The morning after the Emperor's quiet visit to the Orchid Pavilion, the palace woke to a change in air—one that could not be seen or described, but only felt. It moved through the red-lacquered corridors, curled beneath painted eaves, and crept into whispers and half-glances. Servants bowed lower. Eunuchs walked faster. The shadows seemed to stretch longer across the stone floors.
Lu sat in silence at the edge of her bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The night had not granted her sleep. Her eyes, though clear and still, were rimmed with a faint bruise of fatigue. It was not fear that kept her awake, but the weight of everything she now carried. Shu Yan had seen her mark. The Empress had warned her without kindness. The Emperor had touched her face, then vanished without a promise.
And now Meilan was dead.
Lu closed her eyes for a long moment. She remembered the girl's soft voice, the way she used to hum while preparing the morning tea. She had been kind. She had been loyal and she had been near the Moon-Calling Room the night she died.
It was not an accident, not a fall and not even a careless mistake. It was a message. And whoever sent it wanted Lu to understand.
She rose without sound. Outside her door, Xiao Zhen, her maid, waited with folded hands. Her eyes lowered at once, but Lu saw the faint tremble in her shoulders.
"You heard the rumors?" Lu asked.
"Yes, my lady," Xiao Zhen said quietly. "They say another maid went missing near the East Garden last night."
Lu tilted her head. "Another?"
"They say her name was Ping. She used to serve Concubine Shu Yan."
The name struck her like cold water. Two deaths, two disappearances and one link 'Shu Yan'.
Lu nodded slowly. "Help me dress. I will go to the Ink Hall."
The Ink Hall, tucked between the Outer Archives and the tea courtyards, was where royal documents were copied, stored, and sealed. Few women were allowed there, except for those trusted to handle ceremonial writings or ancient scrolls. Lu had received such rare permission two months ago, after helping the Emperor resolve a matter of ancestral rites.
The head scribe, Eunuch Huo, was a bald, thin-lipped man who smelled of ink and old rice. He bowed when he saw her.
"Lady Lu, the hall is yours," he said, motioning for the attendants to leave. He respected her privacy and her silence.
Lu moved to the back, where the locked cabinets stood. She pulled a bronze key from her sleeve, one given to her by the Emperor himself, and opened the third drawer.
Inside were scrolls marked with a symbol few could read—an old sigil resembling a feathered eye. The sign of the Southern Astrologers.
She scanned each scroll until she found what she was looking for. A record of celestial events and court deaths from fifty years ago, during the reign of Emperor Gao.
The ink was faded, but the words were still legible:
"In the year of the Serpent Moon, a child with a crescent mark was born to Concubine Rui. She was called cursed by the astrologers, yet the Emperor kept her in secret. Upon her sixteenth birthday, she was burned alive. It was said she smiled as the fire took her. After her death, three ministers were found dead—poisoned, hanged, drowned. No answers were given. Only silence."
Lu's hand shook as she closed the scroll. Her mark, her face and her dreams. All echoes of someone else, someone long dead, and maybe not forgotten. The Empress had spoken of the girl. Now Lu had her name. Concubine Rui's daughter.
Was the same curse trying to claim her again?
She returned the scroll and closed the drawer. As she stepped out into the corridor, she saw a familiar figure waiting near the shadowed pillar. Shu Yan.
Her robes today were crimson, embroidered with golden peonies. Her expression was calm, almost warm.
"My lady," she said, tilting her head. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Few do," Lu answered.
Shu Yan smiled. "I've heard the Emperor has taken a liking to you. Such fortune."
"Fortune often walks hand in hand with danger."
"Indeed." Shu Yan's eyes sparkled. "Speaking of which, I visited the Moon-Calling Room this morning."
Lu said nothing.
"Did you know," Shu Yan continued, "that one of the old mirrors there cracked overnight? They say mirrors can sense lies, and that when truth grows too heavy, they break."
Still, Lu gave her no reply.
Shu Yan stepped closer. "Tell me something honestly. Do you think you'll survive this palace? I mean truly survive?"
Lu's voice was soft but firm. "That depends on how many mirrors I must break."
Shu Yan's smile faded. "Be careful, Lu. The Empress may have warned you kindly, but she will not hesitate twice. And if I were you, I would not trust shadows that walk behind you."
With that, she turned and walked away. Lu did not move for a long time.
That evening, a storm rolled in from the northern hills. The wind howled through the palace gates, and thunder rumbled like distant drums. Rain pounded the roof of the main hall as the court gathered for the Spring Renewal Ceremony, a sacred event marking the turning of seasons and the cleansing of old sins.
Lu entered the hall last, dressed in sea-green robes, her hair pinned with white jade. Her mark was hidden, but her presence could not be ignored.
All eyes turned to her. On the dais, the Empress sat beside the Emperor's throne. He had not appeared. His absence was noted with uneasy murmurs.
Concubines filled the ranks below. Ministers lined the side. Servants moved like ants, careful and precise. A priestess stepped forward, her voice rising above the storm.
"We gather to cast off misfortune and welcome the blessings of spring. Let all who carry secrets step forward and speak."
The words hung in the air. No one moved. Until Shu Yan stepped out.
"I have something to confess," she said.
A hush fell. The Empress narrowed her eyes. "Speak."
Shu Yan bowed. "I believe there is someone among us who carries a mark tied to the old sorcery. A mark seen before, on those who brought ruin."
The room held its breath. Shu Yan turned, her arm outstretched. "Lady Lu." Gasps echoed.
Lu stepped forward slowly. The priestess hesitated. "What proof do you offer?"
Shu Yan smiled. "Let her show us her face. Her left cheek."
All eyes turned to Lu. Lu did not flinch. She reached up and slowly peeled away the fine veil she wore
The mark shone beneath the lantern light. Small, curved, like a sleeping moon. The priestess stepped forward. But before she could speak, a voice rang out.
"Enough."
The Emperor stood at the far end of the hall, robes soaked, hair damp. He had come through the storm, alone. He walked straight to Lu and stood beside her.
"This mark," he said, "is not a curse. It is a sign. One I have read about in the ancient texts. It belongs not to sorcery but to the blood of those meant to survive fire."
The Empress stared. Shu Yan's smile vanished.
The Emperor looked around. "Anyone who dares raise a hand against her from now on raises a hand against me."
And with that, he turned and walked out. Lu followed, her steps steady despite the roar inside her chest.
Later that night, in her chambers, she sat by the window, the rain still tapping at the sill. She had survived the first storm. But the gathering of knives had only begun.
And now, they would come not with whispers but with sharpened smiles and poisoned hands. She would be ready. She would be patient. And she would burn them all, one by one.