Chapter 5: The Return
A year had passed since Wu Zhao's exile to the Ganye Temple. Though stripped of silks and titles, she never allowed herself to fade into silence. Clad in simple robes and shaved of her vanity, she knelt before cold statues each morning and swept sacred halls by dusk—but within her heart, she nurtured a flame. A flame of purpose. Of vengeance. Of return.
While the temple echoed with chants and incense, the Forbidden City pulsed with unrest.
Inside the Hall of Political Harmony, the atmosphere was heavy with heat and argument. Ministers dressed in layered robes clustered in groups, voices rising like a swarm of bees. Atop the Dragon Throne, Emperor Gaozong—Li Zhi, once timid—now wore the weight of the empire across his brows. He listened, unmoving, as they quarreled over land allocations in the flood-devastated southern provinces.
He raised his hand to speak.
But Chancellor Wei, ever the opportunist, stepped forward, bowing low.
"With due respect, Your Majesty," he said in syrupy tones, "perhaps this decision is best postponed until the waters recede and tensions cool."
Before Gaozong could reply, Grand Minister Wang Ren, father to Empress Wang, moved with a courtier's ease. His voice cut through the chamber with practiced authority.
"My Lord, the south is still drowning in aftermath. Let us act wisely and entrust this matter to experienced hands."
The Emperor's jaw clenched.
"And what of the farmers, Minister Wang? Shall their bellies wait until your plans are convenient?"
Wang Ren bowed lower, lips twitching.
"Handled in time, Your Majesty. Always in time."
No more words were spoken. But the Emperor's silence throbbed with anger.
Several days later, in the cool tranquility of the Eastern Pavilion, Emperor Gaozong sat before a koi pond, watching the orange fish ripple the surface. A cluster of senior ministers approached and dropped to their knees. Duke Pei, flanked by General Xu and two other noblemen, held up a crimson scroll.
"Your Majesty," Duke Pei began, "the Empress has borne no heir. The bloodline grows thin. The dynasty requires new branches to ensure continuity. We humbly beg you to take new consorts."
Gaozong's gaze didn't leave the pond. The fish scattered under a falling leaf.
He turned slowly.
"Is this truly for the empire… or for your families?"
"Both, Your Majesty," General Xu said firmly. "A tree must spread its roots, or it withers."
The Emperor's eyes narrowed, then softened with mock amusement.
"I see. And you've come with recommendations, I presume?"
They bowed again in unison, pleased by his tone. But he waved them off, his face unreadable.
That night, as red lanterns flickered above the imperial gardens, Gaozong wandered alone. His footsteps whispered across the stone path. In the stillness, a thought bloomed—like spring beneath frozen ground.
If they want consorts, let them have them... but I shall choose my own phoenix.
In a secret study hidden within the palace's stone veins, Gaozong summoned Chancellor Lu, a scholar known more for discretion than ambition.
"I want Lady Wu Zhao returned to the palace," Gaozong said quietly, but firmly.
Chancellor Lu blinked. "But… she is a nun now, Your Majesty."
"She was exiled wrongly," Gaozong said, his tone sharp. "And she's the only one I trust in this nest of cobras."
He unrolled a scroll, revealing her name in elegant brush strokes.
"Grant her the rank of Zhaoyi, fifth-tier consort. High enough for protection. Low enough to raise no alarms… for now."
"But the Empress—"
"I will deal with her."
News spread like wildfire.
"She's a seductress!" Empress Wang screamed, trembling with rage behind embroidered silk curtains. "A ghost from the past, come to haunt me! I forbid it!"
Her ladies-in-waiting cowered as she hurled a porcelain vase at the door, shattering it into a thousand glittering pieces.
But it was too late.
Whispers coiled through the palace halls like smoke.
"She's returning?"
"The nun?"
"Has he lost his mind—or his heart?"
Some feared the court would descend into chaos. Others remembered her sharp eyes and sharper tongue. Few were glad.
The Empress's allies convened in secret chambers, their voices low and urgent. But Gaozong ignored them all.
"She will come," he said to Lu. "And she will rise."
At Ganye Temple, midday bells rang softly as the nuns swept fallen petals from the courtyard.
The gates opened.
A crimson and gold carriage entered with regal grace, flanked by armored guards. A eunuch stepped down, unfurling a scroll stamped with the imperial seal.
"By decree of His Majesty, Emperor Gaozong," he read aloud, "Lady Wu Zhao is summoned to return to court and serve as Consort Zhaoyi of the Inner Palace."
The nuns froze.
Wu Zhao looked up from her prayers. Slowly, she stood, her robes whispering against the stone floor. Her hair, now grown past the scalp but still short, framed a face sculpted by resolve.
She turned to Mei Lin, who covered her mouth in disbelief.
"Ready?" Mei Lin asked in a shaky whisper.
Wu Zhao's gaze burned steady.
"The phoenix rises."
As they stepped into the carriage, the temple fell into solemn silence. Even the wind dared not speak.
The palace emerged through the evening mist, tall and familiar. As the carriage doors opened, Wu Zhao descended with elegance honed not in silks, but in suffering.
Behind a veil of silk, Emperor Gaozong waited alone.
Their eyes met. He stepped forward and took her hands in his.
"You're home," he whispered.
Wu Zhao smiled faintly.
"Not yet," she said. "But soon."
The next morning, the imperial court assembled in the Hall of Purity and Light. Officials, servants, and nobles filled the space in tense anticipation.
Emperor Gaozong stood before them, robed in gold. His voice rang like iron striking stone.
"By royal decree, Lady Wu Zhao shall be reinstated to the palace as Zhaoyi, of the fifth rank. She has lived in silence, served with honor, and returns in grace."
Gasps echoed. Some were shocked. Some were angry. Most were afraid.
Empress Wang stood motionless, her face pale as rice paper. She curtsied deeply, her lips thin as blades.
Later that day, in a choreographed ceremony watched by courtiers and nobles alike, the Empress—clad in ceremonial gold—took Wu Zhao's hand.
"Zhaoyi," she said through clenched teeth, "welcome. May you serve wisely."
Wu Zhao bowed with flawless grace.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I intend to."
Behind her calm, her ambition stirred.
That night, in her newly adorned chambers, Wu Zhao sat alone.
Candles flickered. The scent of sandalwood drifted in the air. Outside, cicadas sang to the night.
She held her polished bronze mirror, tracing the curve of her growing hair, her sharp jawline, the fire in her own reflection.
Then she whispered, voice soft but steady—
"The phoenix has returned. And it's time to soar."