The Emperor's Last Breath

The Emperor's scream shattered the night.

Blood painted the walls of the imperial study in sweeping strokes, transforming the sacred space into a grotesque canvas. Moonlight filtered through paper screens, casting shadows that danced across the horrific scene - the Emperor of Ten Thousand Years posed like a puppet on his carved throne, his body arranged with artistic precision that made the display all the more terrible.Palace guards burst through the ornate doors, their weapons drawn. They froze at the threshold, horror etched across their faces. The Emperor sat unnaturally straight, his royal robes arranged in perfect folds, his hands positioned as if holding court. But his eyes - his eyes stared sightlessly ahead, and from his throat bloomed a crimson spider lily, its petals formed from his own blood.Behind him, on the wall, sweeping brushstrokes formed a landscape painting. The artist had used the Emperor's blood as ink, creating mountains and rivers that seemed to flow down the silk panels. At the bottom, a single line of poetry was written in precise calligraphy:"Power flows like rivers of red, while justice sleeps in beds of snow."The night air carried the metallic scent of blood mixed with ink and fear. As guards scrambled to secure the palace, a different sound cut through the chaos - the steady click of boots on the polished floor, accompanied by the whisper of silk. The crowd of officials and servants parted like a wave before a ship's bow.Princess Zhen Yue moved through them with measured steps, her crimson veil floating behind her like a trail of blood. Even in the deepest of nights, she wore her signature red silk robe, the color of power, of warning, of blood. None had ever seen her face save her family and closest servants - the veil was as much a part of her as her reputation for cold ambition.The guards crossed their spears at the study entrance. "Your Highness, you cannot—""Move." A single word, spoken softly, yet carrying enough authority to make both men step aside.She entered the study alone. Those watching from the doorway saw her stop three steps in, saw her shoulders stiffen beneath the elaborate robes. For a long moment, she stood perfectly still, taking in the scene that had reduced hardened warriors to trembling.Then she moved again, her steps unhurried as she approached her father's body. She studied the arrangement - the posed hands, the blood flower on his throat, the painting on the wall. Her veil hid any expression, but her voice when she spoke carried ice that made everyone present shiver."Who found him?""I did, Your Highness," a young servant boy stepped forward, shaking. "I brought His Majesty's evening tea and—" his voice broke."When?""Just... just moments ago, Your Highness. He was already... the blood was still wet when I—"The princess raised a hand, silenced him. She turned slowly, examining every detail in the room. Her movements were precise, controlled, like a predator assessing territory. When she reached the blood painting, she stood before it in silence, reading the poetry again and again.Something caught her eye near the base of the wall. She knelt, her red robe pooling around her like spilled wine, and picked up several strands of hair that gleamed white in the moonlight."Close the palace gates," she commanded, rising. "No one enters or leaves. Search every corner, every shadow." She turned to face the crowd at the door, and though they couldn't see her face, they felt the weight of her gaze. "Find me the white-haired man."As if summoned by her words, a distant flute song floated through the night air, haunting and sorrowful. The princess' head turned sharply toward the sound. Far across the palace grounds, a figure stood on a rooftop, his pale hair glowing in the moonlight. Even at this distance, those watching could see the twin swords crossed on his back.The White Ghost. The mysterious swordsman who had been appearing at scenes of death across the capital.Before anyone could move, he vanished like morning mist. The flute song faded with him, leaving only the thunder of guards' boots as they rushed to search the grounds.Princess Zhen Yue remained in the study, alone with her father's body. Her hand closed around the white strands of hair, crushing them."Captain," she called, and the guard captain rushed in, bowing deeply. "Summon the Twin Shadows to my chambers." Her voice was calm, controlled, betraying nothing of what lay beneath the veil. "And bring me every report you have of the White Ghost's appearances. Every detail, every whisper, every song he's played.""Yes, your Highness!"She turned back to the blood painting, to the poetry written in her father's life essence. Her voice, when she spoke again, was barely a whisper, meant for her dead father's ears alone."I will find him, Father. And when I do, his blood will paint a very different picture."Outside, clouds crept across the moon, casting the palace in darkness. In that darkness, shadows moved - not the shadows of guards searching the grounds, but deeper shadows, secrets wrapped in human form. They flowed like black water through hidden paths, gathering whispers, collecting secrets, preparing for their mistress's commands.The night that began with an Emperor's scream would end with a Princess' silent vow of vengeance. And somewhere in the darkness, a flute played a melody of mourning, as if the White Ghost himself grieved for what was to come.Winter was approaching the imperial capital, promising snow to blanket the land in white. But this winter would bring a different kind of snow - one stained crimson with blood and revenge.The Emperor was dead. The princess had risen. And the dance of crimson and snow had begun.