The early morning air in the palace was thick with mist. It hung low like a veil over the courtyards, curling around carved stone lions and lacquered pillars. From her narrow window in the Plum Blossom Courtyard, Lu watched the white fog roll in, bringing with it an unnatural silence. The cold seeped into the silk of her robes, yet she did not shiver. Her mind was no longer easily shaken.
The death of Lady Mei had cast a strange shadow over the inner court. The other girls walked more carefully, laughed less, and bowed more deeply to every eunuch who passed. Lu noticed how even the most proud ones, like Shu Yan, now kept their gazes low and their voices soft. Fear had found a way into their hearts. It was different for Lu. Her heart burned with purpose.
That morning, she dressed herself slowly, choosing a robe of pale green, like the color of jade in spring. Her hair was twisted into a modest style with a single jade pin. She did not wear perfume, nor jewelry. Her beauty needed no loud decoration. What she carried was sharper than any hairpin. It was the clarity of her purpose and the bitterness of her past.
She had not forgotten her roots. She had not forgotten the whisper of her mother's sobs or the cruel laughter of the villagers. She had not forgotten the lonely nights in the temple, nor the hunger that chewed at her belly in silence. Those memories gave her strength, not sorrow.
As she stepped outside, the frost beneath her shoes cracked like the breaking of old bones. The corridor was empty, save for the silent sweep of a maid's broom far ahead. Lu's eyes, sharp and still, scanned the world as if searching for hidden words written into the walls.
She did not have to wait long before the first sign came. A servant girl from the Orchid Pavilion brushed past her too quickly, almost bumping her shoulder. The girl muttered an apology and scurried away. But Lu had seen what the others might not. The girl had dropped something too carefully to be an accident.
Lu turned and picked it up. It was a red string tied around a rolled piece of cloth. Inside was a strange coin, dark with age, and a folded piece of yellow paper. She opened it slowly.
Written in an unfamiliar hand were four words: "The Black Crane watches."
Lu closed the paper and pressed it to her chest for a brief moment. So it was not a story hidden in scrolls or the dusty whispers of the past. The Black Crane clan was not only real, but near.
She hid the message in her sleeve and returned to her room. She did not rush. Rushing was for fools. Instead, she knelt before her mirror, lit a single stick of sandalwood incense, and stared at her reflection. Her own eyes stared back with a strange calm. She had come to this place to survive. Now, she would learn to rule.
Later that day, she was summoned to the eastern gardens where the Emperor was said to be walking. The message had come not through a eunuch, but through a fan-faced maidservant who bowed without speaking. Lu followed her quietly, her sleeves trailing like shadows behind her.
The gardens were alive with sound—cicadas, birds, and the soft ripple of a nearby pond. But even beauty here had a sharp edge. Every flower was planted with care not just for color but meaning. Every stone had been placed to balance the energy of the ground. Harmony was forced into existence in the palace.
She found the Emperor standing by a plum tree, dressed in robes of black and gold. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his eyes were watching the still water below.
"You walk lightly," he said without turning. "Like someone who has not yet forgotten how to tread the earth."
"I come from the mud," Lu answered. "Even in silk, I do not forget."
He turned and looked at her. His face was calm, but something sharp flickered in his gaze. "Tell me. Why do you think Lady Ai died?"
Lu lowered her eyes. "Because she was afraid."
He raised an eyebrow. "And fear killed her?"
"No. But fear made her careless. She tried to hide something and failed. That failure cost her life."
The Emperor nodded slowly. "You are clever. Some would say too clever."
"Cleverness is only dangerous to those with secrets."
He laughed softly, then stepped closer. "Do you have secrets, Lu?"
"I have a past. It is different from a secret."
Their eyes met for a long moment. Then he lifted a hand and gently touched the jade pin in her hair.
"Beauty like yours," he said, "draws both love and danger."
"I am not afraid of either."
The Emperor turned and walked deeper into the garden. Lu followed, her heart steady.
That night, Shu Yan came to her room uninvited. Her robe was dark blue, her lips painted the color of crushed berries. Her expression was calm, but Lu saw the tightness around her eyes.
"You seem to have caught his eye," Shu Yan said, settling herself onto Lu's bench.
Lu poured tea without answering.
"You should be careful," Shu Yan continued. "Many girls have caught the Emperor's eye. Few keep his attention."
Lu offered her a cup. "Do you speak from experience?"
Shu Yan's smile was like the edge of a blade. "I speak from observation."
Lu smiled back. "Then observe this—no man, even an emperor, can chain the sky. If his eye wanders, it is not because the sky is lacking."
Shu Yan laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. "You are bold."
Lu did not answer. She let silence fill the space. Sometimes silence revealed more than speech.
When Shu Yan left, the tea remained untouched.
In the weeks that followed, Lu noticed more signs. A torn piece of cloth behind a screen. Strange symbols drawn in chalk near the lotus pond. A hidden dagger beneath the roots of a plum tree. Someone was watching. Someone was preparing.
One night, as she returned from a lantern festival held in the southern courtyard, Lu saw a shadow slip behind a pillar. She followed silently, keeping her steps light.
The figure moved fast, disappearing into the outer quarters. Lu pressed herself against the wall and waited.
Then she heard it—chanting. Soft, rhythmic, not like prayer. Like a spell.
She moved closer and peered into a crack between the wooden boards. Inside, three figures stood in a triangle. A black feather was burning in a dish, and a scroll was being marked with blood-red ink.
The voice leading the chant was female. Sharp. Familiar.
Lu's breath caught in her throat. Shu Yan.
She stepped back slowly, heart pounding. Now she knew. The Black Crane was inside the palace, hiding behind painted smiles and silken sleeves.
And Shu Yan was not just jealous. She was dangerous.
Back in her room, Lu did not sleep. She lit her lamp, unrolled a blank scroll, and began to write. Not in blood, but in ink as dark as midnight. She copied what she had heard, what she had seen, and what she now understood.
The palace was not a safe place. It was a battlefield. Every word spoken, every glance exchanged, was a weapon.
And Lu? She would sharpen her own until the day came when all debts were repaid.
As dawn approached, Lu folded the scroll and hid it beneath the floorboards. Her plan was no longer just survival.
It was revenge.