Chapter 6: Palace Games
The sun cast golden rays across the imperial gardens as Wu Zhao strolled beside Emperor Gaozong. The air was alive with the hum of bees, the rustling of jade-green leaves, and the distant sound of zithers played in the courtyards. The scent of magnolia and plum blossoms mingled, perfuming the winding paths like nature's own incense.
Their laughter danced on the breeze like drifting petals, light and carefree in a place known more for whispers and treachery than joy.
Wu Zhao paused beneath a blooming cherry tree, pointing to a pair of butterflies fluttering among the blossoms.
"They remind me of us," she said softly, her gaze distant, thoughtful. "Drawn together, even when the wind tries to pull us apart."
Gaozong's eyes lingered on her. He smiled, not as an emperor but as a man seeing the world in color again. "Then let us be the storm that pulls them back together," he said, his voice tinged with quiet conviction.
They continued walking, robes brushing in rhythm, steps soft against the gravel path. A moment of peace.
But peace never lasted long in the Forbidden City.
Behind a veil of trailing wisteria, Empress Wang and Consort Xiao watched, their expressions carved from bitterness.
"Look at her," Xiao sneered. "She floats as if she owns this place. Like she's Empress already."
"She forgets she once wore the robes of a nun," Wang said, her voice icy. "She forgets where she came from."
"No," Xiao replied, her lips curling, "She remembers too well. That's why she plays this game so well."
The two women turned, their silk veils rustling like banners before a war. Envy curled around them like a serpent, silent, cold, and poised to strike.
That evening, the Phoenix Hall was adorned in lavish splendor. Gold lanterns glowed like captured suns, casting long shadows on the painted screens. Empress Wang's tea gathering was a picture of grace on the surface, polished jade cups, fine porcelain, rare teas flown in from the western provinces.
But beneath the surface, it simmered with tension.
The consorts assembled, their faces powdered into masks, their painted smiles stretched thin. Fans fluttered not to cool, but to conceal smirks and whispers.
When Wu Zhao entered, the room shifted.
She wore golden silk embroidered with phoenix feathers, her hair arranged with simple elegance, no gaudy jewels—just quiet confidence. Every eye turned. She didn't bow. She simply inclined her head, serene.
Empress Wang gestured to the seat beside her.
"Zhaoyi," she said with the practiced warmth of a snake coiled in the sun. "We are honored by your presence."
Wu Zhao smiled faintly. "The honor is mine, Your Majesty."
Tea was poured. Dishes passed. Laughter rose and fell in calculated waves.
Then, Consort Xiao set down her cup and leaned forward.
"It's refreshing to see someone so… humble at court," she said, voice light. "After all, not everyone begins their journey scrubbing temple floors and chanting prayers. Do you still pray before seducing emperors?"
A ripple of laughter followed, sharp, artificial. Aimed to wound.
Wu Zhao set her cup down gently. Her smile did not falter. Her eyes, however, turned razor-sharp.
"And I never imagined I would sit among so many who hide their fears behind powder and rouge," she replied, her tone as delicate as silk and as lethal as a dagger. "Tell me, Consort Xiao, does your mirror flinch when it sees you?"
Silence. The room froze.
Even Empress Wang's fan paused mid-stroke.
Wu Zhao turned to her next.
"Your Majesty, some seem to forget" her voice softened, almost sweet, "even a nun can rise higher than snakes."
Her words hung in the air like incense,
heavy, inescapable.
Wu Zhao stood slowly. Her golden sleeves trailed behind her like fire licking at silk. Without another word, she left, the silence echoing louder than any insult.
Later that night, in the Emperor's private study, Gaozong sat hunched over scrolls, troubled by reports of unrest in the outer provinces. His brow was furrowed. Advisors had been silent on real solutions.
Wu Zhao entered without ceremony, carrying a lantern. She approached, pausing behind him.
"The granaries in Luoyang are empty," she said softly. "And officials continue to tax the peasants beyond reason."
Gaozong turned, surprised, but not displeased.
"You've read the reports?"
"I read everything you do," she said. "If justice delays, rebellion will not."
He stared at her a moment, then chuckled, the sound warm.
"You speak the truth others won't even whisper."
From that night forward, she became more than a consort.
She became his advisor.
Ministers began noticing her presence beside the throne. She stood during discussions, whispered suggestions that later turned into policy. Some admired her bold mind. Others resented her.
But none could ignore her.
Weeks passed. Wu Zhao grew pale. Her appetite waned. She often held her stomach when she thought no one was looking. During a walk near the lotus pond, she stumbled.
Panic spread through the servants.
The Emperor summoned the royal physician himself. Candles flickered in the examination room as incense curled through the air. After long minutes, the physician emerged, falling to his knees.
"Your Majesty," he said, breathless. "The Lady Wu Zhao... she is with child."
A hush swept through the palace like a typhoon.
Then: celebration.
Gaozong rushed to her chamber, eyes shining. He took her hands gently.
"You have given me the greatest gift," he whispered. "You have made me the happiest man alive."
Wu Zhao smiled faintly, her hand resting over her belly.
Perfect, she thought.
Let them whisper.
Let them choke on their envy.
At the next court session, the Emperor stood before his ministers with pride. Wu Zhao stood beside him, radiant.
"Heaven smiles upon us," he declared. "The phoenix carries our future."
The hall bowed low.
Empress Wang's fingers dug into her robes. Her smile was frozen. Glassy. Consort Xiao stared ahead, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled.
Gaozong did not look at them. Not once.
That night, in a shadow-drenched chamber lit only by a single lamp, Empress Wang and Consort Xiao sat close, their voices hushed.
"This cannot stand," Wang said. "This child, her child, will end us."
"She's not just pregnant," Xiao said, hatred gleaming in her eyes. "She's rising. Fast."
"We strike quietly," Wang said. "No blood. No traces. We start with the midwife. Then the herbs. Then... perhaps a little slip down the stairs."
Xiao smiled, cruel and gleaming.
"Yes. Let the palace mourn a miscarriage."
They bent their heads together, plotting shadows in silence.
Alone in her candle-lit chamber, Wu Zhao sat by the window. Outside, the night was thick with stars. She rested a hand on her belly.
A small smile curved her lips.
"If they wanted games..." she whispered to the growing life within her, "then I will give them fire."
She already suspected spies. Already replaced two maids.
They would come for her.
But she would be ready.
She was no longer just a woman in the palace.
She was a storm wrapped in silk.
And storms did not ask for mercy.
They demanded surrender.