When truth hides beneath the umbrella and lies slip silently with the rain… who among them walks the board unaware they are just a piece?
⸻
Rain had fallen steadily since the hour of Chen,
veiling the imperial palace in a fog-like curtain of silence.
And yet, within that dampness, an invisible weight clung to the hearts of many.
Xianlan sat in a small study behind the Xianyan Palace,
her gaze fixed on a letter delivered by an unknown hand the night before.
A single line—
but it shook her heart and memory alike.
"The one who poisoned that night was not merely a concubine…
but the one you trusted most."
Threads that once dangled with no end began to tighten.
She shut her eyes, gripping the letter until the paper wrinkled beneath her hand.
The certainty she once had in someone… was now beginning to fracture.
⸻
Elsewhere in the palace, Feng Yuhan stood before Cheng Yi,
an elderly official who had once overseen the royal apothecary records.
The archive room was thick with faded ink and the dust of forgotten years.
"I want the medicinal logs from sixteen years ago," he said calmly.
Cheng Yi hesitated.
"Your Highness… that set of records… went missing after the purge of the Eastern Palace."
Yuhan narrowed his eyes.
"Missing? Or made to go missing?"
The elder averted his gaze, voice trembling.
"You know well, Your Highness…
nothing in this palace disappears by accident."
⸻
The next day, Su Zhen's procession left the Noble Consort's Hall under unusual circumstances—
only a small palanquin and a single eunuch followed her,
but the destination remained unclear.
Jiang Xinluo, watching from a hidden shadowed corner,
observed with unreadable eyes.
"She's rushing to erase something…
but no matter how quickly she moves,
we'll reach it first."
She gave orders to three shadow maids disguised as palace scribes.
Each of them had been planted in the palace as spies for over five years.
⸻
At the abandoned Eastern Palace, closed since the death of Consort Jing,
Wen Yichen led Xianlan through a rotting wooden door with his bare hands.
Inside, the medicinal chamber still held a faint trace of herbs.
In a secret drawer nearly dissolved by time,
they found a carefully hidden jade box.
Inside was a hastily written letter.
"…I didn't put poison in the food.
You know I would never harm the young prince.
But the order came from above.
If I hadn't followed it… I'd have been labeled a traitor."
Xianlan scanned the letter until her eyes paused on a final line:
"…I wrote the true confession in another letter,
buried beneath the plum tree she loved."
She locked eyes with Wen Yichen.
Both moved swiftly toward the plum garden.
⸻
In the garden once beloved by Consort Jing,
the ground was soaked from relentless rain.
Wen Yichen knelt beside the largest plum tree, digging into the wet earth.
Xianlan stood beside him under an umbrella, watching closely.
Soon, they uncovered a small round iron box—buried just deep enough for a woman's hand.
Inside, they found a single letter…
and an old, weathered white hair ribbon.
The letter was the final confession of a maid named Yu Mei.
The ink had faded, but the words remained precise:
"…I failed to protect Consort Jing.
I watched her be accused… in silence.
I was afraid.
But someone must know—
that woman never harbored ill toward anyone.
Not even on the day she was to die."
Xianlan pressed the letter to her chest, eyes closed.
The rain continued to fall,
but this time—it could not wash away the tears streaming down her face.
⸻
Feng Yuhan received Wen Yichen's report via carrier pigeon.
He read the message… and remained still for a long time.
"If the truth of that day was a burden she carried alone…
then I… was wrong not to see it."
He stepped out into the rain,
letting the drops soak his silk cloak until it clung to him completely.
"Lan'er… did you know?
I wanted to believe in justice—
but you…
you made me want to believe in hope again."