Clang!
The sharp sound pierced the silent night like a cold needle stabbing through the stillness of Thăng Long Citadel. It was a faint sound, but to the seasoned ears of Imperial Guard Commandant Ngô Tuấn, accustomed to the clash of weapons in the training hall and the murderous intent on the battlefield, it was unmistakable: the sound of metal striking hardwood—a golden ornament falling onto a wooden surface.
Two softer "clangs" followed, echoing like the final breaths of a dying love. The sound arose from the spinning motion of an object that had just touched and rolled lightly across the wooden platform.
In an instant, Ngô Tuấn's eyes gleamed like an eagle spotting prey in the vast sky. His heel subtly shifted. His body sprang forward like a coiled steel spring.
He moved swiftly, like a silent gust of wind, leaving no sound, no trace of a footprint. The bronze protecting his chest plate pressed against his firm torso brushed lightly against his ribcage. The hem of his robe fluttered faintly in the breeze. His form glided through the air, akin to an eagle soaring through the heavens.
His first step touched the ground—light as a dewdrop falling onto a lotus leaf at dawn. The force from his heel surged through his knees, hips, and shoulders, channeling into his lower back, propelling his body upward to the wooden platform's staircase landing. His trajectory was precise and clean, like an arrow that never misses its mark when he aims at an enemy.
His second step carried the momentum of an eagle spreading its talons to seize its prey, brimming with inner strength yet executed with sublime grace. His entire body's power was harnessed to its peak, not only lifting him higher but blending him into the darkness, merging with a cold northern wind that had just swept across the platform.
In a flash, Ngô Tuấn's foot touched the wooden platform's surface. He was at the source of the sound. His hand darted forward, seizing a small, delicate golden bracelet just as it teetered on the edge of the wooden platform. His fingers brushed the bracelet's outer rim. That brief touch was enough for him to sense the faint warmth still lingering on it, along with a familiar feeling of scent.
He raised the bracelet to his eyes to see it clearly. His heart suddenly tightened, as if gripped by an invisible hand. Not a physical pain, but one that dragged forth the softest, deepest, and sweetest memories of him. The bracelet was slightly bent because of clashing to the wooden platform, much like the fate of the one who once wore it—and his heart at that moment.
No need for a single thought. He stamped his foot once more. This stamp was no longer for movement but an instinct—the instinct of a man who was in love, and never accepted defeat. As his foot touched down, he launched himself upward like a firecracker that the children of the capital set off during Tết - the lunar new year of Đại Việt people.
His silhouette soared toward the roof of Thái Hòa Palace, resembling a willow leaf carried by a spring breeze in the evening sky. The yin-yang tiles beneath his feet did not so much as tremble. Only a faint clatter, like the sound of a chestnut shell falling onto a terracotta tray, marked his passage.
Without a single pause, from the palace roof, he lightly sprang upward, aiming for a higher perch—the bell tower of Báo Thiên Temple, a place where only the most skilled martial artists dared to ascend using their Qinggong skill to reach the ancient rosewood railing. Qinggong, a "lightness skill", is a martial arts technique that involves advanced movement and agility, particularly the ability to jump, run, and move quickly over various terrains. It's a highly practiced skill in Vietnamese and Chinese martial arts, known for its visual resemblance to parkour but it is much faster than parkour.
The legendary Qinggong skill of the Ngô clan was pushed to its zenith. His feet seemed to dance on thin wisps of wind, his body like a feather riding the air—light yet steady, slow yet swift, appearing to drift yet precise to the inch. With one final leap, like an eagle folding its wings before returning to its nest, he stood before Princess Chiêu Hoàng.
Their eyes met. Brimming with emotion.
No words were spoken. The wind continued to blow across the temple's roof, between the two figures standing no more than an arm's length apart, yet separated by a chasm as vast as a lifetime. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Only the light rays from the North Star, the glow of the northern watchtower's flames reflecting off the roofs of Báo Thiên Pagoda, the night breeze, and two trembling hearts of dedicated love remained.
Chiêu Hoàng stood silently under the starlight. Her long hair cascaded like a midnight stream, carrying the faint scent of pomelo blossoms. Her lips were slightly pursed as if guarding a secret too heavy to speak, and too impossible to voice.
In front of her, the man who had appeared like a gust of wind—the man she had never once forgotten through all those years. He was not tall and burly like the mountainous warrior Chế Củ. His frame was regular slimmer as if carved from a block of dried rosewood, tempered by nine flames. His shoulders were broad, his back straight as a sword. His arms, rippling with sinew, retained the refined elegance of a scholar. His face was chiseled, its stern lines like the stone statues beneath the eaves of Báo Thiên Pagoda. His eyes were bright and soulful, sharp yet not cruel—a gaze that made enemies at the frontier shrink back and set countless maidens of the citadel dreaming under the starlight.
In front of her, he stood a head taller, but far shorter than the future they could never share and much far shorter than the love they wanted to share.
He slowly extended his hand. In it was the golden bracelet she had just thrown away. The hand holding the misshapen bracelet paused in midair. In his eyes, she saw something more familiar than the bracelet itself.
Sadness.
She turned to leave.
Suddenly.
He spoke. He said the words she had longed to hear for the past years:
"Don't go."
Her shoulders trembled faintly. The wind continued to sweep through the ancient temple roofs. But time had frozen in that moment.