Chapter 19: The Sound of Unsaid Things

Anhai sat by the carved window ledge of her private quarters, a place shadowed by camphor trees and silk curtains that never fully stayed still. Spring had painted the court in blush and bloom, but Anhai's world remained quiet. Purposefully quiet.

Since the imperial decree confirming Sera's engagement to Prince Zhaoren, the court had shifted. Anhai had noticed the change not in open declarations, but in glances that lingered too long, in attendants who now bowed with slight hesitation. The neutrality of House Yu was no longer a shield—it had become a mirror, reflecting every word left unspoken.

She sipped her tea slowly.

The porcelain cup was a gift from her eldest brother, elegant and unadorned. Like her. She had not been raised to chase favor, but to hold herself in reserve until it was needed—until her stillness became a force in its own right. Her father had taught her that, in hushed tones over strategy scrolls, while her brothers learned sword forms and balance sheets.

Now she was in the palace. No longer watching from the safety of home, but living in a world where every smile had teeth.

Her maid, Jia, stepped into the room. "My lady. An invitation arrived."

Anhai set the cup down gently. "From whom?"

"Lady En of the Inner Bureau. A garden tea, three days from now. Several court ladies will attend."

That meant it wasn't merely a gathering—it was a weighing of alliances.

Anhai nodded, her mind already racing. She had not yet aligned herself with any court faction, and her cautious presence had earned her little ire, but also little trust. Attending would be a subtle signal—perhaps not of allegiance, but of visibility.

"Prepare something suitable," she said quietly. "Nothing too bright."

Jia bowed. "Yes, my lady."

As the maid left, Anhai returned her gaze to the window. The camphor trees shifted again, their leaves brushing together like secrets shared in passing.

There was another letter beneath the tea tray—this one from her mother. She had read it twice already, but she reached for it again.

> "You were born in a house of loyal silence, Anhai. But silence is not submission. In the palace, let them underestimate you. Let them forget you, even. And when the time comes—

—speak only once, and let it be enough."

Anhai folded the letter carefully and tucked it away. She would go to the tea. She would listen. And when they asked about Sera, or Meiqi, or the Emperor's shifting attentions, she would offer the same calm expression she always did.

She didn't need to be loud to be heard.

Not yet.

---

Later that evening, in another wing of the palace…

The Emperor sat alone in his private study, the brush still resting in his fingers, though the paper before him remained blank. He had been writing a decree—but the words would not come.

Not about Meiqi. Not about Sera. And certainly not about Anhai.

He remembered her, though. The way she had bowed that first day—too perfectly. And the way she said nothing even when offered the chance to speak. He liked that about her. Quiet ones made the best listeners. And sometimes, the most dangerous enemies.

He set the brush down.

Outside, a eunuch waited to deliver the invitation for Lady Anhai to attend the tea gathering. The Emperor gave a small nod of approval.

Let her move.

Let her be seen.

Only then would the court begin to understand what loyalty in silence truly looked like.