Chapter 28: Beneath the Lantern Light
The night after the Emperor's meal was not one for rest. The air in the Eastern Wing felt dense, as if the lingering scents of lotus lantern oil and roasted fish had followed me back from the Hall of Blossoming Virtue. I sat by the low brazier in my chamber, the faint orange glow casting long shadows along the lattice walls. Outside, winter's breath still lingered, the crisp bite of cold slipping in through the cracks despite the brazier's heat.
Jiu'er moved quietly in the background, folding away the ivory gown I had worn. Her hands lingered over the embroidered cranes at the hem, as if committing them to memory. She did not ask me what had transpired between Meiyan and me over dinner. Perhaps she knew the answer already, that the exchange had been less about food and more about the unspoken messages beneath each word.
The tea at my side had long gone cold. I had not noticed until I reached for it and found the porcelain cup icy against my fingers. I set it down again and instead listened to the distant thrum of the palace at night. A few footsteps on stone. The muffled clink of a gate latch closing. The soft sweep of wind rustling through bare branches.
The game was moving faster now. Meiyan's glance across the lacquered table tonight had been polite but edged. She had taken my suggestion about the plum blossoms with a smile that did not reach her eyes. That, in itself, was enough to tell me she was thinking of how to turn it to her own advantage, or perhaps how to ensure it never happened at all.
I rose from the brazier and crossed to the low writing desk. The paper laid out was crisp and untouched, the inkstone already prepared. My hand hovered over the brush for a moment before I began. I wrote not to anyone in particular, but to myself, mapping out the coming days like a strategist charting a battlefield. The Spring Festival was a stage. Every player would seek their place beneath the lantern light, and I could not afford to let Meiyan's shadow fall over mine.
When the last stroke was dry, I placed the page into a small lacquer box and slid it into the bottom drawer. The hour was late, but I did not yet wish to sleep. Instead, I walked to the outer balcony.
The moon hung low, its pale reflection rippling across the pond in the courtyard. The plum blossoms, even under the night sky, seemed almost luminous, their scent faint but distinct. It reminded me of the Dowager's pavilion earlier that day, her gaze sharp despite her gentle words. She was a woman who could see through silk and smiles alike.
The breeze stirred my hair, carrying with it a distant note of music. Somewhere in another wing, perhaps in Meiyan's, a musician plucked a guqin, the notes threading through the stillness like silver strands. The palace never truly slept.
---
By morning, the frost on the garden stones glistened like powdered glass. I woke to the sound of Jiu'er sliding the shutters open, letting in the pale light. The air smelled faintly of rice porridge and woodsmoke drifting from the kitchens.
"There is word from the Hall of Literary Grace," Jiu'er said as I sat up. "The calligraphers are preparing a set of scrolls for the Emperor's review. They request your presence to choose a piece for the festival display."
An invitation that was not quite an order, but in the palace, such things were never casual. I dressed in a robe of soft lilac silk, the sleeves embroidered with tiny white blossoms, and pinned my hair into a style both formal and unassuming. Today, I would not arrive like a challenger. I would arrive like a guest who might become indispensable.
The Hall of Literary Grace was warmed by braziers, the scent of ink and pine mingling in the air. The walls were hung with recent works, poems brushed in sweeping strokes, landscapes where mist seemed to roll off the page. Several scholars looked up as I entered, bowing politely before returning to their work.
A senior calligrapher approached, his fingers stained deep black. "Princess Lianhua, an honor. We have prepared several options for the central display. His Majesty wishes the piece to reflect harmony and renewal."
He led me to a table where five scrolls lay unrolled. I studied each in turn. One bore a verse about the plum blossom's defiance of frost, another a depiction of cranes in flight over a river in thaw. My gaze lingered on the third, a simple, fluid rendering of a lone bamboo shoot breaking through snow.
"This one," I said quietly, touching the edge of the scroll. "It speaks of persistence without arrogance."
The calligrapher inclined his head. "A fine choice, Princess."
I left the hall with the faint scent of ink still clinging to my sleeves. As I stepped into the open air, I noticed Meiyan ahead of me on the path, speaking to two court ladies. She laughed lightly at something one of them said, her hand resting on the lacquered handle of her parasol despite the winter chill.
Her gaze flicked toward me briefly, just enough to acknowledge, then returned to her companions. She was making a point, that her circle was intact, her influence undiminished. I walked past without pausing, my own steps measured, as if her presence was no more than another stone along the path.
---
That evening, the palace was alight with preparation. Servants hurried along the corridors carrying bolts of silk, trays of candles, and baskets of fresh flowers from the greenhouses. The air seemed charged, a mixture of anticipation and quiet tension.
I found myself summoned once more, this time to the Dowager's private quarters. The room was warmer than most, the walls hung with silk panels embroidered in gold thread. The Dowager sat beside a low table where a pot of chrysanthemum tea steamed gently.
"Princess," she said, gesturing for me to sit. "Tell me, do you enjoy the Spring Festival?"
"I do, Your Majesty," I replied. "It is a time when the palace feels alive with color."
She smiled faintly. "Color is one thing. Meaning is another. The festival is not only for beauty. It is a mirror the Empire holds up to itself. The right arrangements, the right symbols, they remind the people who stands at the heart of the realm."
I understood her then. The festival was an arena, and she was watching to see which of us, Meiyan or I, would hold the Emperor's eye when the lanterns were lit.
We spoke for some time, our conversation weaving between the practical and the symbolic. When I left, the scent of chrysanthemum still clung to my sleeves.
---
That night, as I prepared for rest, Jiu'er lingered by the lantern in my room.
"You were quiet after seeing the Dowager," she said softly.
"She reminded me," I replied, "that even flowers can be weapons."
Jiu'er looked at me for a long moment before nodding. "Then we must make sure yours bloom where they cannot be cut."
I smiled faintly. The game was indeed moving faster. And beneath the lantern light of the coming festival, every step, every smile, every glance would matter.
Tomorrow, I would take another step, one small enough to seem harmless, but placed exactly where it needed to be.