The late afternoon sun sank low over Huǒyuán, its dying light spilling across the kingdom like molten gold. Inside his receiving chamber, King Hán Wáng Ān sat stiffly on his throne-like chair, a storm brewing behind his eyes.
The moment he ordered every maid out of the room, the air shifted—heavy, secretive, tense. Only his loyal soldiers remained around the wide, circular table.
"Send this message to my general," he said at last, pushing a sealed scroll toward the closest soldier.
"Yes, my lord," the man said as he accepted it with a bow and left.
A large map lay unfurled before the king, its borders glowing faintly beneath the lanterns. His fingers drifted slowly across the parchment, tracing lines he had memorized.
"Place our spies on every route leading in or out of Huǒyuán," he ordered. "No unusual movement escapes us. Not even a breath."
"Yes, my lord."
Another command was on his lips when the doors creaked open. Instantly, the soldiers' hands went to their weapons—until the intruder revealed himself as one of their own, panting slightly from haste.
"My lord," he said, voice tight. "King Tiān Lóngxuān's men have arrived. They... they don't look as though they're here for negotiation—"
King Hán Wáng Ān stood abruptly.
The room stilled.
Even the air dared not move.
"My lord...?" one soldier whispered.
The king's gaze hardened.
"Remember. I cannot refuse an imperial summons. But none of you should act unless I command it. And do not forget—there is more to that palace than the king on the throne. I still haven't seen the true holder of power."
His voice dropped, almost a warning:
"They are dangerous. All of them."
He strode out, and two soldiers immediately followed, silent as shadows.
When he stepped outside, something in him loosened. Two elegant maids stood beside a beautifully decorated chariot, their expressions serene, unreadable—yet perfectly rehearsed.
He smirked lightly.
"Well, now... beauties, have you come for me?"
They bowed with graceful precision.
"May we depart, my lord?" one asked, lifting the carriage curtain.
He leaned in, inspecting the interior with quiet suspicion.
"Are we in such a hurry?" he muttered—but he still entered, settling into the cushioned seat.
His soldiers approached to accompany him, but the maid dropped the curtain and raised a palm.
"You will not ride inside with the king," she said with polite firmness. "Follow us on horseback."
They faltered.
Inside, the king pushed the curtain aside just enough to give a single command:
"Obey."
The soldiers turned back to fetch their horses.
But by the time they returned—
The chariot was gone.
No hoofprints.
No trace of departure at all.
As confusion spread among the soldiers, the capital moved on with its preparations.
At the palace, preparations for the journey to the western region were already in motion.
The palace granted escorts to a few foreign kings... while the rest were pressured—quietly — to leave the empire.
King Tiān Lóngxuān's decree echoed through the corridors like an unseen blade:
Clear the palace of every foreign ruler.
None shall remain.
Outside the palace, the streets of the capital were alive with movement. Chariots rolled over cobblestone paths, horses trotted in disciplined lines, and wealthy families with their servants trailed behind them.
At the city inn, the innkeeper bowed repeatedly as guests departed one after another, their silk sleeves fluttering in the breeze.
Lord Chen stood on his balcony overlooking the lively road beneath. The cool wind brushed against his face—soft, refreshing, almost cleansing. It carried with it memories he had tried so long to hold carefully. A quiet smile crept across his lips.
A sudden uproar broke his peace.
From the uppermost floor came a girl's startled scream.
Lord Chen lifted his head just in time to see her pointing frantically toward the street.
Following her trembling finger, his breath caught.
Through the curtain of a passing chariot, he glimpsed a familiar silhouette—Mò Lián. Even the light seemed drawn to her presence, and Lord Chen's eyes widened in disbelief.
He nearly shouted her name... until he noticed he wasn't the only one reacting. The entire street was already roaring.
"The Phoenix Dancer!"
Mò Lián rested one arm elegantly on the window frame of the chariot. At the sound of her title, she leaned out slightly; her smile warm, her presence radiant. When the crowd recognized her face, their excitement surged.
"That's the Phoenix Dancer's chariot!"
Children ran behind the wheels, merchants paused mid-sale, and even travelers turned their heads. Cheers followed her, echoing through the street like music—until the chariot slipped around a corner and disappeared.
Lord Chen exhaled slowly, pride swelling in his chest.
"Keep guiding her, Lord... keep guiding my daughter," he murmured, hands pressed together in silent prayer.
He stepped back into the house. "Pack your bags," he said calmly. "We leave tomorrow."
In the kitchen, the air was thick with the warmth of the fire as his in-laws and his sister gathered wood for lunch. But Lord Chen's words cut through the heat, instantly cooling the room.
"My wife's memorial is tomorrow," he mumbled, leaning on the doorway. "I must visit."
