The Spring Lantern Festival had arrived. All of the capital was lit with a thousand flickering lights, ribbons of silk dancing in the wind, laughter echoing through market streets. But within the inner palace, tension crackled like a stormcloud ready to burst.
Lin Qiyue stood before her bronze mirror, her reflection a blend of delicate beauty and quiet vengeance. Her robe shimmered in shades of plum and gold, an echo of royalty she did not yet claim. Her hair was pinned high with silver phoenix combs, the very symbol of a crown she intended to rip from unworthy hands.
Ming'er fastened a final jade clasp at her waist. "The Empress Dowager expects you at the ancestral temple before dusk. But the Crown Prince will be at the Vermilion Pavilion by the hour of the dog."
Qiyue nodded, her mind already calculating.
The Vermilion Pavilion was the heart of the festival. Lanterns were judged there. Poets recited their verses. Courtiers made subtle declarations of power beneath metaphors of stars and moons.
And tonight, Lin Qiyue would turn their poetry into prophecy.
---
The ancestral temple smelled of sandalwood and old prayers. The Empress Dowager knelt at the altar, her back rigid, face hidden behind a lace veil. Lin Qiyue joined her silently.
After a long pause, the old woman spoke. "What do you seek from this night, child?"
"I seek clarity," Qiyue said. "And fire."
"You still think revenge is your ally?"
Qiyue met her gaze. "No. I think revenge is a mirror. It shows me who I must become."
The Empress Dowager said nothing more. But as Qiyue lit a prayer lantern with her, their flames merged for a moment—silent acknowledgement passed between them.
Outside, the palace shimmered with anticipation and unease.
---
Later, in the Vermilion Pavilion, nobles crowded in silk and scent, their faces painted with elegance and lies. Musicians played the pipa and guzheng, while dancers spun beneath rows of floating lanterns.
Qiyue entered as the Crown Prince raised his wine cup.
"Lady Lin," he said, voice bright with false warmth. "You grace us."
"I only follow where light leads, Your Highness."
"You're quite the poet."
"I speak in survival, not verse."
Prince Rui, lounging in the shadow of a silk canopy, watched her with veiled interest. Shen Yan stood nearby, dressed in ceremonial armor, a silent sentinel.
As planned.
Qiyue took her place at the edge of the platform. Servants brought lanterns—one for each noblewoman. She chose the one she had marked days ago: crimson silk painted with lotus blossoms.
She stepped forward to release it, and with it, recited:
> "For those who drown in silence, I raise this flame. For those buried in lies, I tear the veil."
The nobles gasped. Lanterns flickered. Then, a second voice joined her—Shen Yan.
> "For the blood stolen and stories erased, we remember."
And then a third—Madam Yun's:
> "For the empire that devours its daughters, let justice rise."
Confusion spread. The Crown Prince's smile faltered. "What is the meaning of this?"
Qiyue turned slowly, voice clear. "Meaning, Your Highness, is what you fear most. For when the truth comes wrapped in fire, even kings must kneel."
A hush fell.
And then—chaos.
From the crowd, a scroll was thrown into the pavilion, unrolling at the Crown Prince's feet. It bore a list—names, dates, titles. All tied to the Crown Prince's secret dealings. Illicit trades. Suppressed edicts. Even an assassination ordered under false pretense.
"Lies!" he shouted, but the seed had been sown.
Prince Rui stepped forward, lifting the scroll. "The handwriting… This is from the palace scribe. These are not forged."
Murmurs rose. The ministers looked at one another, uncertain.
"You think one night of spectacle can undo bloodlines?" the Crown Prince sneered.
"I think one truth can crack stone," Qiyue said.
Suddenly, the Emperor's voice cut through the night.
"Enough."
He had arrived unnoticed, silent as the dusk. He looked at Qiyue, then at the scroll.
"This will be investigated. Thoroughly."
And then he turned to the Crown Prince. "Until then, you are confined to the East Wing."
Shock rippled through the crowd. The Crown Prince bowed stiffly, rage masked by obedience.
Qiyue bowed, her face unreadable.
But inside, the match had become a flame.
And this was only the beginning.
---
As the crowd dispersed, Lin Qiyue retreated to the shadowed gardens behind the pavilion. Her heart pounded, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the moment she had shaped. The first domino had fallen.
Shen Yan found her near the koi pond, moonlight reflecting off his polished armor.
"That was dangerous," he said, eyes narrowed.
"Necessary," she replied.
"Now they'll all come for you."
"Let them."
Behind him, Madam Yun arrived with a sealed letter.
"It's begun," she said. "Several ministers sent urgent messages to the Emperor's office. One of them—Minister Qu—is already switching sides."
"Good," Qiyue said. "Divide them. We don't need to destroy them all at once. Let them erode each other."
Shen Yan frowned. "And if the Emperor begins to see you as a threat?"
"He already does."
She looked back toward the fading lights of the pavilion. "But I know how to wield that fear."
---
Back in her chambers, Ming'er helped her undress in silence. Outside, fireworks bloomed in the sky—distractions for the common folk. Inside, Lin Qiyue penned a new letter in invisible ink, meant for an informant in the south.
She sealed it and placed it in a compartment in her headpiece—yet another piece of her carefully constructed illusion.
As she prepared for sleep, her hand brushed the hidden compartment in her bed frame. She pulled out the journal—her mother's—its pages worn and ink-stained.
She reread one passage:
> "To be a woman in power is to wear fire as silk. Let them feel the heat, but never see the burn."
She smiled.
"Soon, Mother. I'll finish what they killed you for."
And as the last lanterns drifted into the midnight sky, Lin Qiyue closed her eyes.
Not to rest, but to plot.