Chapter 16 - The Eyes That Waited

The Silk of Fate

Chapter 16 – The Eyes That Waited

There were many kinds of watching in the Yuan court.

There was the political gaze—the kind that weighed you, measured your danger, filed you into a category.
There was the ceremonial gaze—expectant, performative, waiting for you to play your part.
And there was the indifferent gaze—polished, polite, designed to see through you rather than at you.

Idran had long learned how to walk through all of them without disturbance. The art of being present and untouched. The comfort of blending in, even when standing out.

But in Dadu, someone was watching differently.

And he could feel it.

It began at the formal reception.

A flicker at the edge of his vision—a silk screen embroidered with chrysanthemums, far enough to be decorative, close enough to suggest presence.

He hadn’t expected to feel anything when he entered that hall. It was meant to be routine—another round of diplomacy dressed in gilded robes.

But then his eyes drifted—subtly, deliberately—to the screen.

And he felt it.

Someone’s attention.

Not a piercing stare. Not a challenge.

But a quiet presence, focused and patient.

He couldn’t see her. Not clearly.

But something about the way the fabric stilled—mid-breeze—made him pause.

He brushed it off at first.

The court was full of half-hidden women—sisters, wives, daughters, all taught to vanish politely behind lace and painted fans. None of them mattered to his mission.

But days passed. And still, he felt it.

At the poetry recital, when a Tang verse on fate was read aloud, he smiled to himself—not at the words, but at how badly they were interpreted. As he glanced around, he sensed it again—her, somewhere behind him, still.

Not leaning. Not whispering.

Just there.

Like the moon behind clouds.

Always present. Never declared.

When the court delivered a tray of Osmanthus tea to his quarters, he accepted it with his usual grace. The girl delivering it bowed deeply. Clearly instructed.

But something in her eyes lingered.

Not flirtation.

More like… observation.

As though she was delivering more than tea.

He held the cup longer than necessary. Inhaled.

“Osmanthus,” he murmured.

“Yes, my lord,” she said.

He nodded, almost to himself. “I thought so.”

That night, Idran returned to his room and sat cross-legged before his journal. He opened to a blank page, dipped his brush into ink, and paused.

He wrote only a single line:

Some eyes do not judge. They search.

Then he stopped.

Closed the book.

The next day, at the scholar’s terrace, he caught a glimpse—barely a passing figure in pale robes. Head slightly bowed, stride unhurried.

But the way she turned, just briefly, as if confirming his presence—

It wasn’t chance.

It was someone who had been watching.

And now wanted to be seen.

Idran didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.

But he knew—this woman was different.

Not because she had seen him.

But because she saw what others chose not to look for.