The silk curtains fluttered in the early light, thin as breath, tinged with a peach-blush hue from the rising sun. Lin Ruyan sat at her vanity in silence, her bare fingers tracing the edge of a ceramic bowl. The water within stilled, catching her reflection like a whisper of the girl she used to be.
Seventeen again.
The idea still clung to her like a dream unfinished. Her heart beat steadily beneath the soft inner robe, but her eyes—those eyes had known fire.
Xiao Zhen entered, carrying a bundle of fabric. "Miss, your father says the invitation from the palace has arrived. The Crown Prince will attend the Spring Banquet. We must dress you well."
Ruyan turned slowly. "No red. No gold."
The maid blinked. "But... you are of age. This may be the chance—"
"If the Crown Prince chooses someone," Ruyan said softly, "let it not be because she is the brightest flower in the garden."
Xiao Zhen bit her lip but obeyed. They settled on a robe of lavender silk, stitched with silver plum blossoms so fine they shimmered only when caught by sunlight. Her hair was pinned simply, with a single jade comb.
She would not tempt fate. But she would not hide from it, either.
---
The Lin family carriage trundled toward the imperial palace, the roads lined with fluttering banners and drifting cherry petals. Other noble families had already begun to arrive, their daughters adorned in silks and jewels, their eyes wide with excitement or ambition.
Inside the carriage, Ruyan kept her hands folded. Calm. Controlled. A small box sat beside her. Inside it lay the red hairpin—her talisman, her warning.
As they passed through the Palace Gates, the weight of memory pressed down.
She saw herself again in the great hall, smiling shyly beneath the heavy phoenix crown.
She saw herself burned.
The present swallowed the vision. The gates opened, and the Spring Banquet began.
---
The banquet was held in the Hall of Blossoms, a grand courtyard surrounded by winding colonnades and perfumed by thousands of plum and peach blossoms. The marble floors reflected the lantern light like still water. Long tables of carved sandalwood overflowed with delicacies: lotus root wrapped in goldleaf, duck braised with osmanthus wine, honeyed jujubes stacked like tiny pyramids.
The daughters of the empire sat according to their fathers' rank. Ruyan was placed in the second row—high enough to be noticed, low enough to be overlooked.
She recognized many faces.
Lady Meng Lihua, daughter of the Minister of War, sat adorned in crimson gauze, her lips painted like a rose just opening. Ruyan remembered her well—a snake in embroidered silk, who had smiled as the flames climbed higher.
Lady Su Yinyin, demure and clever, sat a row ahead, already whispering into her silk fan.
Ruyan said nothing. She sat with the stillness of deep water.
---
A trumpet sounded.
"His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince, Ji Wuxian!"
The court rose. He entered with quiet grace, dressed in robes of midnight blue embroidered with silver dragons. His expression was unreadable, his gaze scanning the room like a hawk in flight.
Ruyan lowered her eyes, but not so far as to miss the moment his gaze passed over her.
And stopped.
Only for a breath. Then moved on.
She remained still.
She knew what she must look like to him. A gentle noble girl with clear eyes and no memory of betrayal. The irony twisted in her stomach.
---
As the banquet unfolded, entertainment filled the air. Dancers in moonlight silks twirled to the melody of the pipa and guzheng. Wine flowed. Toasts were made. Words sparkled, then disappeared like fireflies.
And Ruyan watched.
She watched how the Crown Prince leaned slightly toward General Meng’s daughter but offered no special smile. How he responded politely to Su Yinyin's clever riddles, but his eyes drifted elsewhere. How his gaze occasionally returned to her corner, thoughtful.
Not recognition.
Not yet.
Curiosity.
She took another sip of plum wine. It tasted of blood in her mouth.
---
Then came the test.
"A poem," someone called. "Let the daughters of noble houses offer verses to the Crown Prince."
A cruel tradition. A veiled contest. Who could flatter most artfully? Who dared reach first?
Lihua rose, graceful as a willow. Her verse was flawless, practiced, laden with double meaning. It spoke of dragons soaring and phoenixes rising, her eyes glancing toward the Prince as she bowed.
He nodded, impassive.
Others followed. Su Yinyin's poem was sharp as silk thread. A few made the court laugh. Some stuttered. Some blushed.
Then Ruyan stood.
A hush fell.
No one had expected her to participate.
She stepped forward. Her voice was soft, but it carried.
“A single plum blooms through frost and flame,
Its petals white as forgotten names.
It does not seek the sun or throne,
But roots itself in stone alone.”
Silence.
Then murmurs.
The Crown Prince tilted his head. "What is your name?"
Ruyan bowed. "Lin Ruyan, Your Highness."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the name scratched at something buried.
"An unusual poem."
"It suits the times," she said calmly.
He stared at her, but she offered no further words.
Then he turned away, dismissing the moment.
But something had shifted.
---
That evening, back in her chamber, Ruyan unpinned her hair in silence. Xiao Zhen hovered.
"You were... you were amazing. They all noticed. Even the Crown Prince."
"Noticed is not chosen," Ruyan replied, staring into her mirror.
"But isn’t that what you want?"
Ruyan met her reflection's eyes.
"Not yet."
She opened the box beside her. The red hairpin gleamed in the lamplight, quiet as a wound not yet stitched.
The palace doors had creaked open. She had stepped through them once more.
But this time, she would not simply survive.
She would uncover. She would burn. She would rise.
And if the Crown Prince stood in her way again—
She would remind him what it meant to love a phoenix.
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