The sun was just beginning to rise, spilling molten gold over the palace roofs when the summons arrived. Lin Qiyue, wrapped in a robe of pale blue silk embroidered with silver plum blossoms, received it without expression.
"His Majesty requests your presence in the Hall of Imperial Reflection," the eunuch said, bowing low.
It was the first official summons from Emperor Zhou Wenli since her return.
She took her time preparing.
The Hall of Imperial Reflection was no place for hesitation. It was where the Emperor held private court for matters unsuited to the ears of ministers and nobles. A sanctum of silence, known to those who had been summoned as a place where fates were unmade.
Qiyue arrived with the weight of ghosts in her step.
The doors opened without announcement. Two rows of silent guards flanked the hallway. The moment she crossed the threshold, the scent of sandalwood and red ink met her nose—sharp, sacred, dangerous.
Zhou Wenli stood at the far end, facing the scroll-covered walls. His dragon robe gleamed black and crimson, sleeves clasped behind his back. He did not turn.
"You kept me waiting."
Qiyue bowed low. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was choosing how I wished to be remembered."
A silence stretched. Then, slowly, the Emperor turned.
He looked older. Lines carved beneath his eyes, jaw set harder than she remembered. Power aged men like war. But it hadn't softened him.
"You speak with the tongue of a courtesan and the bite of a blade," he said.
"Only when necessary."
He stepped closer. "Why did you come back?"
She looked him directly in the eyes. "Because you called."
"Don't play games, Qiyue. I see them in your eyes. You return after vanishing like a wraith, and suddenly my ministers grow nervous. My mother grows paranoid. Even the wind whispers your name."
"Then perhaps the wind remembers what people forget."
His eyes flashed. "Do you think I fear you?"
"No. I think you should."
He moved faster than she expected, gripping her chin. Not rough, but not gentle.
"Careful," he said, voice low. "I could end you with a breath."
Qiyue didn't flinch. "So could memory."
Their gaze locked for a long time.
Then, he released her and stepped back.
"The border generals murmur of discontent," he said. "Wei Xian's troops grow restless."
"Then you should not have killed his brother."
His fist clenched, then slowly relaxed.
"It was your letter, wasn't it? The one he received?"
She said nothing.
"You know treason carries death."
Qiyue smiled faintly. "Then hang me. Let the people ask why. Let them remember the concubine who returned in silence and died in daylight."
He looked at her for a long time. Then said, "You're not afraid."
"No. I'm finished being afraid."
He moved to the window, the light catching in his hair.
"What do you want, Qiyue?"
She stepped forward.
"A palace where daughters don't bleed into tea cups. Where ambition isn't paid for in stillborn children. I want justice. And I want the woman who stole everything from me to choke on her legacy."
He turned to her. "My mother?"
"Yes. The Empress Dowager."
A long silence.
"You presume much."
"No. I remember too well."
They stood in silence, the distance between them echoing with memory and unspoken fury.
Finally, Zhou Wenli spoke.
"I cannot give you justice. Not directly. But if something were to happen—should the Dowager fall ill, or be disgraced by her own hand…"
"Then you would look the other way?"
He didn't answer. But he didn't deny it.
"Very well," Qiyue said. "Then let history write its truth with silence."
She turned to go.
"Qiyue."
She stopped.
"What did I mean to you? Once?"
She looked over her shoulder.
"A storm I thought I could ride. But I was only the boat."
And then she was gone.
---
Back in her chambers, Qiyue paced.
The Emperor had opened a door—not fully, but wide enough to act.
Mingzhu entered quietly. "The gardener brought a note. Hidden in a tray of orchids."
Qiyue unfolded the paper.
> "Night of Lanterns. Pavilion of Mirrors. The fox walks at midnight."
A signal from Wei Xian.
He was ready to move.
She burned the note.
---
Later that night, the Pavilion of Mirrors stood bathed in moonlight, lanterns swaying from silk cords. Qiyue slipped through the corridors dressed in servant's black. A stolen hairpiece and dust-covered shoes made her nearly invisible.
Wei Xian waited beneath the silver maples, a shadow in armor, face masked.
"You got my message," he said.
"I almost didn't recognize you."
He smiled. "The years have been kind to you."
"And cruel."
He pulled a sealed scroll from his robes.
"Evidence. Names. Orders signed by the Dowager during the famine five years ago. She hoarded rice and blamed rebel provinces. Thousands starved."
Qiyue took it, heart racing.
"And this?"
"Enough to destroy her. With the right eyes."
She looked up at him. "Then we begin."
He touched her arm.
"Be careful. The Emperor may tolerate revenge, but he won't tolerate chaos."
Qiyue nodded. "That is why we will make justice look like order."
And with that, the storm truly began.