Dream land- Mèngxāng

chapter 8

Frost That Remembers Warmth"*

Since the day Xingchén was born, he had never felt warmth.

Not the kind that lived in sunlight. Not the kind that lived in a mother’s embrace. Cedar Falls Kingdom was carved from ice and stone, and its firstborn son was carved from the same material. Nurses said he didn’t cry as a baby. He stared. At the ceiling. At the frost patterns. At a world that felt nothing like home.

For twenty-five years, his blood ran cold. His hands were always cold. His words were colder. People called it “the prince’s frost.” A gift. A curse. A warning.

But last night, for the first time in years, he felt warmth.

It came from Mengya. From the way she trembled when he pulled her close. From the frantic beat of her heart against his chest. From the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her sleeping robe. It was small. It was dangerous. It was alive.

And the inner part of him liked it.

He hated that he liked it.

A prince of Cedar Falls wasn’t allowed to want warmth. Wanting warmth meant weakness. Weakness meant death. So he buried the feeling deep, where the frost could kill it before anyone noticed.

The knock came at midday. Sharp. Polite. Infuriating.

“Prince Xingchén,” a voice called. Sweet. Practiced. “It’s me. Princess Rou. I’m checking on you.”

Xingchén didn’t look up from the scroll he wasn’t reading. His jaw tightened.

“You are not allowed to visit my palace unless invited,” he said. Voice flat. Final.

The door opened anyway.

Princess Rou stepped in like she owned the air. Silk robes the color of fresh blood. Hair pinned with jade that cost more than most villages earned in a year. She smiled, but her eyes were calculating.

“I am your fiancée,” she said. Tone light, but there was steel under it. “Surely that counts as an invitation?”

“That sounds bitter,” Xingchén commented without glancing at her.

Rou’s smile flickered. “It was my father’s will, not mine. He arranged the engagement to strengthen the alliance.”

“Then take it up with him,” Xingchén said. He finally looked at her. His eyes were glacier-cold. “Don’t waste my time.”

Rou stepped closer. “It was because I’m capable that’s why your father chose me. I can manage the court. I can bear heirs. I can give Cedar Falls what it needs. Can you say the same for the girls you drag to your bed at night?”

The last part was a blade, thrown soft.

Annoyance sparked in Xingchén’s chest. Hot and ugly. She thought she could read him. Thought she could shame him. Thought she could stand in his palace and talk about the girls he didn’t want, the bed he didn’t share by choice.

He stood. The motion was sudden enough that Rou took half a step back.

“This conversation is over,” he said.

He left her there. Mid-sentence. Mid-smile. Mid-scheme.

The doors closed behind him with a sound like a coffin lid.

He walked. Fast. Anger burned under his skin and he needed somewhere that couldn’t be touched by court politics or arranged marriages. Somewhere that still remembered what quiet sounded like.

The secret garden.

Only he knew it existed. His grand mother the only person he respected had shown him when he was seven, before the fever took her. “When the palace gets too loud,” she’d whispered, pressing a hidden key into his palm, “come here. The frost can’t reach this place.”

He pushed the hidden door in the north wall. Vines curled around it like fingers. It opened with a sigh.

And the world changed.

*THE SECRET GARDEN*

It was impossible.

Cedar Falls was ice and stone. But this place… this place was spring that had refused to die.

The moment he stepped through, warmth hit his face. Real warmth. Not the false heat of braziers. The gentle, golden warmth of sunlight that filtered through a canopy of ancient trees. Cherry blossoms, peach trees, and flowers he didn’t have names for swayed in a breeze that smelled like honey and earth.

The ground wasn’t stone. It was soft grass, dotted with wildflowers. Purple, white, gold. They grew without permission. Without gardeners. Like the earth here had decided to remember what it felt like to be alive.

Birds chirped from branches above. Not the sharp cries of mountain ravens that circled Cedar Palace. These were small, bright songs. Melodic. Carefree. A thrush called, then another answered, and soon the whole garden was filled with music that didn’t ask for permission.

Butterflies drifted everywhere. Orange and black. Blue like his mother’s eyes. White like snow that hadn’t learned to be cruel yet. They landed on flowers, on stone benches, on his sleeves, and didn’t fly away when he moved. Like they didn’t know what fear was.

A small stream cut through the garden, clear as glass. Fish darted beneath the surface. The water made a soft sound as it moved over smooth rocks. Not a roar. Not a command. Just… existing. Peaceful.

The air itself felt different here. It didn’t bite. It didn’t judge. It wrapped around him like the memory of a hand he could barely recall. His grand mother’s hand.

For the first time since he was seven, Xingchén exhaled. Really exhaled. The frost in his chest cracked, just a little.

He sat on the stone bench and closed his eyes. For ten minutes, he wasn’t a prince. He wasn’t an heir. He wasn’t a curse. He was just a man in a garden that still believed in warmth.

