freely. “Well,” she said, reaching up to cup his horrified face, “our Great General has endured worse.”
“Next Mid-Autumn,” he declared, “we’re leaving the children with your family.”
Yun-yao’s laughter followed him down the lantern-lit path, bright as the moon overhead.
Above them, their lantern soared into the star-scattered sky, carrying everything they'd already found: peace, love, and a lifetime of perfectly imperfect moments together.