Chapter 13 — The Weight of Lies
The palace, once a place of golden grandeur and whispered promises, had become a labyrinth of shadows and mistrust.
Yanyue moved carefully through the winding corridors, her footsteps soft against the polished stone, but her senses sharp. Every flicker of candlelight, every distant murmur set her nerves on edge. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, watching, listening, waiting for the slightest misstep.
Since the fire and the failed assassination attempt, the court had transformed into a pressure cooker of suspicion. Whispers of her true identity—the lost daughter of the Li clan—circulated like a poisonous wind, poisoning loyalty and sowing fear.
She felt the weight of those lies pressing down on her like a stone. Not just the lies she'd told others, but the ones she told herself—to survive, to endure.
That evening, she found herself in the imperial garden, where the moonlight poured silver across still ponds and jade-green leaves.
Zhao Wenzhi was already there, standing by the water's edge, his silhouette stark and solitary. The faint breeze tugged at his dark robes, but he did not move to close the distance between them.
"Rumors spread fast in this palace," he said without looking at her, voice low and rough. "They speak of Li Fenghua—the ghost returned, the traitor's daughter. They say the Emperor is weak for sheltering a rebel."
Yanyue swallowed hard. "And what do you say?"
His gaze finally met hers, intense and unreadable. "I say the court does not understand the danger it courts by underestimating her."
She wanted to ask what he truly thought of her, beneath the layers of duty and danger, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she said quietly, "Consort Liang is stirring the fire. She's a serpent, waiting to strike."
Zhao's jaw clenched. "And yet, we cannot kill a serpent without risking the entire nest."
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the fragile calm.
Both spun toward the source—a servant maid from the East Wing, her face pale and twisted with terror. She collapsed near the marble steps, clutching a bloodied piece of paper in trembling hands.
Yanyue rushed to her side, brushing hair from the girl's clammy forehead. "What happened?"
The girl's voice was barely audible. "A message… I found it in the corridor."
Zhao bent down, taking the note carefully. The ink was smeared, the handwriting frantic:
Tell the Phoenix: I see you.
The words sent a chill through Yanyue's spine. The Black Lotus Sect—the assassins, the shadows haunting her every step—were closer than ever. Watching, waiting.
Zhao's expression darkened, his fingers tightening around the note. "They're taunting us."
She looked up, meeting his eyes. "Then we cannot wait for their next move. We must strike first."
He hesitated, the weight of leadership pressing down on him. "It's not that simple. Any misstep could give them the excuse they need to move openly. The court is a powder keg."
She stepped closer, voice fierce with resolve. "Then we fan the flames before they do."
But even as they spoke, unseen eyes followed them.
Behind a carved screen, a figure cloaked in the guise of loyalty watched silently—the smile playing on lips that hid secrets darker than the night.
This was a traitor, one who wore masks better than any assassin.
Morning dawned cold and gray, the palace waking to whispers and rumors thicker than the morning fog.
At the Emperor's side, Yanyue felt the weight of every glance cast their way—some filled with curiosity, others with disdain, and some sharp enough to cut.
The game had changed. The danger was no longer just outside the palace walls but inside them, woven into the very fabric of trust.
That afternoon, Zhao entered his private chambers to find a sealed box resting on the carved rosewood desk.
His brow furrowed. The box was unfamiliar—ornate, wrapped with a crimson ribbon.
Carefully, he lifted the lid.
Inside lay a single black lotus, pressed beneath silk stained red—dark as blood.
Beneath the flower, a note was folded neatly, the script cruel and precise:
The game has begun.
Zhao's fingers trembled slightly as he read the words. He did not need to ask who had sent it.
Yanyue stepped behind him, voice steady but low. "They want to break us."
He nodded, eyes shadowed with cold fury. "Then we show them we will not break."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the palace, Yanyue allowed herself a brief moment to breathe.
But even as she stood in the fading light, the weight of lies and threats pressed upon her heart.
The phoenix was rising—but so were the flames.
Cliffhanger:
In the Emperor's own chambers, a sealed box appeared on the desk—inside, a black lotus pressed beneath red-stained silk.
A single note read: The game has begun.