Only when the moon vanishes from the sky… do the shadows of truth begin to take shape.
⸻
The evening breeze carried the scent of plum blossoms from the imperial garden, drifting softly through the sheer curtains fluttering by the balcony. The shadows of trees painted the marble tiles below—like ghostly memories that refused to fade.
Xianlan stood silently at the edge of her balcony. Xiao Yanjin was already asleep, and the palace maids had dispersed into the shadows to rest.
The night was quiet—so quiet it felt strange.
She looked up. No moon. No stars.
As if the heavens had drawn a dark curtain to hide all their light.
The moon had once illuminated truths for all to see.
But in the Forbidden City, nothing stays bright forever.
⸻
Just nights earlier, whispers began to drift through the inner court—
about a "princess returned from the past" who dared to stand after being forgotten for so long.
Eyes sharper than her age, words no one dared refute—
slowly, the name Xianlan became a breath people feared to utter too loud.
Some ministers began casting cautious glances.
Some eunuchs chose to avoid saying her name unless absolutely necessary.
As for Su Zhen… she began to whisper to her maids in words more venomous than ever:
"Perhaps… some shadows of the past deserve to stay buried, don't they?"
⸻
In the upper chamber of the royal palace, Emperor Li Sichen sat alone, staring at the still cup of wine atop a carved seven-winged phoenix table.
His gaze had dimmed—its sharpness dulled, no longer that of a ruler who held the empire in his grasp.
Then, a voice from memory echoed—unbidden.
"Your Majesty… when Lan'er grows up… may I ask that you teach her to write?"
"Why not teach her yourself?"
"Because I… I want that child to know there are hands in this world… warmer than a mother's."
His fingers trembled slightly. Slowly, he rose and opened the bottom drawer of a lacquered chest.
Inside was only a small box—
holding old letters and a faded cotton wrap.
Within it was a tiny wooden toy, carved delicately into the shape of a red plum blossom.
It was Xianlan's childhood toy,
lost in the Emperor's chamber ten years ago—
the day she was taken away, without even a goodbye.
⸻
Xianlan still stood quietly by the railing.
Not far off, a figure approached through the silence.
Feng Yuhan wore no ceremonial robes, only a simple, clean cloak. His eyes were dark and heavy, but his voice… softer than ever.
"You should rest," he said,
gazing at her face—one devoid of ornaments, yet glowing with a quiet, unsettling radiance that even palace walls had begun to fear.
She smiled faintly, without turning to him.
"I've already rested…
back when I was forgotten."
"Now… I must use the nights when all else sleeps—
to awaken something that's long lain dormant."
He said nothing, stepping closer.
She could feel the warmth he carried—gentle but firm.
Then, he spoke again.
"News of the forged seal and the drug requisitions has reached the ministers' council. I'm not rushing you…
but if you stay still too long, others will begin acting in your place."
She nodded slightly.
"I know.
And I'm choosing… whom to let act first—
so I can see their true faces."
⸻
That very evening at Hour of Hai (9–11 PM),
as eunuchs tidied the imperial library,
a medical manuscript fell from the top shelf.
The page it opened to revealed a formula—
a mild poison with the ability to erase signs of drugging within two hours.
The manuscript belonged to Jingfei, the former imperial consort who died under suspicious circumstances.
The last person to access the archive—
was Su Mengyu.
⸻
In the lotus courtyard of the western residence, Jiang Xinluo walked silently past the stone wall.
She had just received a report:
Su Zhen's people had begun "placing drugs" among those who had recently shown support for Xianlan—
making some fall ill, others go… silent.
She clenched her fists.
"I won't stand by again…
like I did the last time."
Light footsteps followed behind her.
She turned to see Xiao Yanjin, who had quietly trailed her.
"Miss Jiang…" the boy spoke, his voice tinged with worry.
"If I ever have no one left beside my sister…
will you stay with me?"
Jiang Xinluo froze for a moment.
Then knelt before him with a gentle smile, placing a hand on his small shoulder.
"You'll never be alone.
I was once a child with no one…
I know how much that hurts."
That promise was not spoken to the sister—
but gifted to the boy who would one day become the true future of the royal bloodline.
⸻
That night, clouds veiled the moon completely.
No light shone through.
But in the shadows of the royal chamber,
a figure opened a record book stained faintly with blood.
The hand turning the page…
was that of Li Sichen.
And within the heart of the emperor—
one silent thought echoed:
"Lan'er…
this time…
don't let anyone kill you again."