A soft breeze stirred the fallen petals of gardenias scattered across the palace courtyard.
From above, the competition grounds resembled a delicate pink carpet — warm and picturesque.
But in Xianlan's eyes, it was littered with shards of memories she could never fully erase.
Right here, five years ago, she had been shoved to the ground before the royal assembly…
all for the crime of accidentally spilling flower water on Princess Su Lian's dress.
That day… no one stood by her.
No light reached the heart of a thirteen-year-old girl with no refuge.
But now… that girl had grown up.
⸻
"Fourth Princess, Your Highness is requested to recite a floral poem to close the ceremony," the eunuch called aloud, raising a blank scroll high above his head.
Whispers surged among the court officials like waves on stone.
"Will she dare compose a poem here, in public?"
"Or will she copy someone again like she used to…?"
Xianlan offered a faint smile.
She took a calligraphy brush from the altar,
and placed its tip onto the great scroll stretched across a bamboo frame.
Every breath in the palace hushed—
as though time itself had stopped.
⸻
"A flower blooms with no scent,
Lingering only in illusion.
It casts no shadow beneath the moon,
Forgetting its petals are false.
Those who gaze will surely be charmed,
Mistaking sky-blooms for earth-bound truth.
But if the root festers in mire and rot,
Then even its bloom… shall decay as before."
⸻
Silence.
So still, the rustle of someone's sleeve was loud enough to hear.
No one said aloud who the poem was meant for…
But everyone understood—
this was no ordinary poem.
For among the palace women who had competed today,
there were some—from certain quarters—
who were known to mask filth with perfume and petals.
A closer reading revealed its barbs:
• "Fake scent" — a metaphor for deception.
• "No shadow beneath the moon" — speaking of someone insincere, lacking truth.
• "Rotten roots" — a symbol of corruption in the back palaces or among certain noble families.
⸻
Su Lian sat motionless.
Her expression did not change—
but the tension in her fingers, which gripped the fabric so hard the veins showed,
spoke volumes.
Beside her, Noble Consort Suzhen let out a quiet, breathy chuckle.
"Skilled with words, I see…" she muttered.
"Does she think this will keep her safe?"
⸻
Just then—
a commotion erupted from the northern gates of the courtyard.
Imperial guards hurried to clear a path for a small delegation,
led by a young boy in priestly robes…
carrying the Golden Seal of the Inner Court Audit Division.
"The Palace Audit Seal…!"
A courtier whispered in astonishment.
The boy handed over an official letter, sealed by the Abbot of the Royal Monastery—
an authority responsible for transparency in palace expenditures.
It bore a single line:
"We request an account of the last five requests for rare flowers from Noble Consort Suzhen's residence, including records of any counterfeit golden sandalwood petals."
⸻
Noble Consort Suzhen fell still.
Nearby, a ceremonial official leaned down to whisper frantically into the ear of the eunuch assigned to the Emperor's household.
Though it concerned mere flowers,
golden sandalwood petals were valued nearly as highly as actual gold.
To falsify requests for them…
was to steal from the royal treasury.
⸻
Feng Yuhan stood quietly, allowing the scene to unfold.
Xianlan said nothing either—
she simply stepped back one pace,
as if opening the way for light to shine directly upon the shadows in someone's heart.
⸻
While chaos brewed outside,
Jiang Xinluo, tucked away in a deeper pavilion,
looked up at the moon above.
"It's time I began my own journey as well…" she whispered to herself.
She turned to a young woman beside her,
dressed in garb similar to a palace maid.
"Go to the annex where the petals are stored. Copy all records—every last entry."
She then gazed at a potted orchid beside her.
And said softly,
"A flower may cast no shadow…
but a person can never escape the shadow of their own self."
⸻
That night, the Blossom Festival ended without a winner.
No prizes. No celebration.
Only the shadow of investigations…
and the thick scent of power struggles heavier than ever before.
⸻
Late that night, Xianlan returned to her residence in silence.
Once the door closed behind her, she exhaled deeply.
She wasn't afraid—
just tired.
Tired of a world that demanded strategy at every turn.
"You did well."
A voice spoke from the shadows behind a bamboo screen.
Feng Yuhan stood leaning against the wall,
his black robes catching a glimmer of the lamplight.
"You've become someone they can no longer control."
"I never wanted to control anyone," she replied softly.
"But if I don't stand firm… I'll be crushed—like before."
He nodded slowly, stepping closer.
"In my kingdom," he said,
"we call women like you 'Petals Without Shadows'—
petals that withstand intense light without melting,
and still stand tall even when alone."
She didn't respond.
Just turned away slightly—
to hide the flicker in her eyes.
⸻
In a night where flowers cast no shadows,
someone… had begun to shine from within their own darkness.