Chen Rong nodded, understanding the weight of the day.
"I have booked our boat already. It leaves at dawn," Lord Chen added, sitting beside his father-in-law.
"That is good," his mother-in-law replied, tying a bundle of wood with steady hands. "And your imported goods?"
"Someone will deliver them to my house."
He let out a slow, steady breath.
The road leading out of the capital crawled with movement. Chariots, horses, and rustling silk robes clogged the path as dignitaries and common folk alike pressed toward the western districts.
Heat shimmered above the crowded street, and inside her chariot, Mò Lián felt her eyelids droop.
She leaned toward the window, letting the breeze kiss her cheeks. That was when she noticed a soldier watching her, his expression caught somewhere between awe and confusion.
"Hey...!" she called softly, waving with the lazy charm of someone half-asleep and half-mischievous.
The soldier straightened instantly, a faint flush creeping along his ears. "Yes, my lady." He dipped his head in a respectful bow.
"I need your help," she said, leaning further against the window frame, her voice sweet and careless.
His posture stiffened. "What do you wish, my lady?"
"How long until we arrive?" She scrunched her face childishly, as if the question itself exhausted her.
A warm smile spread across his features—far too warm for a soldier on duty. "My lady... would you like to experience another means of travel?" he asked, stepping a little closer.
Mò Lián blinked. "Hmm... yes." She nodded, curious and unbothered.
In the next heartbeat, the soldier vanished.
"Huuun...?" Her brows lifted. "Where did he go?"
A soft hum filled the chariot. The floor vibrated. Then, with a gentle lurch, the entire carriage lifted into the air. Air curled around the windows, brushing over her like invisible fingers. She froze, then leaned out cautiously.
"Ahhh!" she yelped, clutching the curtain as a gigantic bird swooped past. Her shock melted into pure delight.
"I-I'm... flying?" Her laughter spilled out, bright and wild.
She peered outside—the treetops stretched like a rippling green sea, and below them, the line of chariots shrank into toy-sized dots.
"Wow..." She gripped the window frame as the chariot glided smoothly through the sky.
Moments later, it slowed, descending gracefully before the high gates of the Queen's western quarter. The wheels touched the ground with a soft thud.
"My lady..." The soldier's voice called from outside. He opened the door—only to find Mò Lián curled up, fast asleep.
He bit back a laugh. "My lady. We have arrived."
"Hmmm...?" she scratched her chin sleepily, blinking into wakefulness. "Oh... thank you."
He stood frozen, staring at her with a look he shouldn't have worn. His heartbeat thumped so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
Then she gasped. "Ah! You're bleeding!" Her eyes widened as a thin line of red trickled from his nostrils.
He snapped from his daze, wiping at his face. "I must have overexerted myself," he stammered, though the lie was obvious.
Without hesitation, she pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it into his hand. "Here. Wipe it. You should have rested if you were unwell."
He stepped aside quickly as she moved past him, bowing so deeply he nearly folded in half.
At the pinnacle of the watchtower above the gate, unseen by them both, a lone figure observed the scene—silent, still, and watching far too close.
Mò Lián walked beside the escorting soldier, her steps light against the polished stone path as they approached the Queen's main building. The guards at the gate exchanged quick hand signals with the soldier—silent communication she couldn't decipher but clearly important.
He halted gently. "My lady, Her Majesty currently has a royal visitor. It may be unsafe to enter. You may wait in the reception hall."
Mò Lián's brow lifted. "Then show me around." Her voice was soft but firm—curiosity sparkling beneath each word.
The soldier blinked, then nodded. "Of course, my lady."
They began the patrol path that circled the Queen's mansion. The air shifted subtly as they approached a courtyard, cool and humming with energy. A wide pool stretched beneath the open sky, its surface impossibly still. Mò Lián paused—this was the same style as the mysterious pool she had seen in the imperial palace.
"Why does the Queen's mansion have a pool like this?" she asked, walking beside him.
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It holds more significance than I fully understand. But from what I know... this pool helps dilute the energy that Her Majesty emits. It stabilizes the atmosphere."
He slowed suddenly, unsure if she was still beside him. When he turned, she was smiling faintly—listening.
"The royal bloodline's power is... destructive in its raw form," he continued. "Since the Queen receives visitors daily, these pools help balance the air for her maids and guests."
Mò Lián studied the shimmering water. "Do the King and Crown Prince have pools like this, too?"
He scratched his head lightly. "I'm the Queen's internal general, so I don't know everything about their quarters. Only military commanders and official visitors know. I've entered the King's mansion once, but the power inside was intoxicating—like breathing in death."
"And the Crown Prince?" she asked, stepping closer to the pool's edge.
