Chapter 7: The Smile Beneath the Veil
They dressed me in wedding silks.
Not for the ceremony itself, but for the rehearsal. An empty ritual where everything is perfect and no one dares say what they're truly thinking.
The fabric was too red. The veil too heavy. I let them drape it over me without protest, even as the weight pressed against my skin like a warning.
"Does it please you, Your Highness?" the head seamstress asked, smoothing the sleeves.
"It's beautiful," I said softly.
Because that's what they wanted to hear.
Because that's what the old me would have said.
They stepped back and admired their work like artists. All I saw was the noose they had dyed crimson.
Outside the dressing hall, the wind stirred petals from the courtyard trees. The rehearsal procession was waiting. Musicians, officials, flower girls trained to smile like dolls.
I moved through them like a ghost.
Madam Lin walked beside me, speaking of protocols, etiquette, posture. I nodded where I needed to, memorizing none of it.
I wasn't here to play the perfect bride.
At the top of the steps stood the Emperor.
Not yet my husband. Still the Crown Prince. Still charming. Still dangerous.
He held out a hand. "Come. Let us give the court something to whisper about."
His touch was light. Warm. Familiar.
I remembered how he used to hold me like that. Back when I thought it meant something.
I took his hand and smiled beneath the veil.
Let them whisper.
Later, as the crowd faded and the sky turned a bruised purple, I stood alone at the edge of the pond behind the pavilion. The rehearsal was over. My performance, just beginning.
Footsteps approached. Deliberate. Soft.
"You wore that veil better than I ever could," said a voice.
Meiyan.
I didn't turn.
She stepped beside me, hands folded, gaze calm. "It suits you. Like blood suits a blade."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's a warning," she said lightly.
I turned to face her, veil lifted, face bare. "Then here's mine. Don't stand too close. I might remember how easily things fall."
She smiled, but her eyes were cold.
"Your Highness, I only wish you happiness."
"And I," I said, voice low, "only wish for truth."
When I returned to my chambers, I burned the rehearsal veil myself.
Not in anger.
But in promise.
Let the ashes rise. Let them carry my silence to the gods. Let them know.
This time, the Empress does not kneel.
Chapter 8: A Knife Hidden in a Smile
The palace gifted me with jade hairpins that morning. A sign of honor, they said. A mark of favor from the Empress herself.
I accepted them with both hands and a bowed head. But when the maids turned their backs, I ran my fingers along the edges.
Too sharp. Too perfect.
I knew a message when I saw one.
Wear what we give you. Smile how we tell you. Remember who holds your leash.
---
"You'll be dining in the Eastern Pavilion today," Jiu'er said quietly as she adjusted my sleeves. "The Empress requested your presence."
I kept my eyes on my reflection. "Did she now?"
Jiu'er hesitated. "It's her birthday."
So it was.
The old me would have brought gifts. Would have written a poem and rehearsed pleasantries in the mirror until her voice grew thin.
Not today.
Today, I let my silence speak.
---
The Eastern Pavilion was all gold and ivory. A room built to intimidate, filled with the scent of orchids and powdered judgment.
The Empress sat at the head of the table, robes flowing like a tide. On her left was Meiyan. Smiling sweetly, eyes glittering.
"Lianhua," the Empress said. "Come. Sit by my right. You are the future of this court."
I obeyed, every step measured, every movement deliberate.
Around the table, the wives of ministers watched me closely. Too closely. One of them whispered something behind a fan. Another hid a smirk.
They thought I didn't know how this game was played.
They forgot I had already lost it once.
---
Meiyan poured wine into my cup. "To new beginnings," she said, her voice honey-slick.
I raised my glass. "And to clear endings."
She flinched. Just slightly. But I saw it.
The Empress's smile did not move.
---
When the feast ended, I stepped outside, letting the breeze untangle the perfume from my sleeves.
Jiu'er approached quickly. "Someone left this in your room."
She handed me a folded paper. No seal. No signature.
I opened it slowly.
One line, written in careful brushstrokes:
You are not the only one who remembers.
---
I folded the note and slid it into my sleeve.
So.
The ghosts of the past were waking too.
Good.
Let them come.
Chapter 9: The Note Beneath the Ink
I read the note again in the dim candlelight.
You are not the only one who remembers.
It was written in old-style calligraphy. Brushwork clean, strokes firm. Not a servant's hand. Not something hurried. Someone wanted me to see it—and understand it came from someone like me.
Someone who had died before. Someone who had come back.
---
"Who left this?" I asked Jiu'er.
She shook her head. "No one saw. It was on your table when I returned with your tea."
I stared at the parchment. It was folded perfectly. Uncreased. Not even dust on its surface.
"This paper... it's not from this era," I murmured.
Jiu'er blinked. "Pardon?"
"Nothing." I slipped the note into the lining of my sleeve. "If anyone else sends a message, tell me. Don't open it."
She nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Highness."
---
I didn't sleep that night. I sat by the open window, watching the lanterns outside sway with the wind. Somewhere in the palace, someone was awake like me. Remembering. Watching.
The past wasn't just haunting me. It was echoing.
---
At morning court, the Crown Prince stood tall and princely, smiling with his eyes as the ministers droned on about taxes and river routes.
I said nothing. I watched him. And when he looked at me, I smiled the same way I did on the day he sentenced me to die.
I wonder if he felt it. The chill behind the curve of my lips.
---
Later, as I walked through the Painted Gallery on my way back to the inner court, I heard it.
Footsteps. Light. Intentional. Then silence.
I turned the corner and found nothing but stone columns and painted cranes.
Until I looked down.
There, half-hidden beneath a scroll rack, was a second note.
This one was shorter.
"The stars turn. The snake awakens."
---
Someone was speaking in riddles. Or warnings.
Either way, I wasn't the only one hunting now.
The game had begun. And I would not lose.