The palace walls hold more than secrets. Sometimes, they echo the cries of those long forgotten.
⸻
Late at night, the imperial palace was cloaked in stillness.
The wind fluttered sheer curtains along the balconies, casting shifting shadows from bamboo pillars—like fleeting visions from a dream.
Xianlan sat in silence, staring at an old painting in her hands.
The artwork depicted a woman in pale robes sewing beneath a plum blossom tree,
a young girl of five or six grinning innocently in her lap.
"Xiao Lan… what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Her mother's voice echoed from memory—
and her childhood answer followed.
"I want to be a phoenix that flies beyond the rear palace."
She smiled faintly, then quietly placed the painting back into a wooden box.
⸻
Elsewhere in the palace, Jiang Xinluo stood beneath an ancient pine
at a small western pavilion that once belonged to a former court official.
Now, it served as her covert base for distributing intelligence.
She handed a small scroll to a man dressed in plain cloth.
"Send word to the Qi Kingdom. Search every letter ever exchanged with the imperial palace sixteen years ago.
If there's any mention of a woman named Yilan, send it back immediately."
The man nodded and vanished into the shadows.
Xinluo looked up at the sky and whispered to herself,
"The more I uncover… the less I'm sure whose side I stand on."
⸻
That afternoon, Wen Yichen met Xianlan in the imperial garden.
He carried a sheer white cloth bag filled with aged papers,
creased and faint with old ink—witnesses of time.
"My mother's elder sister once served in the imperial kitchen.
She recorded everything in this journal."
He handed it to her.
"That day—when Consort Jing was accused of poisoning Feng Zhen—
not a single dish from her palace left the kitchen.
But medicinal ingredients were requested from the royal stores two days earlier."
Xianlan's eyes lit up.
She offered a faint smile.
"You're sharper than you look, Wen Yichen."
He scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly.
"I may not have the voice of a crown prince…
but I want to make sure no one cries the same way you did."
⸻
That very night, while she was compiling the evidence,
a knock came at the door.
Feng Yuhan stood outside in a night cloak, still as poised as ever.
Once inside, he said nothing at first—only placed a small jade vial in front of her.
"The plum scent you like… from the Northern Lands.
I had it brewed without any synthetic perfume."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Why are you here tonight?"
He sat across from her, meeting her gaze directly.
"I want to know…
when that day comes—when the truth is out—will you still stand beside me?"
Xianlan paused before replying calmly,
"If that day… you stand on the side of truth,
then I will stand by you.
But if you choose a path away from justice…
I won't hesitate either."
He chuckled softly.
"You always know how to stab me where it hurts."
She returned his smile.
"Because I believe your heart can endure the pain of truth…
but not the sting of betrayal."
⸻
Meanwhile, a secret meeting was held once more in the Noble Consort's Hall.
Su Mengyu fell silent for a moment before presenting a leather slip to Su Zhen.
"If we trace the medicinal line… we'll find who authorized the royal stores.
But if she learns first… we must have a way to turn the truth into forgery."
Su Zhen nodded slowly, her voice chilled.
"Jiang Xinluo… is starting to shift.
Keep eyes on her."
Mengyu replied evenly,
"If she betrays us…
I'll eliminate her before she even makes the decision."
⸻
Later that night, Jiang Xinluo stood on the high balcony of the Silent Tower.
Moonlight cast a pale shadow across her face.
In her hand was a red-string bracelet—
a childhood token once given by Feng Yuhan.
She smiled faintly.
"I once dreamed of standing by his side…
but now, I only wish to be someone who never hurts anyone again."
A single tear fell—
soundless.