He stiffened. "No. Never. The Crown Prince is... a dangerous creature. Only his parents know his actual face. His power is unstable and wide. He often clashes with the Immortal Priest."
A laugh almost burst out of her, bubbling in her throat.
"I'm serious," he insisted quickly, catching her expression. "Only the Queen can speak to him freely. Her Highness is the only one he listens to."
"He must be terribly stubborn then," Mò Lián said, chuckling.
"Stubborn?" The soldier nearly scoffed. "If he dares fight the Immortal Priest, who else could handle him? I don't go anywhere near his quarters. His mood alone could send a grown man flying."
"What about the general?" She asked, still holding back a grin.
His expression darkened with respect. "The general is more ruthless—but not as powerful as the Crown Prince. Let me give you an example."
They sat on the grass bordering the courtyard. His voice lowered, almost reverent.
"When demons invaded the eastern region, the general was still very young, fresh from training. He evacuated them all by himself. Restored the east... saved the realms from collapse." He exhaled slowly.
Mò Lián shot to her feet before he could finish. "Let's return," she said, her tone quick and clipped—too fast for it to be casual.
He scrambled up. "Yes, my lady."
They walked back toward the main hall, but the air between them had shifted. Something in her eyes had sharpened.
Something she wasn't ready to reveal.
They walked together back toward the Queen's main building, where evening light spilled across the palace grounds in soft gold.
Mò Lián had been given her own special building—a gesture from the Queen herself—and once she freshened up, she joined the other girls on the practice field for their nightly dance rehearsal.
Laughter, soft footwork, and the rustle of silk filled the courtyard. The dancers moved like petals in a steady breeze... until the energy shifted.
A lavishly adorned chariot glided past the practice grounds, carried by ranked military officers and escorted by the chief of the royal maids. Its embroidered curtains shimmered, marking it unmistakably as the transport of someone important.
The king's newly arrived royal guest—Princess Xǔ Bìyáo of Fujian.
The curtain rustled, and Princess Xǔ Bìyáo leaned out gracefully... only for her expression to freeze the moment her eyes fell on Mò Lián.
Her posture stiffened. Her gaze flickered downward. Then she spun sharply to the head of the maids.
"My lady, is anything troubling you?" the chief maid asked, raising a hand to signal the chariot to halt.
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo leaned closer, her voice clipped and cold. "Why are those girls allowed here?"
"Those are Li Fùyáo's dancers, my lady," the chief maid replied, her tone respectful but edged with discipline.
"They practice here every evening. You may visit them if you wish."
Xǔ Bìyáo gave a tight, irritated nod. "Thanks..." she muttered, the rudeness barely concealed as she snapped the curtain shut.
The chariot resumed its glide toward the royal visitors' quarters, but the air it left behind rippled with tension—sharp enough that even the dancers paused for a heartbeat.
Mò Lián stood still in the lingering dust, her heartbeat steady... though her eyes shimmered with something unreadable.
Night descended slowly over the western palace, casting long shadows across Mò Lián's quiet room. She lay flat on her back, staring at the carved ceiling beams above her. A soft smile tugged at her lips as memories drifted in—her family, the temple, the simple days she once lived.
I was a commoner... yet now the Queen honors me. Even those who once sneered at me bow their heads.
The thought made her chest warm.
Her breathing steadied. Her eyes fluttered shut.
But sleep did not embrace her gently.
Her nightmare returned.
"Lián..."
The voice was a whisper at first—distant, echoing like someone calling from the bottom of a well.
She stirred, frowning. "Huh...?" Her fingers brushed her eyelids as she sat up. The room was empty. Still. Too still.
She lay back down.
"Lián..."
This time, the voice slithered across the room like cold air crawling over her skin.
Mò Lián jerked upright, clutching her blanket to her chest. "Please... leave me alone." Her voice trembled, tears already swelling in her eyes.
"Lián..."
It was louder now—closer and creepier. Steadily approaching.
"You seem to forget who you are..."
The voice reached the edge of her bed, its presence thick and suffocating.
"Stop...! Leave me alone!" She dragged the blanket over her head, curling into herself, trembling.
A cold grip seized the blanket.
It tugged.
Mò Lián held on with shaking hands, knuckles white—but the pull grew stronger, overpowering her resistance. The blanket was ripped away in one swift motion.
She screamed—eyes flying open—
And sunlight poured into the room.
Morning had come. But it did not ease her fear. Mò Lián felt as if the nightmare still clung to her skin.
Her breath came in sharp, broken gasps. She folded her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she could hold her heart in place. Tears slid down her cheeks as she buried her face between her legs.
And she cried—not softly, but with the raw, aching fear of a girl haunted by something she still refused to answer.
