The evening breeze rustled gently through the willow leaves,
each soft crackle of the thin branches echoing faintly within Crown Prince Feng Yuhan's mind.
He stood alone within the lakeside pavilion,
eyes fixed upon the still reflection of the moon—
a man who knew too well that this peace was merely the quiet before a storm.
⸻
"Your Highness, you have remained here a long while…
Forgive this intrusion at such an hour."
Wen Yichen approached, a black cloth bundle in hand.
Feng Yuhan turned slowly and nodded for him to open it.
Inside lay a sandalwood fan—not his own.
Beside it, a brief note penned in a hand that had clearly been deliberately forged.
"In the shadow of sandalwood,
Lies a truth erased from ledgers.
Whether it will burn you or shield you…
Depends on the hand that holds the fan."
No name.
No seal.
Yet the sandalwood fan was a symbol carried solely by the Crown Prince within the entire imperial court.
⸻
Feng Yuhan picked up the fan.
The sandalwood was cool to the touch—
but its weight felt as heavy as stone upon his heart.
He remembered… when he was still a child,
just before his mother died of a "sudden illness."
The last time she held his hand, she had whispered:
"You must become a storm that no one sees,
but one whose wind shifts shadows—
so they'll know something real is there."
⸻
He once believed he held command over the board.
But the quieter he became, the more deliberate his moves—
the more he sensed that shadows were moving without him.
⸻
Within the hidden chamber of the auxiliary residence,
Feng Yuhan read through the latest intelligence reports.
Certain lines were underlined in red ink:
• "Moderate officials have begun auditing royal expenditures."
• "Mentions of treasury tokens not found in royal registries."
• "The name 'Qin Zi' has been repeated frequently over the last two days."
His eyes narrowed.
"Qin Zi…"
The scribe who once served Consort Yifei—
and was exiled after her fall from grace.
And yet all of this…
was never brought to his desk.
⸻
"Wen Yichen, who do you think sent this letter?"
Wen Yichen paused before replying:
"If not an enemy…
then someone who wishes to turn Your Highness into their piece, rather than playing their own."
Feng Yuhan let out a soft chuckle.
"Amusing, isn't it?
Even I wouldn't dare pen such a taunt if I were the one sending it."
⸻
He unfolded the sandalwood fan once more.
Its shadow stretched across the document table—
like the claw of a long-dormant beast.
"Could it be Jiang Xinluo?"
"Or perhaps… Xianlan?"
The latter name cast a brief silence over the room.
"She says little—
but every word spoken by others… seems to trace back to her shadow."
⸻
That night – Behind the Residence Garden
Feng Yuhan walked quietly beneath the stars.
He stopped at a particular spot…
gazing up at the window of the Hua Lan Residence's study.
A narrow line of candlelight slipped through.
The silhouette of a woman… writing something in a notebook.
He stood there for a long time,
then whispered inwardly:
"You're not exposing anyone.
You're awakening the shadows…
and making them afraid of the light."
"Should I let you burn… or snuff out your fire myself?"
⸻
That night…
he sent no one to the Hua Lan Residence.
Issued no commands.
Kept the letter untouched.
But he did place the sandalwood fan beside his pillow.
As though telling himself—
"If the day ever comes that I must choose…
This fan will no longer be a symbol of status—
But a blade in the shape of wood."