1

Lanterns blazed across the eaves of the Imperial Palace like captive stars, their golden light catching on silken banners that danced in the wind. Crimson pennants embroidered with phoenixes fluttered against a night sky veiled in incense smoke and drifting peony petals. The celebration was vast, decadent, and hollow. Every shadow along the jade-tiled corridors whispered secrets, and every smile beneath the towering arches bore teeth. The Palace of Heavenly Harmony, long untouched by such opulence, had been transformed into a stage of splendor for the ascension of the Emperor’s future bride.

Feng Yan stood at the center of that stage, her figure composed beneath layers of ceremonial silk. The phoenix coronet rested heavily atop her head, woven with rubies and golden feathers so intricate they shimmered like flame. Her robe trailed behind her, scarlet threaded with nine curling dragons, each claw reaching toward the embroidered seal at her breast. It was a garment meant for history—a robe worn only once, to declare a woman not merely a wife, but a symbol of imperial virtue.

Though her expression remained poised and gentle, every muscle in her body had long since turned to stone. She had spent years sculpting herself into this image—graceful, compliant, untouched by scandal or ambition. Yet tonight, as she stood beneath the carved lattice of the ceremonial hall, all she could feel was the silence within her chest. Not fear. Not joy. Something far quieter, and far more final.

The court surrounded her, a sea of ministers and consorts, noble daughters and masked courtiers. Behind every fan and every bow was calculation. She had been taught to smile at them all, and so she did, her mouth curving with practiced serenity. Her eyes swept the crowd only once before they landed on the man whose life she had entwined with hers for the sake of survival.

Ji Rong, Third Prince of the Empire, stood robed in gold at the base of the Emperor’s dais. He was beautiful in the way all the paintings captured him—slim and tall, with a scholar’s hands and the face of a romantic hero. His eyes, dark as inkstone, held no warmth when they met hers. Still, he smiled. It was the same smile that had once convinced her of his love, the one that had drawn her in years ago when she was young and desperate to secure her family’s place.

She had once looked at that smile and seen her future. Tonight, she would learn what it truly meant.

The air shifted as a bell chimed three times, and the great doors opened. The Emperor entered, borne on a gilded platform by silent eunuchs. His presence silenced the hall instantly. All fell to their knees, including Feng Yan, whose forehead touched the marble floor with flawless precision. Behind closed lids, her thoughts drifted to her father, once a high general, now long dead. Her family's legacy would be sealed tonight—or so she had believed.

The Emperor’s voice, thin and rasping with age, rose over the kneeling assembly. He praised her lineage, her virtue, and her years of silent service within the palace. Then, with a final flourish of the sacred scroll, he proclaimed her the first wife of his third son. Not yet Empress, but closer than any woman dared hope. As she rose, guided by the cold, dry hand of her betrothed, a weight seemed to settle around her shoulders like iron cloaked in silk.

Ji Rong leaned toward her, his voice low enough to escape the ears of the court. “You’ve never looked more beautiful, Yan’er.” His breath carried the faintest trace of cassia wine.

Her lips parted in a smile that barely reached her eyes. “Nor you, my Prince,” she replied, and together, they turned toward the gathered nobles, receiving their bows and empty blessings with the serenity demanded of a royal bride.

Hours later, within the heavily guarded bridal chamber, Feng Yan sat in silence beneath a canopy of red gauze and candlelight. The ceremonial attendants had long since withdrawn, leaving her in a thin robe embroidered with bridal lotuses, her hair still pinned by a single jade comb. Around her, the air was heavy with incense and expectations. Her dowry, placed carefully in rows of lacquered boxes, gleamed in the candlelight: silk bolts, gold ornaments, her mother’s heirloom mirror, and scrolls bearing her family’s ancestral records. She waited, as custom required, for her husband to arrive.

The door opened with a soft groan.

Ji Rong stepped inside, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of flame. The robes of ceremony still adorned him, though his sash had been loosened, revealing the pale line of his throat. He crossed the room in measured steps, stopping a few paces from where she sat. When she rose to meet him, he took her hands gently into his own.

She looked into his eyes, trying to read the emotion there. “It’s done, then,” she said quietly. “After all these years.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her as if seeing her for the first time. “Yes. It’s done.”

The warmth in her chest flickered and died at the tone of his voice. Something was wrong. His grip, while soft, felt like iron beneath silk. She opened her mouth to ask what troubled him, but the words never came.

A sharp sting pierced her side.

Her breath caught. She looked down and saw a thin black needle protruding from beneath his sleeve, pressed directly into her ribs. Her knees gave way, and the world tilted as her vision blurred. He caught her before she fell, lowering her gently to the floor with the care of a man laying a beloved to rest.

“I truly did admire you, Yan’er,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You were always too clever. But ambition is a dangerous thing. And you, my dear, wanted too much.”

She wanted to scream, to strike, to ask why—but her limbs would not respond. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird trapped in a dying cage. Footsteps approached, and the chamber door opened once more.

A woman entered, her scent arriving first—orchid, amber, and cold sweetness.

Feng Yan forced her eyes to lift. Standing above her in a gown of pale rose was Hua Lanyue, the woman she had once called sister, though no blood tied them. Lanyue’s smile was exquisite. It did not reach her eyes.

“You always did dream too high,” she said softly, as if speaking to a child. “But you’ve done us a favor, in a way. The empire will pity a dead bride far more than a live one.”

Candlelight flickered above them, shadows stretching long across the floor. The last thing Feng Yan saw was the phoenix coronet slipping from her head into Lanyue’s waiting hands, and then, at last, darkness rose like a tide to swallow her whole.

It was not a peaceful death.

The cold returned first. Not the simple chill of air against skin, but the soul-deep numbness of something buried and disoriented. Her lungs seized as breath returned to them. Her fingers twitched against silk. She inhaled the scent of camellias—not incense, not blood—and the familiarity of it struck her like a blow.

She opened her eyes.

Sunlight filtered through a paper screen marked with plum blossoms. The room was small, unfamiliar. The sheets beneath her hands were coarse, not the brocade of the bridal chamber. Her hands—slender, unmarked, no ring, no calluses—belonged to a girl, not a woman.

She stumbled from the bed toward a bronze mirror resting atop a simple table and stared.

The reflection that met her gaze was her own, but not as she had last seen it. Her cheeks were fuller, her eyes less shadowed, her skin untouched by the quiet ravages of palace life. This was a version of herself she had not seen in a decade. Seventeen. Unmarried. Still outside the main court.

A knock at the door startled her, and a maid’s voice called from beyond the screen, “Miss Feng? Are you awake?”

Not Consort. Not Wife. Not the First Lady of the Court.

Just Miss Feng.

She backed away from the mirror, her heart thundering in her chest. This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a delusion brought on by fever or poison.

She had died.

And now—somehow, impossibly—she had returned.

The heavens, it seemed, had given her another chance.

And this time, she would not waste it on trust.

This time, they would all burn.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***