The night of the full moon over Suwan Pavilion was a special one in the imperial court.
Each year, the palace hosted a Ladies' Poetry Challenge—
a contest designed to showcase the wit, eloquence, and heart of high-born women across the realm.
But this year was different.
There were guests from two foreign kingdoms,
and three women whose beauty was rivaled only by the sharpness of their rivalry.
⸻
A jade flute began to play, its song soft and steady.
Lantern light shimmered across polished stone like water under a still breeze.
The three women sat in a row before the Emperor.
To the right—Su Mengyu, in deep crimson.
To the left—Jiang Xinluo, in lavender silk.
And in the center—Xianlan, in white robes embroidered with drifting phoenixes.
From the shadows beneath a peach tree stood Feng Yuhan,
close enough to hear every word,
but far enough to reveal nothing on his face.
⸻
The head eunuch's voice rang out clearly:
"This year's riddle:
What is beautiful, yet makes no sound?
What is cold, yet not water?
What cuts deeply, yet is not a blade?"
A low murmur stirred among the spectators.
Three questions in one.
Answer well—and earn the title of a lady wise as jade.
Answer poorly—and risk becoming the subject of palace gossip.
⸻
Su Mengyu stood first, her voice confident and lyrical:
"The beauty without sound—
is the smile of a woman in love.
The cold that is not water—
is solitude.
And what cuts deepest—
is love I can never touch."
Romantic. Stirring.
Heads nodded with appreciation.
⸻
Jiang Xinluo rose with graceful composure,
pressing a sandalwood fan lightly to her chest before speaking in a soft, steady voice:
"The beauty without sound—
is the shadow of one who has left.
The cold that is not water—
is the full moon on a lonely night.
And what cuts deep—
is the gaze that looks through me… yet never sees me."
A few quiet sighs escaped the crowd.
The tone was aching, sorrowful.
Even Feng Yuhan glanced her way for a moment—though his expression remained unreadable.
⸻
Then it was Xianlan's turn.
She rose slowly, offering a small bow.
Her eyes did not scan the room.
She projected neither confidence nor vulnerability—only calm, like a phoenix in the wind.
"The beauty without sound—
is the dignity of a woman who needs no words to command respect.
The cold that is not water—
is the heart that has once been betrayed, and no longer burns.
And what cuts deepest—
is a sweet word laced with poison—
unseen until far too late."
⸻
The pavilion fell utterly silent.
Xianlan's answer was not sentimental.
Not wistful.
It was a blade of truth laid bare before all—
especially before those who spoke too sweetly, and smiled too perfectly,
like Su Mengyu.
"Excellent… sharply spoken,"
Emperor Li Sichen nodded slowly.
"Though it lacks sweetness, her words reflect the true machinery of a woman's heart—more deeply than the finest jade."
Applause began, soft but building.
Su Mengyu could not bring herself to smile.
Jiang Xinluo lowered her eyes, saying nothing.
⸻
Later, as the crowd murmured about the evening's contest,
Feng Yuhan walked beside Xianlan as they exited the pavilion.
"You spoke as if you knew what everyone else would say," he said in an even tone.
"I didn't," Xianlan replied.
"But I knew… some people never speak what they truly feel."
"And others—speak only what they've never truly known."
⸻
That night, in the quiet of her chamber,
Su Mengyu hurled a red silk shawl to the floor.
"That damned phoenix… she's not just a phoenix…"
"She's a dragon in the guise of a woman."