The morning sky above Tianxu Palace was smothered in grey clouds that had no intention of letting light through. A thin fog clung to the palace grounds, beading on the petals of flowers that had yet to bloom, and wrapped around the cold stone tiles like the skin of a dead snake.
Lianyu Pavilion tucked in the furthest corner of the palace was separated from the main halls by a narrow stone corridor and a dense bamboo grove.
No one passed by.
No one stopped.
Even birds refused to nest on its roof.
In the whispers of the palace maids, it was known as "Heaven's dead wing."
Inside, Zhenyu stirred awake.
Her body still felt like it belonged to someone else or more accurately, to a soul not yet finished grieving. She lifted her head from a straw pillow and sat up on the hard bamboo cot that creaked under her weight.
The thin blanket covering her was still damp with last night's sweat. A strange dream from the Rongxu Jing lingered in her thoughts rippling water, two shadows standing side by side, and a world where nothing existed but the sound of a heartbeat.
She touched her forehead, grounding herself.
This body felt like someone else's skin.
But inside... her mind was sharper than ever.
Zhenyu's eyes swept around the room : peeling wooden walls, a torn white curtain, a small table with a bronze mirror, an empty medicine rack, cracked stone floors.
Not just frozen by air.
Frozen by memory.
By wounds.
By grief that was never given time to heal.
"This pavilion..." she whispered hoarsely, "...is where people wait to die."
Footsteps sounded outside quiet, hesitant. Like someone unsure if they should come closer.
Zhenyu lay back down, feigning weakness. She knew more could be learned in silence than by asking outright.
The wooden door creaked open.
Meilan entered carrying a bowl of porridge. She was young, around seventeen, with a round face, pale skin, and eyes far too honest for the palace.
"Lady Qingyin... your morning porridge," she said softly.
Zhenyu didn't reply at once. She only stared at Meilan from behind tangled hair.
Meilan stepped closer and placed the bowl on a low table. She hesitated, then said:
"I know you don't speak much, but... you haven't eaten in three days."
Zhenyu sat up slowly, took the wooden spoon, and tasted the porridge.
Too thin.
Tasteless.
But warm.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Her voice was weak, but clear enough.
Meilan froze, her hands trembling.
"Lady Qingyin... y-you spoke?" she whispered.
Zhenyu offered a faint smile.
A smile that neither confirmed nor denied.
Meilan stood silent for a long moment, then suddenly broke into a wide grin.
"I knew you'd recover. I knew it! The gods of Jingzhao Temple must have heard my prayers!"
"You prayed for me?" Zhenyu asked. Her voice clearer now, though still raspy.
Meilan nodded quickly.
"I once saw you from afar during my first year in the kitchens. You were always quiet... but your eyes looked like they held thousands of words. I thought... you must be terribly lonely."
Zhenyu was silent.
Not because she didn't know what to say but because she wasn't used to sincerity like this.
Not in a place as cold as the palace.
Meilan lowered her gaze and whispered:
"But please be careful... This pavilion is often watched."
Zhenyu raised an eyebrow.
"Watched by whom?"
Meilan hesitated, then glanced toward the window.
"Sometimes... we hear sounds from Princess Ji's pavilion.
Sometimes a red cloth is tied to the bamboo fence. When that appears... it means an order is coming that night."
Zhenyu took note.
Princess Ji. Ji Suling.
The name surfaced in the fragmented memories of this body the beautiful and powerful second consort, rumored to become empress had Helian Qingyin not become pregnant first.
So this was it.
Jealousy.
Favor.
Position.
And... poison.
This body lost its child.
And the poison had left no trace.
Anyone could dismiss it as a simple miscarriage.
Zhenyu gripped the spoon tighter.
She looked at the bronze mirror on the table. In the faint reflection, she saw two figures: herself and another. Qingyin.
But today... Qingyin stood silently.
Not angry.
Not fighting.
Not whispering.
As if she, too, was... listening.
The sky began to turn red.
The fog slowly faded. But in the courtyard outside Lianyu Pavilion, a pale red cloth fluttered against the bamboo fence.
Zhenyu watched it through the window's gap.
"Is that the sign you mentioned?" she whispered.
Meilan, sweeping the floor, turned and followed her gaze. Her face turned pale.
"T- that's... earlier than usual... I I'll check the kitchen," she stammered and quickly bowed before hurrying out.
Zhenyu knew she wouldn't get an answer tonight.
But she didn't need one.
She only needed time.
Time to observe.
Time to plan.
She walked toward the window. Outside, the palace looked like a painting beautiful but frozen, grand but lifeless.
The shadow of the main hall resembled a sleeping beast, ready to strike at anyone who dared approach.
Her steps were soft.
But within her... a storm had begun to form.
She returned to the bamboo bed and sat before the Rongxu Jing. The mirror no longer trembled like the night before. But its surface remained dark as if waiting for a call.
She touched it gently.
"Qingyin... we'll survive. But we won't stay silent," she whispered.
A faint violet light shimmered at the mirror's edge, like a breath exhaled into the dark.
---
Outside, behind the silk curtains of Pavilion Ji, a woman stood brushing her long hair.
Ji Suling gazed toward Lianyu Pavilion through the frosted glass window.
"Three days, and she's still alive?"
The maid behind her said nothing.
Ji Suling arched a brow.
"Send the usual afternoon tea. But this time... mix in something stronger.
The fifth blend from the southern apothecary. And tell no one."
The maid bowed deeply and left.
Ji Suling stared at her reflection in the mirror.
"If you truly have the nerve to rise again, Helian Qingyin," she murmured with a cold smile,
"then I shall be kind enough... to grant you a more fitting death."
---
In Lianyu Pavilion, Zhenyu closed her eyes once more.
But not to sleep.
To begin counting
who she would bring down first.
---