After the tea gathering incident,
Su Mengyu grew noticeably quiet.
But not because she had been defeated—
she was merely waiting for the "right moment" to strike back in the most "innocent" way possible.
That moment came with the arrival of the Winter Silk Embroidery Ceremony,
an age-old tradition in which noble women of the palace presented hand-stitched silk to the Emperor—
a symbol of filial piety, refinement, and mastery in feminine courtly arts.
And this year, the honor of leading the ceremony was granted to none other than Lady Su Mengyu, nominated personally by Noble Consort Su Zhen.
⸻
"Why her?"
Xianlan murmured as she read the imperial decree.
"She's merely a foreign noblewoman—and yet she's appointed to lead a core imperial ritual?"
The eunuch delivering the edict let out a rehearsed chuckle.
"Perhaps because Lady Su is the future 'daughter-in-law' of the royal house, Your Highness."
Xianlan didn't reply.
But she knew—this was no ordinary ceremony.
It was a power play to elevate Su Mengyu's status above the rest—
to brand her as the leader of the palace women.
And Xianlan? Merely a forgotten princess.
⸻
The day of the ceremony.
The Silken Pavilion was filled with the scent of ten-thousand-year blossoms.
Rows of silk fabrics were laid on long tables, pale-colored cloths meticulously arranged, while noble ladies bent gracefully over their embroidery.
Xianlan sat quietly in a corner, not drawing attention.
She deliberately chose a piece of light gray silk, in stark contrast to the popular hues of pink, sky blue, or golden brown.
Su Mengyu, dressed in rose-red silk, walked elegantly past each participant.
She smiled, pausing to gently touch the cloth of Lady Bai, then turned to examine Xianlan's fabric.
"Such a cold shade of gray. The texture is fine, yes—but it's rather dull."
"Better suited as a winter shawl for an old woman than a gift to His Majesty."
Soft laughter rippled through the room.
Some ladies covered their smiles. Others glanced at Xianlan with pity or amusement.
But Xianlan remained unfazed.
She continued to stitch, hands steady, eyes as calm as a windless lake.
"This winter feels longer than most,"
"So I chose gray silk—to warm the hearts of those slowly being chilled by rumors… without even knowing it."
Su Mengyu's smile flickered for the briefest moment.
But she replied smoothly:
"Such poetic phrasing. Sharp, yet still sweet."
"Truth is like silk: if stitched with sincerity, it becomes something beautiful."
"But if laced with poison… no matter how fine the thread, it still cuts."
⸻
The ceremony ended.
Xianlan was merely one of the many participants—
yet the Emperor made only a single remark in the grand hall:
"The gray silk of the Fourth Princess… Though somber, it reminds me of your mother."
"She once presented the same color before my first campaign."
Silence blanketed the room.
Xianlan lowered her head, her expression unchanged.
Su Mengyu smiled—
but inside, she nearly bit her lip.
No matter how high she tried to rise,
the phoenix still gleamed in the Emperor's eyes—without needing to say a single word.
⸻
That night, Feng Yuhan was reviewing diplomatic reports in his temporary residence.
A soft sound of footsteps made him glance up—
to see Xianlan entering quietly.
"You shouldn't be walking alone at night," he said.
"In the imperial palace," she replied,
"no one truly walks alone."
"Even if I appear alone… there are eyes everywhere, waiting for me to stumble."
Feng Yuhan studied her for a moment,
then set his report aside and spoke quietly:
"You're walking across a battlefield lined with prey."
"But you move… like a predator."
Xianlan gave a faint smile.
"Because if I don't hunt…"
"Then I'll simply become prey again."