The Echoes Beneath the Jade Steps

The Hall of Blossoms emptied slowly, its splendor dimming as lanterns guttered out one by one. Lin Ruyan did not leave immediately. She stood by a lacquered pillar, hand resting lightly on the cool stone, her eyes tracing the departing nobles as shadows flickered across the polished floors.

The air was thick with perfume, ambition, and the sweet rot of overstayed welcome.

"Lady Lin."

The voice came quiet, measured.

Ruyan turned, gaze steady.

It was the eunuch Zhao Ming, familiar even across lifetimes. Still lean, still sharp-eyed, his presence like a blade sheathed in silk.

"His Highness has requested your presence," he said.

Her pulse did not quicken. She nodded and followed.

The corridor twisted past moonlit gardens and inner courtyards, the stone path lined with white jade balustrades. Magnolia blossoms floated on the air, heavy with scent. Zhao Ming said nothing as they walked, but Ruyan noted his glances—fleeting, curious, unsettled.

He remembered her as a timid shadow of a girl.

Now he led a woman reborn.

They stopped before a quiet pavilion, its lattice windows aglow with candlelight.

"He waits inside," Zhao said, bowing.

Ruyan stepped across the threshold.

The Crown Prince stood alone, robe now unfastened at the collar, the outer garment draped casually over a lacquered bench. He was studying a scroll, but looked up at her entrance.

The silence between them stretched, not heavy but taut.

"Lady Lin," he said at last, "your poem today was... curious."

"Your Highness summoned me for literary critique?"

A flicker of surprise. Then amusement.

"No. I summoned you because I have an excellent memory, and I do not recall you."

Ruyan stepped lightly to the side, just out of reach of the candle's halo.

"Perhaps because I was never meant to be seen."

His brow furrowed. "And now you choose to be?"

She tilted her head. "I choose nothing. The spring wind turns where it pleases."

A pause.

He studied her more closely now, and she could feel the weight of it—not lecherous, not cruel. Curious. Intelligent. Dangerous.

"You speak in riddles, Lady Lin."

"Does that trouble you?"

"It reminds me of someone," he said quietly. "But she is dead."

Ruyan's heart stilled. For a moment, the room seemed to narrow, breathless with the past.

"Then I must be someone else," she whispered.

She left the pavilion without bowing, though she gave him a respectful nod.

Zhao Ming, waiting outside, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He led her back in silence.

By the time she returned to the Lin estate, the sky was laced with indigo. Xiao Zhen had dozed on the porch and stirred as Ruyan arrived.

"Miss? You were summoned..."

"To observe an old storm," Ruyan murmured. "It hasn't changed. But perhaps I have."

She stepped past the girl and into the house.

By midday, the rumors had spread.

"The Lady Lin—did you hear?" came the whispers. "She spoke directly to the Crown Prince. Alone."

"They say he smiled. He never smiles."

"She's from the second row. Barely titled. Why her?"

The court buzzed like a disturbed hive. Some sought her out in idle curiosity. Some avoided her entirely, as if she were now marked.

Lady Meng Lihua sent an invitation to tea.

Ruyan declined.

Lady Su Yinyin sent a folded fan bearing an exquisite poem about frost and stubborn plum blossoms.

Ruyan returned it blank.

She had no use for rivals who wore masks over knives.

That evening, her father summoned her.

General Lin sat in his private study, armor retired but pride undiminished. His stern face was carved of stone, but there was a tightness in his gaze.

"You embarrassed yourself."

Ruyan stood calmly before him. "Did I?"

"The Crown Prince does not call for idle girls. What did you say to him?"

"Only a poem."

"Then stay silent. Be obedient. If he favors you, it will be by grace, not wit."

Ruyan met his eyes. "If grace is his weapon, then wit is mine."

He stood, fury threatening.

"You forget your place."

"I remember it too well," she said. "That is why I will never return to it."

He raised a hand. She did not flinch.

It did not fall.

He lowered it slowly, rage caged. "You will attend the Mid-Autumn Gathering. Wear gold this time. I will not have you ignored again."

She bowed, low and unbending. "As you wish."

But inside her, the phoenix stirred.

In her chambers, Ruyan drew ink across parchment in long, fluid strokes. Not poetry. Not letters.

A map.

The palace corridors. The servant routes. The guards' rotations.

She remembered it all.

Each curve of the Emperor's hallways. Each shadowed corner. Each hidden door.

There were secrets in this court. Some buried. Some waiting.

And she would uncover them all.

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