21: Palace in Ruins · A Phoenix Weeps Blood

Two months later, the palace of Xiliang should have been alive with the scent of exotic fruits and the distant jingling of trade caravans from the Western lands. But that night, it was soaked in blood and steel.

Murong Zhao's private soldiers surged through the palace gates like a black tide. Iron boots crushed glazed lanterns. Torches cast cruel shadows against the carved wooden pillars, turning the grand halls into a playground for ghosts.

"Traitor! How dare you—"

The king of Xiliang's furious roar was silenced by a cold arrow. The shaft pierced his golden-threaded robe, and a spray of crimson landed on the pomegranate blossoms beside the jade steps.

Queen Furong shoved her four-year-old daughter, Shen Ruoyao, into the arms of her maidservant An Xiang. Her jade earrings shattered in the chaos. Her trembling fingers tucked a jade pendant—engraved with Great Yan's royal betrothal sigil—into the girl's collar.

"This belongs to you. Keep it safe."

The pendant was smooth and cool, like moonlight. But within the carved patterns, a faint trace of blood had seeped in—left by the cut on her fingertip.

She turned quickly to An Xiang and rasped out a hoarse command.

"Take the hidden passage. Go to Great Yan—find the Empress Dowager. Now!"

With that, she pushed the maid and child toward the painted screen hiding the secret tunnel and drew a curved blade from beneath the couch.

Murong Zhao approached, boots echoing in pools of blood. Firelight danced on his black iron armor. He chuckled, lifting the tip of his sword to tilt the queen's chin.

"Your Majesty," he murmured. "You chose the wrong ally. Great Yan never promised to shield Xiliang... but Northern Di will help me take the throne."

"Ambitious wolf!" Furong snarled, swinging her blade. The strike sliced a lock of his hair, but the next moment, a guard's spear plunged into her shoulder.

She fell to her knees, still clutching the stone lion that concealed the tunnel's lever. Blood trickled along the carved phoenix feathers, winding downward like a crimson river.

Inside the tunnel, An Xiang held the crying child tightly as they slipped into the damp, narrow passage. Behind them came the queen's final scream:

"Murong Zhao—The Phoenix… will drink your blood—"

Her voice was cut short. Steel slashed her throat.

—

The tunnel led to the bamboo forest behind the palace. The night wind smelled of leaves and distant smoke. As they emerged, An Xiang wrapped her cloak around the little girl—only to see flames lighting up the horizon.

Murong Zhao's troops were dousing the city gates in oil. In all directions, the phoenix banners curled and blackened in the fire, turning to ash.

"Mother…" Shen Ruoyao reached out in confusion. A singed scrap of fabric floated into her palm. On it, the golden threads of a phoenix's tail still shimmered faintly.

An Xiang bit her lip until it bled. Then she hoisted the child onto her back and ran—straight into the endless night.

—

Far from the palace, the glazed dome glowed red beneath the moon, its halls thick with the stench of blood and burning silk.

Miles away, Shen Ruoyao gripped An Xiang's sleeve. The brocade shoes on her tiny feet were caked with mud. Behind them, the clash of iron echoed like drums of death. Firelight stretched the shadow of pomegranate trees into twisted monsters.

"Princess, run! Don't look back!"

An Xiang shoved her forward and drew the soft sword from her waist. Her pale yellow skirt fluttered like a dying blossom on a spring wind.

Ruoyao stumbled through the darkness toward a steep hillside. Behind her came the shriek of clashing blades. She bit her lip to keep from crying, hands bloodied by sharp stones. But her mother's words echoed in her mind—

Don't look back.

"Take her alive!" shouted the commander in a Northern dialect.

Three poison-tipped arrows flew through the night.

An Xiang turned, slashing two out of the air. The third embedded in her shoulder. She screamed through clenched teeth, "Run!"

As the blades closed in, she hurled herself into the enemy ranks.

Ruoyao's last memories were a blur: the ring of metal, the howl of broken swords, and An Xiang's voice, strained but unyielding, calling her name.

She heard the woman fall—then rise again, over and over, standing between her and death.

She tried to open her eyes. But the world was a dark haze. She tried to reach out. But her arms felt like air.

The sounds faded.

All that remained was silence—an echo of sorrow that swallowed everything whole.

—

The girl's small body tumbled down the cliff. Her wrist scraped across a jagged rock. In the searing pain, she thought she saw the red phoenix mark on her skin tear down the middle. Blood fell onto a white camellia below, staining the petals like a bird weeping blood.

—

A long moment passed.

"…Senior Sister, she's still breathing."

A voice broke the silence.

A pale hand swept across her face, carrying the scent of cold plum blossoms. The copper tang of blood faded.

Ruoyao opened her eyes slightly.

She saw a tassel—dark metal swaying under the moonlight. A sword bearing the sigil of Meishan Sect.

A young woman in white robes knelt beside her, feeling her pulse.

"Her bones are strong… a fine candidate for martial training. This wound on her wrist…"

Before she finished, the sound of soldiers echoed from above.

The disciple quickly bound Ruoyao's arm, then lifted her onto her back, running in the opposite direction.

—

By the time the crescent moon vanished behind the clouds, the royal seal etched into her skin had faded to a pale red scar.

And from the edge of night, the shadows of Meishan rose like silent eagles—ready to raise the phoenix from the ashes, and forge her into a blade.