The morning after the Spring Renewal Ceremony began without birdsong. The sky hung low and silver, a cold blanket pressing against the tiled rooftops of the Forbidden City. The air was thick with silence, and beneath it, something heavier. Something close to dread.
Lu sat in front of the dressing mirror, her hands resting lightly on her knees, her reflection steady and expressionless. Xiao Zhen moved behind her in silence, brushing her long black hair with careful, even strokes, as if any sudden tug might shatter the fragile quiet in the room.
For the first time since entering the palace, Lu did not wear her veil. The mark had already been seen. The whispers had already begun.
What more was there to hide?
But the court was not a place that let wounds close. It picked at them. It reopened them. It salted them with smiles. She turned to Xiao Zhen and spoke without raising her voice.
"Has she sent anything?"
Xiao Zhen froze for the briefest moment before shaking her head. "No, my lady. But there are rumors. Last night… there were visitors in the east wing. Concubine Shu Yan's quarters stayed lit long after midnight."
Lu nodded slowly. Of course Shu Yan would not strike openly after failing to humiliate her in the Rain Pavilion. That kind of woman never moved twice in the same way. She would crawl lower, bite deeper. And this time, she would not just use whispers. She would use something older. Something darker.
"Did anyone see who entered?" Lu asked.
"A few servants said one of them wore gray robes, and a ring carved with two cranes."
Lu's pulse slowed, like the silence before thunder. Two cranes, a Black Crane ring. Then Shu Yan was no longer just jealous. She was hunting.
By midday, the imperial court had returned to routine, but the silence between attendants and concubines had grown thicker. Eunuchs stepped more carefully, eyes lowered to the ground. Musicians in the southern courtyard played softer. Even the bells from the tower rang slower, like time itself was trying to be quiet.
Lu walked through the Orchid Pavilion with her back straight, her expression unreadable. Her face was uncovered, and her steps were soft but deliberate. She knew they were watching.
Three concubines from the House of Zhao paused to whisper behind their sleeves as she passed. One dropped her fan. Another pretended to fumble with her sash, but both were watching her from beneath their lashes. Let them.
She stopped briefly at the carved railing, where pink lotus blossoms floated along the water's surface like tiny boats drifting into war. Shu Yan's reflection appeared beside hers in the pond, graceful, unbothered, dressed in lavender with gold butterflies in her hair.
"You walk bravely now," Shu Yan said, her voice delicate, almost kind. "Is it because the Emperor spoke for you?"
Lu did not look at her. "No. It's because you already tried to strike me, and failed."
Shu Yan's smile was a blade hidden beneath petals.
"Everyone has one moment of favor," she said. "One brief spark. The rest of us know how quickly that flame dies."
"Then you must know it better than most."
Shu Yan's fingers twitched slightly on the wooden rail.
"There is a line, Lu," she said softly. "You cannot see it because your pride clouds your eyes. But you've crossed it. And soon, even the Emperor won't be able to protect you."
Lu met her gaze for the first time. "I crossed that line when I survived everything that was meant to kill me. I won't turn back now."
Neither woman smiled. Then Shu Yan leaned in slightly.
"I wonder," she said. "When the shadows come for you, will you finally see yourself for what you are?"
Lu said nothing. She did not need to.
That evening, a scroll was left on Lu's writing desk. There was no seal. Only the faint scent of iron and wormwood clinging to the parchment. She opened it slowly.
"The wind remembers her face. The river keeps her voice. What was burned returns in ash. What was marked shall awaken."
The handwriting was delicate. Too delicate for a eunuch. Too controlled for a servant. It matched the scroll left outside her door days ago. The one tied with black silk. Someone was watching, someone knew.
And now, they were calling. Not just to her, but through her. Lu took the scroll and hid it beneath the floorboard of her chamber, behind the fourth tile from the wall. The one no one touched. The one that only she knew could be lifted without noise.
Then she took the small candle from her altar, lit it, and sat in silence. The flame flickered. Then leaned to the left and stayed there.
Even though the window was shut. Lu whispered nothing. She made no gesture. But in her chest, something shifted. Not fear, not dread. It was recognition.
Later that night, the palace held a private gathering for the inner court concubines, selected ministers, and the Emperor's personal scholars. It was to be a celebration of the year's second harvest, though nothing about it felt festive.
The moon was red as a dying coal, and the wind carried a strange chill. Lu arrived late.
She had dressed in darker silk tonight, blue as storm clouds, embroidered with silver waves. Her hair was gathered into a loose knot, adorned with a single jade pin shaped like a falling feather.
The hall quieted as she entered. The Emperor was already seated on the raised platform, surrounded by musicians and wine vessels. He looked at her once, just once, then returned his gaze to the courtyard, where dancers in white performed in silence.
Shu Yan sat closest to him tonight. Her smile was perfect. But her eyes never left Lu. When Lu took her seat, she noticed a small slip of parchment beneath her wine cup. She palmed it carefully and tucked it into her sleeve before touching her drink.
Shu Yan lifted her cup in a mock salute. Lu mirrored her, slowly, and drank. The wine was bitter. Too bitter and yet, nothing happened. But that was how poison worked in the palace. Not through death but through silence.
Through eyes that followed you. Through footsteps in the night. Through scrolls that spoke of your ancestors.
That night, Lu returned to her chambers before the moon reached its highest point. She dismissed Xiao Zhen early. She sat alone at her table, opened the parchment from her sleeve, and read.
"She wore the mark. They burned her. She laughed in the flames. They swore no one would bear it again. But now you have come."
This was not prophecy anymore. This was memory. She lit the parchment on fire, watched it burn in the small bronze dish, and waited until the flame died on its own.
Then she rose, pulled on her outer robe, and walked into the night. She passed the Lotus Garden. She passed the Stone Bridge. She passed the Moon-Calling Room and did not stop.
She went further beyond the kitchens, beyond the chamber of forgotten servants, until she reached the crumbling courtyard where the old mirror hall had once stood. Nothing remained now but stone and moss.
But she stepped forward, slowly, until she stood at the center of the ruin. There, she knelt and whispered.
"Mother. Father. You left me for dead because of this mark. If you are still alive, watch what becomes of the girl you threw away. You feared me, abandoned me. Now I walk into the fire you ran from. When I rise, I will not carry your name. I will carry my own."
The wind did not rise. No voice answered but she felt it. The presence, the weight, the memory. And she knew then that Shu Yan had already summoned something into this palace.
Something from the same bloodline. From the same past. And she would not be able to kill it with words. Not this time.
Back in her chamber, Xiao Zhen was waiting with wide eyes.
"My lady," she said, "forgive me, but… someone left something. Again."
She held out a box. Plain wood and no markings. Lu took it with steady hands. Inside was a feather. It was black and wet with something sticky. Not ink, it was blood.
Lu looked up at her maid and said nothing. But in her mind, the pieces clicked. It was no longer about Shu Yan's jealousy. It was no longer about favor. This was war and it had started long before either of them had been born.