The Lantern Festival reached its peak, lighting the imperial city with warm flickers of gold and crimson.
On the Queen's estate, Lady Fuyao gathered her dancers before dawn for one final round of practice. The choreography grew more complex each hour, and exhaustion clung to the room like mist. The New Year festival preparations had just begun.
It didn't take long for Lady Fuyao to notice the girl struggling the most.
"Mò Lián..." Lady Fuyao rushed to her side as she swayed, sweating and pale. "You look terribly sick." She helped her sit on a vacant brick, steadying her trembling shoulders.
Mò Lián's breaths came shallow and shaking.
"Go home," Lady Fuyao whispered firmly. "Write an apology to the King. Explain your condition. You won't perform today." She stroked Mò Lián's back.
Before Mò Lián could reply, a messenger stepped into the room. He bowed. "My lady, the Queen sends for you."
Lady Fuyao acknowledged him with a quick nod. She turned to Mò Lián. "I'll be back shortly. Do not move."
She hurried out.
Left behind, Mò Lián sat gasping for breath while the other girls resumed practice, their feet tapping lightly against the floor. But the air in the hall tensed abruptly.
"Greetings, Your Highness!" the dancers chorused, bowing.
Mò Lián slowly lifted her head—and froze.
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo.
The same woman she had quarreled with months ago. Her presence cut through the room like a blade, accompanied by two palace soldiers and the chief's maid's assistant.
Mò Lián looked away sharply. What is she doing here?
The chief's maid's assistant's eyes narrowed when she noticed the girl who hadn't stood to show respect.
"You—there," her voice snapped across the room.
Mò Lián flinched but couldn't rise; her legs trembled violently.
"Raise her," the chief maid's assistant ordered.
The soldiers marched forward immediately.
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo watched with a pleased smirk, arms folded, savoring the moment.
One dancer rushed forward, kneeling. "My lady, please—she is very sick—"
A sharp slap cracked through the hall.
The girl fell sideways, clutching her stinging cheek.
"Spoiled brat," the chief's maid's assistant hissed. "Who taught you to lie?"
She turned back as the soldiers hauled Mò Lián upright. Her knees buckled again, her head dropping.
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo's lips curled. I must get back at you... worthless little insect.
The chief's maid's assistant delivered a violent slap that sent Mò Lián collapsing again. Pain shot through her cheek, but her vision was already blurring.
"In the palace, no one claims sickness," the chief's maid's assistant snarled. "Only demons pretend—"
She raised her hand again—
"Stop!"
Lady Fuyao shouted as she burst into the hall. She rushed to Mò Lián's side.
"My lady...!" The chief's maid's assistant protested stiffly. "She has been disrespectful—"
Lady Fuyao glared at her. "Do you know who you just struck?!"
Her voice shook the hall.
She immediately signaled the dancers.
"Carry her. Now."
The girls lifted Mò Lián carefully, rushing her toward her quarters.
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo scoffed under her breath, disgusted. "And who is she supposed to be?" she muttered. But inside, her spite simmered hotter.
I haven't repaid you enough... You will receive tenfold the shame you gave me.
Lady Fuyao barked rapid instructions to the girls, trembling with anger, before storming out.
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo and the chief's maid's assistant stepped out as well. The moment they were alone, the princess turned, voice smooth and decisive.
"If I may ask... who was that lady?"
The chief's maid's assistant paused, her stern face unreadable. No reply came.
"You may leave," she told the soldiers first. Once they walked a distance ahead, she spoke softly but firmly: "Honored Princess... that lady is the Queen's right hand."
Princess Xǔ Bìyáo stiffened.
"Now, I shall resume my duties." She bowed slightly.
The princess forced a polite smile. "You may go."
As the maid disappeared down the corridor, Princess Xǔ Bìyáo's fingers curled around her sleeves, tension coiling in her chest.
She may provoke the wrong lady. After all, I did nothing wrong... she told herself.
Elsewhere...
The early afternoon sun burned hot over Lord Chen's household. He and his family stood outside their wooden gate as his father-in-law performed a purification ritual, murmuring ancient prayers while sprinkling seawater around the house.
Once he finished, everyone filed inside—except Lord Chen's mother-in-law.
"Mum?" Lord Chen called, pacing anxiously. Chen Rong watched silently, confused.
His mother-in-law remained at the gate, stiff and silent.
"I'm tired, and I need proper rest," Chen Rong murmured, already carrying luggage indoors.
But the elderly woman shook her head. Her hands trembled as she raised them.
"I want to visit my daughter," she mumbled.
Lord Chen caught her hands immediately. "Yes... Yes, we should." He turned to the father-in-law, seriousness darkening his expression.