The soft sound of a needle piercing silk echoed through Hualan Pavilion.
Xianlan was stitching a corner of a plum blossom embroidery, a piece she would offer to the palace library during the summer festival.
Her hand moved with the precision of a strategist setting a chess piece—
but her mind was quiet… until the eunuch's voice called from outside.
"The Young Lord Wen requests leave from official duties to pay respects to the Fourth Princess."
Xianlan's needle paused mid-air.
That name… even after all these years, had never faded from memory.
⸻
Wen Yichen (温奕辰)—
eldest son of the Minister of Rites.
When she was just a girl, he had been the only one to show her kindness while others turned away.
The boy who once handed her a handkerchief when she cried.
The one who stood silently outside the Cold Palace gates—knowing full well he had no right to enter.
And then… he disappeared after that night she was accused of poisoning the crown prince.
⸻
The wooden door opened slowly.
Wen Yichen, now taller and grown, wore a dark brown silk robe embroidered with golden clouds.
His expression was calm. His eyes—still gentle, but deeper… harder to read.
"You seem calmer than I remember."
His voice was quiet as he offered her a sandalwood fan, inscribed with a familiar verse.
"And you still remember old things," Xianlan replied as she took the fan.
The verse etched onto it was one she had written for fun at the age of eight—
from a notebook that went missing after that fateful year.
⸻
"Even when the fan broke… I kept it,"
he said simply.
"Because your words never left my heart."
His voice wasn't romantic, nor wistful—
but honest enough that Xianlan paused her stitching.
⸻
The two walked side by side through the garden.
A cool breeze played at their hair. Shadows from the treetops shifted gently with the sun.
"You returned more quietly than I expected," Wen Yichen said.
"And you watched more silently than I remembered," Xianlan replied.
He smiled faintly.
"I used to only watch… but now, I want to stand beside you."
⸻
"Do you know," he said, "since your return, no one looks to the skies for the phoenix anymore?"
"Because you've made them believe that a 'wounded phoenix'… is far more dangerous than a graceful one."
Xianlan said nothing.
Wen Yichen turned to her, his voice lowering:
"I only want to remind you… you may win battles of words, of the heart, even of the throne—but there is one battle you must never lose."
"The battle within yourself."
⸻
That same night, in Su Mengyu's chamber—
the flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on a face once full of confidence, now marked with tension.
"She has another ally now?"
"And it's Wen Yichen—a man who's never played games with anyone, but is now willing to step into her shadow?"
Her hand clenched around her fan. Her eyes blazed.
"If you keep walking toward her…"
"I'll make sure she never walks again."