---

*AT THE MAIDS’ QUARTER*

Mengya finished her shift as the bell rang.

Cedar Palace ran on shifts. Dozens of maids scrubbing, cooking, mending, hauling water. No one stopped. No one rested unless the bell told them to. She rolled her shoulders, wincing at the ache, and slipped into the room she shared with three other girls.

Silence.

Her roommates were still on duty. The room smelled faintly of soap and cold stone. The bed she shared with one other girl was already made. There was nothing to do here. Nothing to feel except the weight of exhaustion.

So she got up.

She told herself she was just stretching her legs. Just walking. Just getting air that didn’t smell like bleach and other people’s sweat.

She wandered.

The palace was a maze. Endless corridors. Staircases that led nowhere. Tapestries of old battles she didn’t care about. She passed courtyards with dead fountains and halls with windows that looked out on more ice.

After endless walking, she decided to go back.

That was when she realized she didn’t know the way.

Panic rose fast. Hot and prickling. She turned left. Then right. Then left again. Each corridor looked the same. Each door looked like every other door. The palace was swallowing her.

Her breathing sped up. _Breathe. You’re just lost. Someone will come. A guard. Another maid. Anyone._

But no one came.

She kept walking, trying to look like she knew where she was going. That was the rule in Cedar Palace: never look lost. Lost girls got punished. Lost girls got noticed.

And then she found it.

A door she’d never seen before. Half hidden by ivy. The wood was old but not rotten. Carved with flowers instead of frost.

She pushed it open.

And the world changed.

*THE GARDEN SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO FIND*

Warmth hit her face like a slap.

Mengya stumbled forward, eyes wide. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be in Cedar Palace.

Flowers. Everywhere. Colors she’d only seen in dyes. Reds deeper than blood. Yellows brighter than torchlight. Blues that looked like pieces of sky had fallen and decided to grow roots.

Butterflies floated around her. One landed on her wrist. She held her breath. It tickled. It didn’t sting. It didn’t bite. It just… trusted her.

Birds sang from trees she didn’t have names for. The sound was so bright it hurt. Like laughter. Like something free.

The air smelled like honey and rain and something sweet she couldn’t name. The stream made a soft sound. The grass was soft under her feet.

She was lost in it. Really lost. Not the panicked lost from the corridors. This was the lost you felt when something was too beautiful to understand.

She reached out to touch a blossom. Petals like silk. She smiled without meaning to. For three seconds, she forgot she was a maid. She forgot she was nobody. She forgot the fear.

That was when she collided with something solid.

A wall? But the garden didn’t have walls. It was open. Free.

“Ow—” she gasped, stumbling back.

Then she looked up.

Xingchén.

The prince stood there like he’d been carved from the same stone as the bench behind him. Arms crossed. Eyes like chips of ice. The warmth from the garden didn’t touch him. He brought the frost with him.

Mengya’s blood turned to water.

_Is this not the man who pulled her close to him yesterday night?_ The thought hit her like a punch. The same arms. The same chest. The same cold breath against her hair. Except now his eyes were full of fury instead of exhaustion.

He looked at her like she was dirt on his shoe.

“Do you have glue in your eyes?” he snapped. Voice sharp enough to cut. “Or are they just for decoration? There’s a sign at the entrance. Big letters. ‘No Entry.’ Did you think it was decoration? Did you think it was a suggestion?”

Mengya flinched. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

“Did you suddenly lose your sight?” he continued, stepping closer. Each word was a whip. “Is that why you slammed into me? Or are you just that desperate for attention that you’ll throw yourself at any wall, any door, any prince who happens to be standing in your way?”

The insults hit harder because he said them quiet. No shouting. No audience. Just cold, precise cruelty meant only for her.

“Do you know what happens to maids who wander where they don’t belong?” He leaned in. His breath was cold against her face. “They disappear. No one asks questions. No one cares. Because maids are replaceable. You’re replaceable.”

Mengya gulped. Her throat was dry. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might crack.

_This is the same man._ The same hands that had held her all night, desperate and shaking. The same voice that had said “sleep here” like it was an order and a plea. Except now that voice was ice and knives.

The garden around them stayed beautiful. Birds kept singing. Butterflies kept flying. Like they didn’t care that the prince was tearing a girl apart with words.

Mengya stared at his chest because she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her hands twisted in her apron. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to run. She wanted to disappear into the flowers and never come back.

But she couldn’t move.

Because even as he insulted her, even as his voice dripped with contempt, a part of her remembered the way his arms had tightened around her last night. Like she was the only real thing in his world.

And that was more terrifying than his anger.

The wind moved through the garden. Petals fell. None of them landed on him.

Xingchén waited for her answer. His eyes said there wasn’t a right one.