Chapter CXII - The Letter Never Sent
The discovery happened by accident.
As important discoveries often did.
—
Three days after the imperial picnic—
Shen Li was helping Steward Zhou organize old documents from Prince Rui's estate.
A task Prince Rui described as:
"Unnecessary."
Which usually meant:
"Extremely necessary."
—
The study was quiet.
Sunlight filtered through open windows.
Spring breezes carried the scent of plum blossoms.
Peace.
Wonderful peace.
—
Then Shen Li found a small wooden case.
Hidden behind military reports.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because Prince Rui rarely hid anything.
His approach to secrecy generally involved glaring until people stopped asking questions.
—
The box looked old.
Older than their marriage.
Older than most documents in the study.
—
Then Shen Li noticed the seal.
Not official.
Not military.
Personal.
—
Her name.
—
Silence.
—
Then she blinked.
Looked again.
—
Her name.
Written in Prince Rui's handwriting.
Years old.
—
Interesting.
Very interesting.
—
At that exact moment—
Steward Zhou suddenly developed urgent business elsewhere.
—
Extremely urgent business.
—
And vanished.
—
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
—
Left alone—
Shen Li carefully opened the box.
Inside rested a single folded letter.
Yellowed slightly with age.
Never sent.
Never opened.
Never read.
—
Then she unfolded it.
And froze.
Because the date at the top nearly stopped her heart.
—
It had been written before their marriage.
Months before.
—
Long before either of them understood what they would become.
—
Slowly—
she began reading.
—
Lady Shen,
The familiar handwriting immediately felt different.
Less controlled.
Less guarded.
More honest.
—
This letter will never be sent.
—
Shen Li stopped breathing.
—
Then:
If circumstances remain unchanged,
there is no reason for you to read these words.
—
The room became very quiet.
—
Then:
Yet this prince finds himself writing them regardless.
—
A smile touched her lips.
Because unfortunately—
that sounded exactly like Prince Rui.
—
The letter continued.
—
Today I learned your engagement has ended.
—
Silence.
—
Then:
This should not concern me.
—
A pause.
Then:
It concerns me greatly.
—
Shen Li's chest tightened.
—
Because suddenly—
she understood.
—
This wasn't a letter from the man she married.
—
This was a letter from the man who was already beginning to fall in love.
And didn't know it yet.
—
Then she read further.
—
I have met you only a handful of times.
—
Another line.
—
Yet every report mentioning your name receives my attention.
—
Silence.
—
Then:
Every conversation involving your future irritates me.
—
The honesty was almost painful.
—
Then:
This prince has attempted to determine why.
—
A very Prince Rui sentence.
—
Because naturally—
when confronted with emotions—
he investigated them.
—
Then came the line that made Shen Li close her eyes briefly.
—
The results have been disappointing.
—
Because she already knew what came next.
—
Then:
I believe I am becoming attached.
—
Silence.
Absolute silence.
—
The words felt so simple.
Yet somehow—
more intimate than any confession.
—
Because this was before certainty.
Before marriage.
Before trust.
Before love was safe.
—
This was the beginning.
—
Then Shen Li continued reading.
Her hands trembling slightly.
—
If fate never places us together,
I hope you find happiness.
—
The sentence hurt unexpectedly.
—
Then:
Though admittedly,
this prince dislikes the possibility.
—
A laugh escaped her.
Soft.
Helpless.
—
Hopeless man.
Absolutely hopeless.
—
Then she reached the final paragraph.
The final words.
The words never meant to be read.
—
If we meet again,
perhaps I will understand these feelings better.
—
Then:
If we do not,
then at least once in this life,
I was fortunate enough to know someone remarkable.
—
The letter ended there.
No signature.
No title.
No seal.
Just silence.
—
Shen Li sat very still.
Holding the paper carefully.
As though it might disappear.
—
Because suddenly—
she had discovered something precious.
Not a political secret.
Not a hidden conspiracy.
Not evidence.
—
A memory.
A moment.
A version of Prince Rui nobody else had ever seen.
—
A young man sitting alone late at night.
Writing words he never intended to send.
—
And loving her long before he understood it himself.
—
That evening—
Prince Rui returned to find Shen Li waiting in the garden.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because she looked entirely too calm.
—
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
—
Then she held up the letter.
—
Silence.
—
Prince Rui froze.
Immediately.
—
A historic event.
—
Then:
"Steward Zhou."
—
The words carried enough threat to terrify lesser men.
—
Unfortunately—
Steward Zhou had already fled.
Wisely.
Very wisely.
—
Then Shen Li smiled.
Softly.
—
"Your Highness."
—
Prince Rui closed his eyes.
Once.
Briefly.
The expression of a man accepting defeat.
—
Then:
"This prince can explain."
—
"Can you?"
—
Long silence.
—
Then:
"Not particularly."
—
Fair.
Very fair.
—
Then Shen Li stood.
Walked toward him.
And gently placed the letter back into his hands.
—
"I'm glad you never sent it."
—
Prince Rui blinked.
Surprised.
—
"Why?"
—
Shen Li smiled.
Warmly.
Beautifully.
Home.
—
Then:
"Because if you had..."
"I would have fallen in love too quickly."
—
Silence.
—
Then Prince Rui laughed.
A real laugh.
Rare.
Precious.
—
And beneath the blooming plum blossoms—
the past finally stopped hurting.
Because now—
it belonged to both of them.