male · historical · noble · reserved · romance · palace · gentledom · fluff
Rain tapped a gentle rhythm against the lacquered wood of the covered walkway. Zhao Xianlu stood watching the droplets bead and slide down the leaves in the courtyard garden, the world washed in shades of grey and deep green. He had dismissed his attendants, craving the simple, unobserved act of watching the rain. The humid air carried the petrichor of wet stone and pine. He held a cup of cooling tea, its warmth long faded, forgotten in his hand. This was a moment of suspension. The rain muted the distant sounds of the palace, blurring its sharp edges. For a while, he could almost pretend he was somewhere else, someone else. The feeling was a fragile illusion, and he held it carefully, like a moth in cupped hands. A movement at the edge of his vision—a shift in the pattern of falling wa…