Some words left unspoken in the past… become a verdict in the present.
⸻
The sound of light rain at night made Xianyan Hall feel quieter than usual.
Raindrops pattered on the bamboo-tiled roof in a rhythm that resembled an unfinished poem of sorrow.
Xianlan stood before a brass mirror, dressed in plain white silk—no embroidery, no glittering adornments.
The smile she offered her reflection was barely visible.
"Since they chose to cover wounds with silk…
I shall unveil them—
even those long dried in blood."
She turned and nodded softly to Wen Yichen,
who opened a long wooden box.
Inside were old case records, testimonies, and secret seals from inner court officials—
all evidence Xianlan had gathered in recent days.
⸻
At the Council of State, the Emperor sat silently with a set of documents delivered during the late night.
He read the same passage again and again—
the written testimony of an aged official who had once witnessed the "Judgment Day of Consort Jing."
At the end, a single name was written:
"…It was Su Zhen who received the order,
and she never sought imperial permission from above."
Emperor Li Sichen's hand trembled slightly.
Not out of rage—
but because memories were returning,
slowly, like fog being cleared by the wind.
"Did I truly… forget?"
⸻
The next morning,
the Dawn Deity Offering was held at the White Dragon Courtyard.
Xianlan, dressed in silver-gray, walked beside senior officials,
a sealed packet of documents clutched in her hand.
But before the ritual began,
a eunuch hurried up and whispered:
"A maid from the Noble Consort's Palace… was just found dead in the waterfall behind the palace, Your Highness."
Xianlan closed her eyes tightly,
her heart feeling as if sliced open.
She knew immediately—
the woman was the witness.
"Cutting fire at the root…" she murmured.
Feng Yuhan arrived at the ritual, his face unreadable—
but in his eyes stirred a brewing storm.
As he stepped closer amidst the chanting of priests,
he whispered to her:
"I'm growing tired…
of people dying simply because they remember too much."
She didn't reply—
only handed him the documents.
"It's not time to open them yet…
but I know you understand—
what must wait… and what must be released."
He tucked the papers into his sleeve,
then turned toward Su Zhen,
who stood slightly off to the side with the composure of a woman who had never done wrong.
⸻
After the ceremony, the Emperor summoned Xianlan to a private audience.
Inside the Eternal Jade Hall, silence fell heavier than ever.
"Do you think…" the Emperor began,
"that if I judged wrongly that day… this world would still be the same?"
The question made Xianlan pause.
She answered in a calm but firm voice:
"No, Your Majesty…
But that doesn't mean the world cannot begin again."
"And to begin again… must one also admit they were wrong?"
It was a question without defense—
like an arrow lodged in his own heart.
Xianlan knelt gracefully before him,
her voice soft, yet unwavering:
"I never wished for your repentance…
I only hope that when truth is revealed,
you will no longer shut your ears and close your eyes."
⸻
In a hidden chamber behind the main palace, Su Mengyu met Su Zhen once more.
The two stood quietly, watching sunlight filter through sheer curtains.
"She refuses to fall…" Mengyu said coldly.
Su Zhen nodded.
"Because she doesn't stand for herself—
she stands for the dead.
And that… is what makes her terrifying."
⸻
That night, in Feng Yuhan's quarters,
he lit more lanterns than necessary—
because he didn't want the face of someone taking root in his heart
to be swallowed by darkness.
He unrolled the scroll Xianlan had given him.
Within, a single line stood out—
one he read again and again:
"I may not be one worthy of love in this palace…
But I will be the last to let hatred consume it to the end."
His gaze softened.
And slowly, he closed the document.