All under heaven knew well—the land was now without its king.
The wails of concubines and handmaidens echoed throughout the inner palace, as though the very earth itself was mourning its end.
Yet no one could truly tell—for whom were those sorrowful tears truly shed? For the Emperor, perhaps?
If so, then that would be a noble thing—at the very least, it would mean they still hold some
shred of loyalty for the departed sovereign.
But how many of them truly feel that way?
Perhaps those tears...are wept not for the late Emperor, but for their own bleak and withering lives.
The death of the sovereign, now lying in his golden coffin, is about to claim the lives of those women as well.
In just a few more hours, their worthless little lives will be buried alive—entombed alongside the lifeless body of the mighty Emperor.
Cruel as it may seem, such is the ancient custom passed down through generations. Whether master or servant, none may escape this "honorable death."
Consort Hua, the late Emperor's favored concubine, had already been granted a death most bitter. She resided in the Yang Palace, draped in white mourning robes. Her jade-like face remained serene, and her beautiful eyes were cold as ice.
The tears one might expect for the Emperor who once shared her joys and sorrows were nowhere to be seen. Not even a single drop.
The noble Consort Hua was, in truth, born of humble origins. She was once a mere commoner a village girl by the name of Mu Ying, whose beauty rivaled that of the celestial goddess Ma Gu herself.
Tales of her unparalleled loveliness spread far and wide across the land reaching even the ears of the Emperor.
Though Consort Hua possessed the beauty of a goddess, she came to be known by a far more fearsome title—"The Demon of Mu Province."
Cold-hearted and merciless, she carved her path to the rank of Imperial Noble Consort by stepping over the corpses of her rivals, one after another.
Countless concubines and loyal ministers who dared to stand in her way all met pitiful and untimely ends beneath her unrelenting ascent to the throne of the Phoenix.
But the Emperor's death dragged Consort Hua down from her Phoenix Throne.
With no son or daughter to secure her place, she stood defenseless before the ancient burial decree, which declared: "Any concubine who bears no heir shall be buried alongside the Emperor."
Thus, the Empress Li Hua's faction seized upon this tradition, using it as a lawful means to remove Consort Hua—once and for all.
Death was drawing closer with every passing hour, yet Consort Hua showed not the slightest trace of fear.
At this very moment, she sat calmly in Yang Palace, sipping tea and admiring a length of silk with serene grace. By her side stood Ah-Zhi, her most trusted maid, hands trembling as she poured tea—the fear in her eyes all too clear.
"Ah-Zhi, do you think this silk is beautiful?" Consort Hua asked, her eyes never once turning to the maid she addressed.
Ah-Zhi flinched at the question, her expression shifting instantly to one of panic. Though it was a simple inquiry, she hesitated to answer.
In truth, she feared her mistress.
Consort Hua was a woman whose thoughts could not be read, one who ruled the inner palace through fear. If she gave an answer that displeased her, her delicate back would surely be marked by the whip.
"I-I… It's beautiful, Your Grace," Ah-Zhi replied, her voice trembling.
"I believe you," Consort Hua said with a satisfied smile, then continued, "Has the Royal Astrologer chosen the date for moving His Majesty's remains?"
Ah-Zhi bowed her head and replied, "The procession is set for three days from now, Your Grace."
"Three days, is it?" With those words, Consort Hua tossed the beautiful silk to Ah-Zhi. "Embroider a phoenix upon it. Once it's done, have them hang it on the carriage that will take me to the imperial tomb."
"I dare not," Ah-Zhi said, falling prostrate to the floor. "The phoenix is a sacred symbol of good fortune... It should not be used for a funeral procession, Your Grace."
"Ah-Zhi, is your brother doing well?"
A chill ran down Ah-Zhi's spine the moment Consort Hua suddenly brought up her brother—seemingly without reason.
She looked up at her mistress, then replied with a mixture of fear and caution, "My brother… is well, Your Grace."
"Is that so? Yet I heard your brother is gravely ill," Consort Hua said, her gaze fixed on Ah-Zhi, a chilling smile playing on her lips.
Ah-Zhi's heart dropped. She hadn't expected Her Grace to know about her brother's condition.
"Please don't trouble yourself, Your Grace," she replied hastily. "It's nothing serious—just a minor illness. A few days of medicine and he'll recover."
"If that's what you say, then I'm relieved," Consort Hua lifted her teacup to sip, her elegant eyes lingering on Ah-Zhi's face with veiled meaning. "It would be such a pity if something were to happen to your brother. I would truly feel sorry... if your family were to lose its only heir."
In that instant, Ah-Zhi's body trembled with fear. She understood all too well the true meaning behind Consort Hua's words. They held no concern—no kindness—for her brother's well-being. They were a warning.
A warning that if she wished for her family to survive, she must not—ever—defy the will of Consort Hua.
"Please spare my brother's life, Your Grace!" Ah-Zhi remained prostrate, her forehead striking the floor again and again until blood streamed down her face. "I'll do everything you ask—everything!"
Consort Hua smiled but said nothing. She simply returned to admiring another piece of fine silk from the chest of garments.
Ah-Zhi knew exactly what she had to do. She rose quickly, clutching the exquisite silk in her blood-soaked hands, and hurried off to carry out her orders—her forehead still wet and glistening with crimson.