Ashes of the Empress

The flames crackled beneath her feet, devouring the intricate layers of crimson silk that once symbolized her status as Empress of Tianhua. The heavy scent of burning silk mingled with incense and charred wood, thick enough to choke the breath from her lungs. The sky above was a leaden gray, the sun veiled behind clouds as if the heavens themselves turned away in mourning.

The crowd watched in silence, some with horror, others with thinly veiled satisfaction. The courtiers lined the marble terrace of the imperial square, their faces unreadable behind their fans and veils. Soldiers stood like statues, the polished silver of their armor reflecting the firelight in cold flashes. Above it all, seated on the Dragon Throne beneath a gold-tasseled canopy, was the man she had once called husband.

"By imperial decree," the eunuch's voice rang out, shrill and final, "Empress Lin Ruyan is hereby sentenced to death for treason against the Empire."

Her name echoed like a cruel joke across the square.

Ruyan did not struggle. Her hands, once adorned with phoenix-shaped bangles, now bore raw rope marks as she stood chained to the execution post. Her gaze remained fixed on Ji Wuxian, the Emperor—the man who once whispered her name like a sacred promise under falling plum blossoms. Now he refused to look her in the eye.

Betrayal, she thought bitterly, had never tasted so cold.

The fire rose higher, searing her skin, curling the tips of her long black hair into smoke. Pain exploded in waves, white-hot and blinding. But she did not scream. Her pride would not allow it. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the flutter of a red hairpin—a gift from him once, a token of devotion—falling from her scorched hair. It landed silently at the base of the pyre.

Then, there was nothing but silence.

She awoke with a gasp.

Cold sweat clung to her brow. Her lungs seized, expecting the bite of smoke and ash—but found only the cool breath of spring air. The scent of plum blossoms drifted faintly on the breeze.

Disoriented, she sat up. Her body no longer burned. The pain was gone, replaced by the lingering sting of memory.

Above her, silken curtains in pale pink swayed gently. The canopy was embroidered with cranes in flight. Familiar. Too familiar. A shiver raced down her spine. This was her maiden chamber—the one she had left behind when summoned to the palace years ago.

A soft clatter broke the silence.

"Young Miss!" a maid exclaimed, dropping a copper basin with a splash. "You’re awake! Are you unwell?"

Lin Ruyan blinked. "Xiao Zhen?"

The young maid hurried to her side, her round face pale. "Yes! I was just fetching fresh water. Did you have a nightmare? Shall I call for the physician again?"

Ruyan slowly turned toward the bronze mirror at her vanity. She stood and approached it, her bare feet whispering across the lacquered floor.

The face that stared back at her was hers—but younger. Softer. Her eyes were clear, unclouded by the fatigue of court politics or the weight of betrayal. Her lips, once cracked from the dry winds of punishment, were full and pink. The fine scar along her jaw, earned during an assassination attempt in the palace, was gone.

Seventeen. She was seventeen again.

Her knees buckled. Xiao Zhen caught her with a cry. Ruyan gripped the maid’s shoulders.

"What year is it?" she whispered hoarsely. "Who sits on the throne?"

"The Yonghe Emperor," Xiao Zhen replied hesitantly. "It’s the ninth year of his reign."

Ruyan’s heart thudded in her chest.

Five years before her death.

A second chance.

That evening, long after the household quieted, Ruyan sat in the courtyard beneath the plum tree that brushed against her window. Its branches trembled in the breeze, white petals fluttering to the mossy stones below. The same tree. The same season. The same night that Ji Wuxian had once come, as Crown Prince, to ask for her hand.

She clutched something tightly in her palm—a red hairpin, the same one that had fallen from her head during her execution. How it had returned with her, she could not say. Perhaps it, too, remembered.

"Fate," she whispered into the night, "you are cruel and merciful in the same breath."

The sound of hurried footsteps broke her thoughts. Xiao Zhen appeared, breathless. "Miss, your father summons you to the main hall. The Crown Prince has arrived for the spring banquet."

The words froze the blood in Ruyan’s veins.

Ji Wuxian.

So it begins again.

The main hall was ablaze with lantern light, casting golden patterns on the polished floors. Silk-draped tables overflowed with seasonal delicacies, and the air was thick with perfume and tension. Daughters of noble families sat in prim rows, dressed in vibrant brocades and heavy ornaments, their gazes trained forward like arrows aimed at the same target.

Ruyan stood in the last row, dressed in a pale-blue robe with only a single silver pin in her hair. Her father had not invested effort in her presentation. In her past life, he considered her of little use—until her elevation, when he eagerly claimed credit.

The hall fell silent as the Crown Prince entered. Ji Wuxian strode in with his usual quiet power, flanked by guards and ministers. He was younger, less hardened, but still distant. His sharp eyes scanned the hall with disinterest.

Then they landed on her.

Ruyan lowered her gaze immediately, heart pounding.

Let him pass over me, she prayed. Let him choose another.

But fate, she remembered too well, is not easily diverted.

The banquet passed in a blur. Ruyan remained composed, answering the required formalities but never stepping into the spotlight. Yet she felt his gaze linger, not with recognition, but curiosity—as if his soul whispered something his mind did not yet remember.

The next morning, the imperial decree arrived.

Lady Lin Ruyan is hereby selected to enter the palace as a court lady, with potential for elevation.

The words carved into her like a blade. The same script. The same wording. Her fingers trembled as she held the scroll.

Xiao Zhen wept quietly. "Miss, what will we do? Will you go again?"

Ruyan stood, her silhouette framed by the rising sun.

"We will go to the palace, Xiao Zhen. But this time, we will not go to die."

She turned, eyes no longer filled with innocence but with steel.

"This time, we go to survive. To uncover the truth. To make them pay."

And somewhere, buried beneath the ash of a former life, a phoenix stirred.

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