At dawn – Grand Imperial Council
A somber mist seemed to cling to the air, thick and heavy like the prelude to a storm. It slipped through the windows of the Grand Imperial Council chamber, curling against the carved stone columns and hovering above the lacquered floors, casting the entire hall in an oppressive gloom. Even the ceremonial braziers burned low, as though cowed by the atmosphere. It was the kind of silence that stifled words, where even a breath might echo like thunder.
Clusters of officials huddled in quiet whispers, their silken robes rustling like dry leaves in a crypt. Most had spent the night pouring over reports, cross-referencing expenditures, and trying not to meet each other's eyes. At the center of the chamber, resting solemnly atop a worn wooden table, was a palm-sized plank of bamboo. Ink-stained and weathered, it bore a single message etched in uneven but deliberate strokes:
"Imperial Procurement Ledger, Year of Li – 7th: Thousands of taels in missing jewels."
There was no sender's name. No royal seal. No sign of who had dared to send such a message into the heart of the empire. Yet everyone present understood the gravity. Something like this didn't simply appear. It was planted—with purpose. With precision.
And with no return path.
---
At Hua Lan Residence
The scent of chrysanthemum tea lingered in the air, light and bitter. Xianlan sat in serene stillness, her posture as perfect as a scroll painting. She poured the tea slowly, letting each drop slide from the spout with a rhythm that betrayed nothing. Raising the cup to her lips, she drank—not in haste, but in contemplation.
"I never told anyone I was the one who gave them the document," she said, her voice soft as snowfall. "But I also didn't stop them from revealing it."
Liu Meirong, seated beside her, stilled mid-sip. Her gaze dropped to the surface of her tea, where her own reflection trembled with the steam. After a pause, she whispered,
"They won't trust you… if they learn you play games like this."
Xianlan's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"Those who trust too easily," she said, her voice silk over steel, "are always the first to be betrayed."
---
Back at the Grand Imperial Council, the chamber had transformed from a quiet storm to a battlefield of veiled accusations.
"The Ministry of Finance must be held accountable!"
"And yet, it was you who pushed to reduce the auditing budgets three years ago, was it not?"
The words were barbed, dressed in civility but launched like arrows. No one raised their voice—but each syllable struck with surgical precision. The chamber burned not with flames but with fury barely restrained.
Some officials turned subtle glances toward the vice throne, where the Crown Prince sat, his bearing composed. Feng Yuhan's hands were folded neatly upon his lap, his eyes unreadable. His silence was not weakness—it was the sharpened stillness of a sword just before it strikes.
Wen Yichen leaned close, his voice barely more than breath.
"If Your Highness does not intervene, they may revolt."
Feng Yuhan's lips parted just enough to let his reply slide through.
"Let them revolt…" he murmured. "A fire hidden in shadows burns less than one out in the open."
Then, after a pause that throbbed with meaning:
"And when that fire scorches the Noble Consort's hem, I'll have all the reason I need to summon the rain."
---
In the city market, amid baskets of winter vegetables and the clamor of daily trade, a scrap of parchment fluttered to the ground. Dropped—accidentally or not—by a delivery boy.
On it, a list of names.
Court officials. Ministers. Advisors.
The ink was smudged, the corner torn, but one name stood out like a splinter: a former royal secretary, long believed to have vanished. Whispers ignited like sparks in dry grass. "Thieves within the palace," they murmured. "The dead speak again."
---
At the Noble Consort's Residence
The fragrance of roasted osmanthus drifted through the air as Lady Su Zhen sat beneath a painted screen of plum blossoms, sipping her tea with infuriating elegance. Her gaze rested on nothing in particular—perhaps the horizon, perhaps the rumors.
"They're using the name of a dead man… to wash away that woman's sins," she said coolly.
A maid leaned in, her voice low.
"Shall we deal with the rumors spreading in town, Your Grace?"
Su Zhen gave a slow shake of her head, each movement measured.
"No… the fire's just begun. If we snuff it out too soon, people will wonder what I'm afraid of."
She lifted her cup again, her eyes narrowing with quiet calculation.
"Let it burn. And when the time is right—let heaven's rain fall."
---
That night – Moonlit Pavilion by the Lotus Pond
Silver light danced upon the lotus pond as wind stirred its surface. The Moonlit Pavilion stood silent, a solitary perch above still waters. Feng Yuhan leaned against a carved column, his gaze fixed upon the ripples of reflected stars. The chill in the air touched his skin, but he didn't move.
Wen Yichen stood nearby, arms folded within his sleeves, watching him.
"What do you think Xianlan truly wants?" Feng asked, voice low.
Wen Yichen's reply came after a moment's thought.
"Power? Or truth?"
Feng gave a short chuckle.
"I don't think she wants power. She wants truth—to be something no one dares to forget."
Then, more softly, "Should I be afraid of her?"
Wen Yichen offered only a knowing smile.
"Afraid? No… But if you don't take her hand now, you may end up kneeling to ask for it later."
---
Meanwhile – at Hua Lan Residence
By the light of a single lantern, Xianlan penned a letter, her brush moving with steady grace.
"The fire I lit is not to burn—but to ensure even the shadows have light cast upon them."
Somewhere far from her pavilion, Jiang Xinluo read the words in silence.
"This woman…" she thought, her grip tightening slightly, "she's not just seeking revenge."
Her gaze lifted toward the distant palace walls, half-shrouded in mist.
"She's setting the board to change the game entirely."
"This chapter has been updated with improved narrative and deeper character perspective. The plot remains unchanged."
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