Chapter 32: The Lanterns Breathe Fire
The night before the festival was restless. I didn't even try to sleep. The brazier hissed as it swallowed its last coal, and the shadows kept twitching on the wall like they wanted to get out. Jiu'er had gone quiet hours ago, curled up in the corner with her hands tucked under her cheek, but I stayed awake with the lantern. My lantern.
The silk had stiffened under my touch. Indigo like the bruise of sky before dawn, and those thin threads of white that looked like frost if you tilted it toward the firelight. I kept tracing the stitches with my fingertip, half afraid they'd unravel if I looked away.
It was supposed to be strong, quiet strength. But in the dark… it just looked small.
Maybe Meiyan's phoenix really would set the hall on fire. Maybe the Emperor would love its noise, its arrogance. Maybe mine would be forgotten.
I hated that thought. I hated that I cared at all.
I shut my eyes. Tried to picture bamboo in the snow, bending but unbroken. Instead, what came to me was my mother's voice from years ago, soft but sharp when she cut vegetables with that chipped knife: "You don't win a storm by shouting at it. You wait. You wait, and when it passes, you are still standing."
I hadn't thought about her in weeks. Maybe months. And now, of all nights, her voice slithered back in. I rubbed my temple and muttered something under my breath, something that wasn't quite a prayer.
The wind picked up outside. Thin, high whistles in the gaps of the shutters. For a second I swore it sounded like someone whispering. I didn't check.
---
Morning came gray and brittle.
Snow had crusted the courtyard. A servant was already sweeping it into uneven piles, his broom handle squeaking like it was about to snap. I wrapped myself in layers that didn't match — Jiu'er scolded, of course — but I couldn't care less.
"Princess, the Emperor will see everyone today," she reminded, tugging the sash tighter around my waist.
"I know."
"You must look—"
"I said I know." Too sharp. Her hands froze. I regretted it instantly, but I didn't take it back. Some mornings I couldn't.
We walked to the hall anyway. The Hall of Painted Clouds looked swollen with color by the time we arrived. Silk banners flapped as if the walls themselves were sighing. The smell of sesame cakes and roasted chestnuts drifted in from the outer courtyard, sweet enough to make my stomach twist.
The lanterns were everywhere. Big, small, fat, tall. Flowers, beasts, rivers, mountains. Too much. It was like walking into a dream painted by someone who didn't know when to stop.
And then Meiyan's.
It stood in the center, taller than a man, wide as a carriage. Phoenixes stretched across its skin, gold wings slicing the light, jewels stitched into the eyes. Servants hovered, afraid to breathe near it. Meiyan stood off to the side, chin lifted, lips curved. She didn't look at me directly, not yet.
I forced myself not to slow down.
My space was at the edge, almost by the pillar. Smaller, quieter. My lantern looked… plain, I suppose. But plain can be sharp too. A blade with no ornament cuts cleaner than one drowned in gold.
Or so I told myself.
---
The Emperor arrived when the sun hit its highest point.
Not announced by trumpets or drums, just the sound of silk dragging and the sudden silence that always followed him. I didn't look at his face right away. I looked at his shoes — dark leather, polished until they gleamed like wet stone. Then up, slow, careful.
His gaze moved over the lanterns, one by one. I couldn't read him. No smile. No frown. Just a heavy stillness, like he was carving something invisible in his mind.
Meiyan stepped forward first, of course. She bowed so low the pearls in her hair clattered. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice clear, syrup-thick. "This lantern is a tribute to your reign. The phoenixes rise, as does your empire."
The Emperor's eyes lingered. His hand brushed one jeweled tassel. The thing glittered under his touch.
I hated how sure she looked when he nodded once.
Then his gaze slid. To Yulan's river of silk waves. To Huarong's lantern full of painted blossoms. Names, smiles, practiced bows. I didn't move. My throat had gone tight, like someone had pressed a hand against it.
Finally, he stopped before mine.
It was smaller. Indigo. White frost thread. The bamboo bending. The snow stitched unevenly, almost messy.
I thought he might dismiss it.
Instead, he bent closer. His fingers brushed the silk, lingered on the crooked line.
A long silence.
"Who made this design?" His voice was not loud, but it cut through the air all the same.
"I did, Your Majesty," I said. My voice sounded thinner than I wanted.
He straightened. Looked at me. Looked long enough that my palms sweated inside my sleeves.
"Bamboo," he said. "Bending but not broken."
"Yes."
His eyes flickered — not quite a smile, not approval either. Something else. Something heavier. Then he moved on.
My knees almost gave when he turned away.
---
The hall didn't breathe again until he left. Even then, whispers erupted like insects. I caught my name once, twice, fluttering between painted lips. Some were sharp, some surprised, some unreadable.
Meiyan passed me as she left. Her perfume was cloying, too sweet for winter. She didn't speak, but her sleeve brushed mine. On purpose. A warning.
Jiu'er tugged my sleeve when we were alone. "Princess, he noticed. He noticed yours."
"Noticed isn't the same as favored," I muttered.
"But still—"
"No." My voice cracked. "Don't say it."
Because if I let hope grow teeth, it would bite me later.
---
That night I couldn't eat. The sesame cakes sat untouched. The broth went cold. I sat with the lantern again, running my hand over the crooked stitch.
Was it a flaw, or a message? Did he see it as strength, or weakness?
I didn't know. And not knowing was worse than anything.
Outside, the snow started again. Thin flakes, barely there. I pressed my forehead against the cold window lattice. Somewhere distant, laughter drifted from Meiyan's quarters.
I closed my eyes. For a moment I thought of tearing the lantern apart, thread by thread. Then I set it aside and let the thought die.
The festival was tomorrow.
And I was still standing.